#also i might just like rome a lot

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[stylesispunk]

The soldier in the armour | part ii

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous part | next part

summary: Acacius left for battle while emperor Geta makes his way back to you in a sinister way. After returning, Acacius realizes he is not enough to protect you and you reunite with someone from your past.

wc: 14k???

warning: angst, fluff, age gap, power imbalance, harassment, anxiety, someone bites another person on here, allusions to smut, mentions of poisoning, mentions of blood, reader has a mental breakdown on this one.

a/n: hello! First of all I want to thank everyone for the amount of love you gave to the first part of this fic that was a request and it was going to be a one piece only. But now it has become a series. This chapter is full of a lot of things so i hope you like it and share your thoughts with me. I spent the whole afternoon finishing this and the weather is almost killing me. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

You could feel the change of beating in your heart when marcus acacius looked at you now. The years of yearning and longing for freedom felt like they had met a fate the moment he said three words to you.

The golden cage you had been part of, the years of being of prisoner faded to nothing after he poured all his love for you in that kiss, in the way he touched every single inch of your skin when he made love to you.

You felt the freedom kissing your skin because you had him. You felt a string connecting both hearts beating and that was the way you coped with everything that was taken away from you.

acacius saved you, he completed you and made this world feel less lonely for you.

He felt the same, since how his hand burn over your skin or your heart beated like a beast under his palm.

He had come to learn how to love you, beyond the duty and protection he has swore to work for.

Now you were his heart and your life his purpose.

The hours before he had to leave for battle, the air around the Villa felt heavier. Charged with and unspoken tension of an impeding separation just when he had become addicted to your presence next to him.

Acacius busied himself with preparations, knowing he would give up everything in order to stay back with you. But he knew better. He was aware of how the glories he brought back from battles became the privileges that would keep your life safe.

After Lucilla sent Lucius away, you and her stayed in Rome, becoming prisoners under the ruling madness of Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

Always at bay, always with your life depending of the outcomes of Acacius battles.

And you, bound by blood and beauty, remained, a pawn in a dangerous game where your survival now depended not only on Acacius’ victories but also on Geta's unpredictable affection.

Geta’s obsession with you had become a double-edged sword. His love, if it could be called that, offered a semblance of protection, a shield against Caracalla’s wrath. Yet it was a prison of its own, trapping you within the steel of a cage, where every glance, every word, was laden with passive threats. You lived in constant vigilance, knowing that Geta's favor could turn to fury in an instant, and that fury could mean your end.

Now, Acacius battles weighed heavier over his shoulder. From this moment, with every campaign, he would risk his life, leaving you to endure the suffocating air of the emperor’s court, where you were little more than a gilded possession. He hated it, the helplessness, the waiting, the gnawing fear that one day he might not return, and you would be left to fend off Geta's advances alone.

You watched him from a distance, your fingers gripping the edge of the balcony railing. His broad shoulders bore the weight of his duty, but the occasional glance he cast your way betrayed the turmoil beneath his composed exterior. He was a man bound by honor, but also by a love that had grown more profound with each stolen moment between you.

"Will you look at me?" you whispered, your voice breaking the silence that had grown unbearable for him.

Acacius paused, his hands stilling on the edge of the balcony. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the weight of his gaze, filled with longing, regret, and the love he could never fully express in words, made your breath hitch.

"I fear," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "that if I do, I may never be able to leave."

You stepped closer, slowly, as though you could hold back time itself. "Then don't," you said, your hands reaching for him, your touch soft yet insistent as you placed your palms over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath his clothes.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling to rest against yours. "You deserve more than this life of waiting, of uncertainty. I cannot give you freedom, not truly. All I can give is my promise that I will return."

"Acacius, that’s all I need from you." you said, your voice firm, closing your eyes as you felt his warm enveloping you. “I have a surprise for you”

Acacius raised his head slightly, his brows knitting together in curiosity. “A surprise?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with intrigue.

You nodded, a small smile breaking in this moment of madness. “Come with me,” you said, taking his hand in yours. He hesitated for a moment, his sense of duty tugging at him, but the warmth of your touch and the glimmer in your eyes proved irresistible.

You led him through the villa, weaving through the familiar halls now draped in the golden hues of early evening. The air grew warmer as you approached the chamber where the servants had worked quietly under your instruction. Pushing the doors open, you revealed the scene you had prepared.

The bath was set within a sunken marble basin, steaming water rippling gently beneath a scattering of rose petals. The room was lit by the soft glow of dozens of candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. The scent of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the air, soothing and rich.

Acacius stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. “You did this… for me?”

You turned to face him, your smile soft and filled with affection. “You’re always giving so much of yourself to Rome, to the battles, and now to protect me. Tonight, I want you to let me take care of you.”

His eyes softened as they landed on you. "You’ve thought of everything," he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude.

You graced a small smile. "You deserve at least this much."

Acacius began to remove the layers he had worn all day, setting them aside piece by piece until he stood before you in nothing but the bare vulnerability you had come to know by yourself. He stepped into the bath, sighing as the warm water enveloped him, washing away the weight of the day.

You moved to leave, thinking he might prefer solitude, but his voice stopped you.

"Stay," he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I want you close tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat at the quiet plea in his tone. You hesitated only briefly before nodding. Removing your dress, you stepped into the bath, the warmth of the water immediately soothing your tense muscles.

Acacius reached for you, pulling you gently toward him until you were nestled against his chest. His strong arms encircled you, his hand brushing lightly against your damp hair.

"For all the battles I’ve fought," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, "this one feels different. I can’t bear to leave you behind."

"You’ll come back," you whispered, your voice firm despite the lump in your throat.

He tilted your chin up, his gaze piercing and filled with emotion. "I will move heaven and earth to return to you, my lady." he promised.

You sat in the water together, the silence filled with the unspoken fear and hope that swirled between you. For that moment, there was no war, no emperors, no uncertain future, just the two of you, bound together by a love that defied everything else.

But still, you shifted slightly, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The warmth of his body and the soothing water wrapped around you, but the weight of reality pressed against your mind. After a moment, you spoke, your voice soft but filled with worry.

"I don’t like you fighting Geta and Caracalla’s battles," you admitted, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “They have done nothing to deserve the place they are at. All his glory comes from blood and murder. They don’t deserve loyalty.”

He sighed deeply, his hand stroking your back in slow, comforting motions. "I know," he said, his voice heavy with the same frustration. "I’ve questioned my place in their service more times than I can count. But my duty... it’s the only thing that keeps you safe. As long as I fight their battles, they have no reason to turn their cruelty toward you or Lucilla."

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. The name of your mother troubled you. You couldn’t even name the feeling, perhaps jealousy. After all, the years Acacius had spent his life on battle were to protect her before you.

"My happiness," he whispered, “It’s you.” He said as he could read your thoughts

"How was it like?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible above the gentle ripples of the water. "When you served in Maximus's army?"

Acacius shifted slightly, the tension in his body growing palpable. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, and he took a moment before responding. "It was... different," he began cautiously, his hand never ceasing its soothing caress along your back. "Maximus was a man of honor. He fought for the empire, yes, but also for something greater. For justice, for the people."

You noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his jaw tightened and his gaze drifted, as though he were remembering something painful. You knew there was more he wasn’t telling you, a truth hidden beneath his words. "You respected him," you said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes," Acacius admitted, his voice low. "He was a leader unlike any other.”

You studied his face, searching for more, for the deeper truth that lay behind his guarded expression. "Did you know him well?" you asked, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Acacius hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of hesitation. "I knew him," he said carefully. "He was a great man, but like all great men, he carried his burdens."

There was something in the way he spoke, a weight that suggested he knew more than he was letting on. Your curiosity piqued, but you decided to tread carefully. "My mother never spoke much about him," you said quietly. "Only that he was a noble warrior."

Acacius's hand stilled on your back, and he took a deep breath. "He was loved by people." he said gently.

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words. "I remember him more than I remember my own father," you murmured, your mind drifting to the stories you had heard of Maximus’s valor and strength. “I remember seeing him fighting at the colosseum and I remember how Lucius got obsessed with becoming a gladiator…”

Your eyes drifted somewhere else as if you were trying to find an exact extract of a moment where you would find your brother inside your memories. Acacius’s expression softened, but there was a shadow in his eyes. He knew a truth beyond, something Lucilla had confessed to him only and he had sworn never tell.

 "He defeated your uncle," he reminded you, his voice barely above a whisper trying to bring you back from your thoughts.

“I know. I can recall that day.” You said, and after a pause you spoke again. “He wasn’t different from Geta or Caracalla, but I remember how much he loved Lucius. More than me even.” You looked up at him for a moment, “I’ve never feel truly seen, truly loved…”

Acacius kissed your head, his lips lingering against your damp hair as though trying to imprint the moment into his memory. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies.

“You will always be loved by me” he whispered as you closed your eyes at the sensation of his lips on your head. “Until my last breath.”

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him again, your eyes searching his face. The flickering light of the lamps cast soft shadows across his strong features, but it couldn’t mask the vulnerability in his expression.

"You remind me of Maximus” you said, tracing his jawline “You’re the strongest man I know," you whispered, placing your hand gently on his cheek. "You’ll come back to me, General Acacius. I believe in you."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained solemn. "You make me want to survive every impossible fight, just to see your face again."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own. The bathwater lapped softly around you, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold reality of the coming day.

"Promise me something," he said after a long silence.

"Anything," you replied without hesitation.

"If I fall—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice sharp.

"Listen," he urged, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm. "If I fall, I need to know you’ll keep going. You’ll live, for yourself.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. "You’ve always been the braver of us," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "But I need to know you’ll fight for your happiness, even if I’m not there."

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the ache in your chest. "I’ll try," you promised, though the words felt hollow. You didn’t want to confess he had made your life easier to bare.

He kissed you then, not with urgency or desperation, but with a deep, abiding love that seemed to say everything words could not express. It was devotion in a silent vow; he would return to you.

And as the water cooled and the night deepened, you stayed in his arms, unwilling to let go, even as the weight of tomorrow loomed over you both.

When the early morning light peeked through the curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you still slept. Acacius lay awake, his arms wrapped around you, his chest pressed to your bare back, feeling your skin against his own. He observed the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, committing the peaceful moment to memory. Every fiber of his being ached at the thought of leaving you behind haunted by the demons that threatened to take you away.

Quietly, he shifted, slipping his arm from under you and placing a kiss on your shoulder. You stirred slightly but didn’t wake. With a heavy heart, he got out of bed, moving through the bedroom as he dressed in his armor, getting ready for another senseless battle. The sound of leather straps and the faint clink of metal echoed softly in the room.

Acacius paused at the edge of the bed, glancing back at you one last time. Your face, serene and unguarded in sleep, was a sight he wanted to carry with him into battle. He closed his eyes briefly, murmuring a silent prayer for strength before placing a longing kiss on your temple and stepping out into the hall.

Outside, a handful of guards waited, their expressions tense but respectful. They fell into step behind him as he strode toward the courtyard, the weight of his duty heavy on his shoulders. The morning air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth he had just left behind.

“General!” a guard called suddenly pointing at behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned, his heart clenching at the sight of you running toward him, barefoot, wearing your nightgown you must had put on in hurry. Your hair was loose, tumbling in waves around your face, and your eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Acacius!” you called out, your voice trembling with urgency.

He met you halfway, his hands reaching out to steady you as you nearly collided with him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, his tone both tender and concerned.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye,” you said, your breaths coming in quick gasps from running. “Not like that.”

His expression softened, and he pulled you into his arms, ignoring the curious gazes of the guards. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his armor as though you could anchor him to you.

“It’s too early for you to be outside. You’re freezing,” he murmured, rubbing his hands over your arms to warm you.

“I don’t care,” you replied fiercely, looking up at him. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you that I love you, Acacius. And I’ll be waiting for you to come back to me.”

His breath hitched at your words, and for a moment, the stoic general was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a man who adored you with every fiber of his being.

“I love you, too,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“You have made my life worth living again,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but the weight of your words hung heavy between you.

His breath caught as he stared into your eyes, the raw vulnerability there piercing through every defense he had ever built. The battlefield, the war, the chaos Rome had become, all of it disappeared in that moment. There was only you, grounding him, giving him a purpose beyond the duty that had defined his life.

Acacius covered your hands with his own, the calloused warmth of his touch steadying your shaking fingers. “You’ve done the same for me,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I was lost until you brought me back to life.”

You smiled faintly, though tears streamed down your face. “Promise me you’ll come back. Promise me this won’t be the last time I see you like this.”

“I swear it,” he said firmly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “By the gods, I’ll return to you. Nothing will keep me away.”

Your lips brushed his in a fleeting kiss, filled with all the love and hope you couldn’t put into more words. When he pulled away, he gently placed your hands back at your sides, as though committing every detail of you to memory.

“I’ll see you soon, my lady.” he said softly, before mounting his horse.

As he rode away, you stood there, the wind tugging at your gown, your heart heavy with emptiness. Watching him disappear into the horizon, you clung to his promise and touch, letting it light a spark of hope in the uncertain of what was coming without him anchor.

A gentle hand touched your shoulder, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see one of your loyal servants, her eyes filled with concern as she took in the sight of your tear-streaked face.

"Come with me, my lady," she urged softly, her voice full of care. "You’ll catch a cold out here."

You nodded silently, allowing her to guide you back toward the warmth of the villa. The wind whipped around you, carrying the scent of the olives and the distant sound of Acacius’s departing horse still in your mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart aching with the weight of a farewell.

Once inside, the servant led you to your chambers, where a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. She helped you out of your damp gown, wrapping a thick shawl around your shoulders. "You need to rest, my lady," she said kindly, her hands lingering on yours in a gesture of comfort. "General Acacius will return sooner than you expect.”

You offered her a faint smile, though the ache in your chest was still fresh. "Thank you," you whispered, sinking into the plush cushions of the chair by the fire.

The servant bowed her head slightly before retreating, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, their warmth doing little to ease the chill in your heart. You stared into the fire, replaying Acacius’s words in your mind, clinging to his promise as though it were a lifeline.

A few weeks had passed since Acacius left for battle, the days had stretched into endless hours that seem not to meet the dawn, time felt longer, the nights colder without Acacius filling the space. You found yourself feeling more tired lately, there were new changes happening to you body, some pain, uncomfortable sensation that you blamed on the deep emptiness settling in your heart that nothing seemed to fill.

So, as you sat at the table for breakfast, the familiar clink of silverware was the only sound in the room. Lucilla sat across from you, her regal presence unshaken, but there was a softness in her eyes as she regarded you. The way he looked at you, as a mother who was supposed to love her daughter.

"Acacius will return soon, my child," she said gently, her voice calm and reassuring. "He never—"

Before she could finish, you interrupted, a sharp edge to your tone. "You must know a lot about it," you said, your gaze fixed on your plate. The bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.

Lucilla’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing her face. She set down her cup, her hands folding neatly in her lap. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

You looked up, the walls you had built around your heart beginning to crack. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain. “You were the one he returned to before.” you said, bitterness inking your tongue.

Lucilla's face softened, her eyes reflecting the guilt he carried, the story between her and Marcus that seemed unfinished. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on the table.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was bound to me once, by duty and by the burdens we shared. But that was a different time, a different life.”

You felt the sting of her words, the truth you had known but never fully confronted. “Different time?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Your question hung in the air, thick with the weight of your emotions. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you looked at your mother, waiting for an answer. The air between you was charged with uncertainty, like the quiet before a storm.

Lucilla shook her head, her gaze steady and filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “Yes” she said firmly. “You are his heart now. I see the way he looks at you as if the world begins and ends with you.” She paused for a bit "I never wanted you to be caught in the politics of this empire, my dear," she said, her voice soft but laden with guilt. "I never wanted you to be a pawn in a game of power between two men. But I feared what would happen if I didn't do something."

You looked at your mother, the weight of your question pressing on you. The air between you was thick with the tension of everything unspoken, of truths that had been hidden for so long. Your voice trembled slightly as you asked, "Would you have married Acacius if the emperor hadn’t courted me first? Would you have still arranged for him to marry me, or would you have chosen a different path for us?"

Her gaze fell for a brief moment before she raised it to meet yours again. "Had it not been for Emperor Geta, I would have never allowed Acacius to marry you.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips as you absorbed her words. "But you didn't expect he would end up loving me instead of you," you said, your voice laced with a mix of hurt and defiance.

Lucilla’s eyes flickered with a flash of emotion-wether it was regret or something deeper, you couldn’t quite tell. She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her tone measured but filled with a quiet resignation. "No, I didn’t expect that. I thought his loyalty would always lie with me. I never imagined he would find in you what he once saw in me."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her confession settling heavily in your chest. "And yet, you still pushed us together, knowing it would tether me to a life I never wanted."

"I believed I was protecting you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "From the dangers of court, from the whims of powerful men. I thought if you were with someone like Acacius, someone strong and honorable, you would be safe."

"Safe?" you echoed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You call this safety? Acacius leaving to fight battles to kept your place in this empire and protect me?” You took a deep breath, anger raising within you. "And what about Acacius? Did you ever consider how he felt in all of this?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she met your gaze once more. "I didn’t think he could love anyone else," she said, her voice breaking. "I thought his heart was mine alone, even if our paths diverged. I never anticipated that he would find solace, comfort, love... in you."

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words pressing down. "Well, he did," you said, your voice steady but filled with a quiet strength. "And now we’re both paying the price for your miscalculations."

Lucilla reached out, her hand hovering in the air between you. "I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered. "I only wanted what was best for you."

The silence stretched once more, but this time, it was not filled with bitterness. It was laden with understanding, a shared pain that neither of you could escape.

“I only want him to come back,” you whispered, finally allowing the tears to fall. “I want him to be safe.”

Lucilla reached out, her hand covering yours in a gesture of comfort. “He will,” she promised, her voice soft but resolute. “Acacius will return, because his heart belongs to you now, and nothing will keep him away.”

You couldn’t bear the thought of a life without him. Ever since Acacius had shown you kindness, the warmth his love could offer, he had filled the hollow spaces in your heart. You had become addicted to him, to the gentle way he would brush a stray hair from your face, to the force of his arms around your waist when the weight of the world threatened to crush you.

Before Acacius, your life had been a series of obligations and sacrifices, each day blending into the next in a monotonous cycle of duty you didn’t choose. But then he appeared, his unwavering loyalty and quiet strength breaking through the walls you had built around yourself. He had finally seen you as a woman with dreams, fears, and a desperate need for freedom.

You and Lucilla remained in a heavy silence, the weight of your shared worries filling the space of the room. The warmth of her hand on yours felt protective as never before.

A servant entered the room, bowing respectfully before addressing Lucilla. "My lady, Emperor Geta has requested your presence."

Lucilla shook her head, her voice firm yet calm. "Later," she said, unwilling to let the fragile moment between you both be shattered.

The servant hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before speaking again. "No, not you, my lady. Her." His gaze flicked toward you, and the room seemed to grow colder.

Lucilla’s hand tightened on yours, her expression hardening as she closed her eyes briefly, understanding the implications of Geta’s request. She knew this moment would come, had dreaded it ever since Acacius left for battle. Geta’s twisted fascination with you was no secret to her to you, neither to Acacius. That was the reason of your marriage after all, him providing protection from him.  She feared what it meant now that Acacius was no longer there to shield you.

"Stay calm," she whispered, her eyes opening to meet yours with a shining light. "I will do everything in my power to protect you. Remember, you are stronger than you think."

Her words were meant to reassure, but the unease in her voice betrayed her true fear. You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage as you stood. The servant’s eyes avoided yours, his discomfort evident as he waited to escort you.

With one last squeeze of your mother’s hand, you followed the servant, each step feeling heavier than the last. The shadow of Geta loomed over you, his intentions clear and menacing. But even as dread settled in your chest, you clung to Lucilla’s words and the hope that Acacius would return, his promise lighting a fragile spark in the darkness.

The quiet of the palace gardens was only broken by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmurs of servants. Emperor Geta was sitting on the stone bench, perhaps trying to gather his thoughts, when he noticed your presence. He turned around to face you, his golden robe gleamed faintly under the pale light of the sun, and there was an intensity in his eyes that unsettled you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he accused you, his voice carried yearning and longing. “I understand why, but I needed to see you. To speak to you.”

You stayed silent, your gaze fixed on the ground. His presence was overwhelming, and the weight of everything he had done, and might still do, pressed heavily on you. Yet you knew there was no escaping this conversation.

Geta crouched before you, his piercing gaze softening as he studied your face. “You’ve always been kind, even when you had no reason to be. Even when I didn’t deserve it. That’s why I love you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Not because you are the princess of Rome, not because of your beauty or grace, but because you have a heart unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

You flinched slightly at his words, unsure how to respond. “Emperor Geta,” you began hesitantly, “I’m your prisoner and my heart belongs-“

“To General Acacius,” he interrupted, bitterness creeping into his tone. “Yes, I know. But does he truly deserve it? Does he love you as I do? Does he see you for who you are?” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and cupped your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I would give you everything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “The empire, my loyalty, my life… I would burn the empire for you.”

You felt a lump in your throat as his words echoed in the morning. His words were both a confession and a threat, a reminder of the power he wielded and the danger that came with it. Before you could move away, he leaned closer, his forehead briefly resting against yours as if seeking solace.

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around you in an embrace. It wasn’t harsh or demanding, it was almost tender coming from him. But the closeness made your heart race with fear. His lips hovered near your ear as he spoke again, his voice low and possessive. “You were made for me. There is not marriage, no power that can change that.”

Before you could respond, you felt the sharp sting of his teeth against your shoulder. It was a claim. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and wild, and you could see the faint trace of blood on his lips.

“That mark,” he said, his voice steadier now, “will remind you that you are mine, no matter what. Even if you deny it, even if you run to Acacius, you will carry me with you.”

You stared at him, horrified and furious, your hand instinctively going to your shoulder. The pain was sharp, and you knew the wound would scar, a permanent reminder of his obsession.

“You’re mad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with fear “This isn’t love, Geta. This is control. And I will never belong to you.”

His expression flickered, as though your words had struck a nerve. But the defiance in your voice didn’t deter him. Instead, he straightened, his composure returning. “You may hate me now, but time will change that. You’ll see,” he said softly, almost as if convincing himself. “One day, you’ll understand.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone under the light of the sun, that now seemed to disappear.  Your hand remained pressed against your shoulder, the wound throbbing painfully against your fingertips.

Your gown clung to your shoulder, damp with the blood running from the bite Geta had inflicted. The metallic smell lingered in the air, and the dull throb of the wound made your steps falter as you returned to the villa. You wrapped a shawl tightly around yourself, hoping to conceal the evidence of what had transpired.

The flickering lamplight in the villa's corridors cast long shadows as you entered quietly, your heart pounding in your chest. You prayed no one would notice your state. But as you made your way toward your chambers, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Daughter?” Lucilla’s voice was soft but carried a tone of concern. She had emerged from her own chambers, her sharp eyes immediately taking in your pale face, the stiffness of your movements, and the crimson stain slowly seeping through your shawl.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re distressed. What happened?”

You shook your head, attempting to brush past her. “It’s nothing. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

But Lucilla was relentless. She reached out and gently pulled at the shawl covering your shoulder. “Let me see,” she insisted, her voice tinged with a maternal sternness that left no room for argument.

You hesitated, swallowing hard, but the look in her eyes left you no choice. Slowly, you loosened the shawl, revealing the blood-soaked fabric of your gown and the angry bite mark on your shoulder.

Lucilla gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “What in the gods’ name happened to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to find the words. “It was Geta,” you whispered hoarsely. Regretting the words you had throwing at her earlier, “He... he bit me. He said I was his. That I would never truly belong to anyone else.”

Lucilla’s face hardened, horror contorting her features. “That monster,” she hissed, her voice trembling with anger. “He’s lost his mind. He has no right to lay a hand on you- no right at all!”

She took your hand, guiding you firmly toward your chambers. “We need to clean this wound before it festers,” she said, her voice now brisk and focused.

You followed her silently, the weight of the revelation pressing heavily on your shoulders. The pain from the bite throbbed with each step, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside you. Lucilla’s grip on your hand was firm, a silent promise of protection despite everything that had transpired between you.

Once inside your chambers, she set about gathering water and cloths, her movements efficient and practiced. She didn’t speak, but the tension in the air was palpable, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. You sat down, your hands trembling as you tried to steady yourself.

Lucilla knelt beside you, gently peeling back the fabric of your gown to get a better look at the wound. Her expression darkened at the sight of the raw, inflamed skin. "This will sting," she murmured, dipping a cloth into the water and pressing it against the bite.

You winced, biting back a cry as the cool water met the tender flesh. "He said I could never escape him," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "That no matter what, I would always be his."

Lucilla’s hand paused for a moment before resuming her careful cleaning. "You are not his," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "You are your own person. No one has the right to claim you, especially not in such a barbaric way."

You observed her, focused on mending your wound with such caring.

“Was it worth it?” you asked.

Lucilla’s hands stilled, her eyes momentarily closing as if the weight of your question struck her deeply. When she opened them again, her gaze was heavy with emotion.

She set the cloth aside and sat back on her heels, her hands resting in her lap. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best, what would keep you safe. I believed that Acacius could protect you in ways I could not. He brings the glory they lack of and-"

Her eyes met yours, the pain in them reflecting your own. "But I never anticipated this. I never thought Geta would..." She trailed off, her voice faltering as she fought to find the words. "I wanted to shield you from the dangers of this world, from the cruel games of men like him. I thought I was giving you a chance at something better, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing heavily on your heart. "But it didn’t stop him," you whispered, the bitterness and sorrow mixing in your voice. "Even with Acacius by my side, he still came after me."

Lucilla’s expression crumpled, her composure breaking as tears filled her eyes. "I failed you," she admitted, her voice cracking with the weight of her guilt. “I should have sent you and Lucius away.”

Her words hung in the air, a heavy confession that seemed to echo through the silence of the room. You felt a pang of sadness at the mention of your brother, the thought of him bringing back memories of simpler, happier times.

"You wanted to protect us," you said softly, your voice trembling as you tried to console her. "You did what you thought was best."

Lucilla shook her head, her tears falling freely now. "I thought keeping you close would be safer, that I could shield you from the worst of it. But I underestimated him, underestimated the depths of his cruelty." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "Sending you away might have spared you from this... this nightmare."

You reached out, placing a hand over hers. "We can’t change the past," you said, your voice steadier now.

As you held her hand, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, making the room spin. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the sensation only intensified. Your grip on Lucilla’s hand tightened involuntarily.

Lucilla’s eyes widened in concern as she noticed your pallor. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with worry. "You’re pale."

You nodded weakly, though the dizziness persisted. "It’s nothing," you murmured, attempting to downplay it. "It’s been happening lately... just moments of dizziness. They pass."

Her brows furrowed with worry, and she guided you to sit down, her hands firm on your shoulders. "You’ve been pushing yourself too hard," she said, her tone gentle but insistent. "Rest now. I’ll send for the healer."

You wanted to protest, to assure her that you were fine, but the fatigue and the weight of everything that had happened made it hard to argue. With a reluctant nod, you allowed her to help you lie down, her concern evident in every movement.

"Promise me you’ll tell me if it gets worse," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "We can’t afford to ignore this."

"I will," you whispered, the heaviness of your eyelids pulling you into a restless sleep, Lucilla’s soothing presence the last thing you felt as you drifted off.

The moon casted a pale glow across the courtyard as Acacius rode back into the Villa. His horse’s hooves echoed softly against the stone pathway, a familiar sound that had once brought comfort. Now, with the weight of the world pressing down on him, it only seemed to remind him of the uncertainty and chaos that had taken hold of everyone he cared about.

As he dismounted, he glanced toward the fountain where Lucilla was tending to the delicate flowers growing around its edge. The peacefulness of the moment, in stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him, caught him off guard. His breath caught in his throat when Lucilla looked up, a soft smile appearing on her lips despite the weariness in her eyes.

"Acacius," she said warmly, her voice filled with relief as she walked toward him. Before he could say anything, she closed the distance between them and enveloped him in a tight hug. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, the familiar embrace both comforting and bittersweet.

"I’ve missed you," Lucilla murmured against his chest. "We’ve all been worried."

Acacius hesitated for a moment, then slowly returned the hug, the feeling of her presence grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. The tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen, but only slightly. He pulled back, searching her face for answers, as if he could find some peace in her expression.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. His eyes flicked to the passages of the place, his heart racing at the thought of seeing you again.

Lucilla sighed softly, her expression softening with concern. "She’s asleep," she said gently. "She’s been resting a lot today."

“I need to see her.” Acacius said.

Lucilla placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from moving toward the door. "She’s asleep, Acacius. She needs rest more than anything right now," she said, her tone firm but caring. "Let her sleep, please. You’ve been gone too long. You need to eat something first. You’re no good to her if you’re running on empty."

Acacius clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering toward your chambers once again. "It doesn’t matter," he said, determination in his voice. "I’ll see her now."

Lucilla’s hand tightened on his arm; her voice soft but insistent. "Please, Acacius. For her sake, you need to rest too. She’ll be fine. I’ll wake her once she’s had some rest."

He looked at her, torn between the urge to be with you and the concern for your well-being that Lucilla had so clearly expressed. The room was heavy with unspoken words, the tension between what he wanted and what was best for you both almost too much to bear.

“No. I have to see her first.” He said, walking towards where you were.

The door creaked softly as Acacius entered your chamber, his heart pounding in his chest as the longing and concern filled his. The room was dimly lit by the fading light of the moon, casting soft shadows across the bed where you lay, still deep in sleep.

He moved quietly toward you, his steps light, careful not to wake you. His gaze softened as he looked at you, taking in the way your body relaxed under the weight of exhaustion, your face serene in a peaceful slumber. The sight of you brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, and without thinking, he sat down beside you on the bed.

His hand hovered for a moment before gently caressing your face, the touch tender and filled with affection. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your cheek, as if he could somehow erase the pain and hardship, you’d endured His thumb brushed over your skin, a silent apology for everything that had happened, for everything he hadn't been able to prevent.

He observed you. He watched over you memorizing every inch of a face he had missed you for weeks.

He lived for you, breathe for you.

At the touch, you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open slowly, the fog of sleep still clouding your mind. For a moment, your gaze was unfocused, as though you weren’t fully aware of where you were or who was beside you. Your eyes met his, but there was a distant look in them, as if your mind was still caught somewhere between the dream world and reality.

Acacius held his breath, his heart aching as he watched you struggle to fully wake. "It’s me," he whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath. "I’m here."

But before he could say more, your eyes fluttered closed again, and you drifted back into a deeper sleep, your breathing slow and steady.

A soft chuckle escaped him. He leaned closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face as he whispered to you, his words meant only for your ears.

"Rest, my love," he murmured, his voice full of emotion. "I’m back.”

+++++++++++++++++++

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. The air felt fresh, the quiet stillness of dawn wrapping itself around you like a gentle embrace. You slowly stirred, the remnants of a dream still lingering at the edges of your mind. For a moment, everything felt hazy, like the lines between the real and the imagined were blurred.

As your eyes fluttered open, you felt the comforting weight of warmth beside you, and a soft breath against your skin. For a heartbeat, you thought it was just another dream. Your mind was still foggy, the night’s turmoil and the strange sense of peace from the past few hours making it difficult to separate reality from the dreamworld.

But then, as your gaze shifted, you saw him.

Acacius was there, lying beside you, his presence so real, so tangible that it almost hurt. His features were softer in the morning light, his expression calm and peaceful as he slept. His hair fell in gentle waves around his face, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was a reminder that he was truly here.

You blinked, unsure whether this moment was part of your dream or if you had truly woken up to find him next to you. The feeling in your chest, the warmth, the weight of his presence, it was so vivid that it seemed too perfect to be real.

You slowly shifted, sitting up slightly, careful not to disturb him. Your hand reached out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from his face. The touch was soft, hesitant, as if you were afraid, he might vanish like a dream upon waking.

But he didn’t. His warmth was solid, his breath steady, and as your fingers lingered near his skin, you realized with a rush of relief that he was truly there. You felt the tightness in your chest ease, the anxiety that had plagued you for so long slowly dissipating in the comfort of his presence.

Acacius shifted slightly, his eyes opening slowly, and when they met yours, they were filled with warmth, tenderness, and something more, something deeper.

"You’re awake," he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep but filled with a soft affection that made your heart flutter.

You nodded, still taking in the reality of the moment, still unsure whether you were dreaming or not. "I... I thought you were just part of a dream," you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath.

“I came to see you last night, but you didn’t truly see me” he smiled softly at you.

Your smile widened; he mirrored your smile. It made your heart swell. You were overwhelmed by the certainty that he was real, that he was here, and that this was not just another fleeting dream.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, pulling him toward you. The space between you shrank with every heartbeat, and before either of you could say another word, your lips met his.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle testing of the waters, but the emotions swirling inside you, the love, the longing, the relief, soon poured into it. It deepened, quickening, both of you unable to hold back the fervor that had been building for so long. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as if you couldn’t bear the distance between you.

Acacius responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you to him with the same urgency. His kiss was filled with the same passion, his hands tracing the lines of your back, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace as if you were the one thing that anchored him in this world.

You broke the kiss slowly, your forehead resting against his neck as you both breathed heavily, your heart racing. You lifted your head, looking at him into his eyes, searching for the same love dancing on them.

"I’ve missed you," you whispered, your voice shaky with the intensity of your feeling. “I’m glad you are back.”

Acacius's eyes softened as he gazed at you, the smile still lingering on his lips, but there was a quiet intensity now as he studied you more closely. "Last night, you didn't even see me," he chuckled, his voice low and full of affection. "Why are you so tired?" His gaze lingered on your face, searching for an explanation, a hint of concern creeping into his words.

But before you could answer, his eyes drifted to your shoulder, and the lighthearted smile faded instantly. His hand reached out gently, brushing aside the fabric of your gown to reveal the angry bite mark on your skin. His breath caught, his face contorting with anger as he traced the wound with his fingertips, his touch almost sacred.

"What... what is this?" His voice was a whisper, edged with disbelief and a growing fury. "Who did this to you?"

You winced slightly at the touch, but it wasn’t from pain, but from the overwhelming flood of emotions that rushed through you at his reaction. You were ashamed.

 "It’s... from Geta," you said softly, your voice trembling as the memory of that night flooded back. "He... he bit me.”

Acacius’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he clenched his fists. He pulled his hand away from your shoulder, his gaze never leaving the wound as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Geta..." he growled, his voice low and filled with contempt. "That animal."

You swallowed, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of the situation settled on you. "It’s nothing," you tried to reassure him, but the words felt hollow. "It’s just a bite. I’ll be fine."

But Acacius wouldn’t be soothed so easily. He leaned closer, his hands gently cupping your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It’s not just a bite," he said firmly, his voice steady but full of determination. "You’re not just a victim of his games, and I won’t let you be."

His thumb traced the line of your cheek, his expression softening with an intensity that took your breath away. "I will make sure this never happens again," he promised, his voice low and filled with an unspoken vow.

Acacius's words hung in the air, carrying a promise as his hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. Without a word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that seemed to erase some of the heaviness in your heart. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if grounding you in the warmth of his protection, before he moved to kiss your temple, his touch both gentle and filled with an overwhelming tenderness.

Each kiss was a quiet declaration of his love, his need to soothe the pain and the fear that had taken root in your heart. His lips trailed down your cheek, the soft pressure of each kiss igniting a calmness in you, a sense of safety that had been lacking during his absence. As he kissed your nose, your eyelids, your cheeks, his touch was soft and reverent, like he was willing to erase every trace of hurt you had face.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," he whispered against your skin, his breath warm as it fanned across your face. "I’ll be here. Always."

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, the overwhelming emotions of relief and love flooding through you as you closed your eyes, letting him soothe your pain. You weren’t his to fix but you were his to love.

The way he kissed you with such care, it was as if he was healing not just the physical wound, but the deeper, hidden scars.

As he kissed your lips, a soft, lingering touch, you finally opened your eyes to meet his once more. His gaze was full of such raw emotion, as though he, too, was feeling the depth of the moment.

"I love you," he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll do anything to keep you safe, to keep you whole."

He knew the plan he had under his hands. He would free Rome from the tyranny and free you from the fear.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the announcer introduced the key figures present at the Colosseum. The names of the emperors, Geta and Caracalla, echoed through the massive arena, met with cheers and restrained applause. Then came Lucilla's name, and the reaction was thunderous.

"Lucilla, the beloved daughter of Rome!"

The cheers were wild, a wave of adoration sweeping through the crowd. People stood, clapping and calling her name, their admiration evident in every gesture. You watched as Lucilla stood gracefully, acknowledging the crowd with a serene smile, her presence commanding the space in a way that only she could.

Your eyes flicked to Acacius, who was seated beside you. His gaze lingered on Lucilla, a soft, unreadable expression on his face. Admiration, respect... perhaps something more?

Your thoughts were threatening to betray you again, after the accident with emperor geta not even Acacius’ reassurance could take you away from that dark place of your mind.  

The thought clawed at you, your chest tightening painfully. You tried to look away, but the image was seared into your mind: the way his lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the way his eyes seemed to curse you.

Acacius was holding your hand, tightly but your skin felt empty. A cold wave of detachment washed over you. The cheers around you became distant, muffled, as though you were underwater. Your heart felt heavy, your thoughts spiraling into the possibility that you had been wrong all along.

Had he chosen you, or had he simply settled for you?

You were lost in the haze, barely registering the sound of the announcer continuing the introductions. It wasn't until you heard your name being called that the fog lifted.

"And now, the princess of Rome, our General Acacius' beloved wife!"

The crowd clapped politely, but it was nothing compared to the ovation Lucilla had received. You blinked rapidly, startled back into the present. Acacius had turned to you, his hand still touching yours.

"Are you all, right?" he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His brows knitted with concern as he studied your face.

You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "I'm fine," you replied, the lie slipping easily from your lips.

Acacius' gaze lingered, his frown deepening slightly, but he said nothing more. He turned his attention back to the arena, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as though to reassure you.

But the seed of doubt had been planted, and no matter how tightly he held onto you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he might not truly be yours.

You weren’t naive, nor blind to the reality of the world you had grown up in. The web of alliances and betrayals, the quiet manipulations cloaked in love and duty, those were woven into the very fabric of your existence.

And now, here you were, seated beside Acacius in the Colosseum, as the echoes of Lucilla's name still hung in the air. You couldn’t stop the twisting knot in your stomach. The way Acacius had looked at her earlier, the subtle warmth in his eyes, wasn’t something you could ignore.

You weren’t stupid. You had always known there was a past between your mother and Acacius, a bond that ran deeper than either of them cared to admit aloud. They might have buried it under the guise of duty, but you saw the shadows of it, lingering in their words, in their looks.

This wasn’t just about the admiration Acacius showed Lucilla in the public eye or the respect the people of Rome gave her. It was about how every move seemed calculated, as though Lucilla had once again positioned herself as the center of the narrative. And you? You were a mere piece on the board, trapped by the choices made to “protect” you, thrown into a marriage that sometimes felt like a gilded cage.

Your mind raced. Were you just another pawn in a game of power, destined to be discarded when your use was up? A part of you feared that Lucilla had orchestrated this entire situation, not to protect you, but to ensure Acacius stayed close, tethered to her orbit under the guise of protecting her daughter.

How Geta looked at you as if he owned you.

The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re unusually quiet today," Acacius said beside you, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“I’m just… thinking,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, avoiding his intense gaze for a moment.

Acacius shifted closer, his presence radiating the strength you so desperately needed right now. “Thinking about what?” His tone was soft, but there was a sharpness in it, the concern for you evident beneath the calm surface.

You hesitated, biting your lip as the image of Geta’s cold eyes lingered in your mind and sitting just centimeters from you. "How he looks at me," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like he owns me. Like I’m a possession."

Acacius’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening as if he were struggling to keep his emotions in check. "He will never own you," he whispered for yourself to hear, his hand gently grasping yours. “You belong to no one but yourself.”

Before you could respond, the distant sounds of the gladiators preparing for the fight reached your ears, shouting commands. The world outside seemed to snap back into focus, the heavy air now filled with tension as Acacius’s duty called to him.

His hand lingered on yours, but there was a palpable shift in the air between you. The intensity of the moment, the weight of his words, and the fear of what might come next made everything feel suddenly fragile. For a heartbeat, you wished you could stay suspended in this moment, untouched by the chaos that was about to unfold.

Your attention also shifted to the arena, where the clash of steel and the roar of the crowd filled the air. A single gladiator stood out among the combatants, his movements precise, calculated, almost effortless. Something about him felt oddly familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory.

He moved with a grace you’d only seen in a few, his strikes landing with deadly accuracy, his stance reminiscent of a soldier rather than a slave. The sun caught the sharp lines of his face for a moment, and for a moment, your breath hitched.

It couldn’t be.

The gladiator turned slightly, and you swore you could see the faint scar across his cheek, the same scar you remembered tracing with your finger once, years ago. Just as he used to do it with yours, the one you had just above your eyebrow.

It can’t be Lucius.

Your heart raced as you sat frozen, unable to look away. What was he doing here? Why was he in the arena, fighting for his life as if he were no more than a pawn for entertainment?

"Are you all, right?" Acacius asked, leaning closer to you, his tone concerned.

You barely heard him, your focus entirely on the gladiator. The crowd erupted in cheers as he disarmed his opponent, standing victorious in the center of the arena. His chest rose and fell heavily, but his gaze lifted, scanning the crowd as if searching for someone.

When his eyes met yours, the recognition wasn’t there, but you feel in your heart.

He didn’t smile, didn’t falter, but you could see the fire in his eyes, the defiance, the unspoken words that passed between you in that fleeting moment. He was here for a reason and it wasn’t just surviving.

The ride back to the villa was suffocating. The echoes of the crowd’s cheers and the clash of steel still lingered in your ears, but your thoughts were consumed by Lucius. You had barely spoken a word since leaving the Colosseum, and Acacius, sensing your unease, remained silent beside you.

Your mother, seated across from you, attempted to meet your gaze, but you kept your eyes focused on the window. The weight of the day pressed down on you, and exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

When you finally arrived at the villa, you stepped out of the carriage without a word. The evening air was cool, but it did little to soothe the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t wait for anyone, heading straight to your chambers, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls.

Acacius called your name softly as you walked away, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t face him. Not now.

Once inside your room, you shut the door and leaned against it, the tension in your body finally breaking as you slid to the floor. You felt tears prick your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not yet.

Instead, you crawled to the bed, too drained to even remove your sandals. You climbed under the covers, pulling them tightly around you as if they could shield you from the storm inside your head.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and though the weight of the day lingered in your chest, sleep began to claim you. The last thing you heard was the faint creak of the door opening and quiet footsteps entering the room.

Acacius.

He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t have the strength to look at him. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat beside you. A warm hand rested lightly on your shoulder, and his thumb brushed against the fabric of your sleeve.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low, filled with a quiet worry.

+++++++++

The night was quiet as you walked through the villa, your footsteps muffled on the stone floors. The house felt empty despite the people inside, the silence pressing in on you. When you stepped into the garden, the cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did little to calm the restless thoughts swirling in your mind.

It was there, among the shadows of the tall, ancient trees, that you saw them. Acacius and your mother, Lucilla, standing close together, speaking in hushed tones. Their words were soft, but you could feel the weight of the conversation, the tension between them thick enough to be felt even from where you stood. Acacius’s hand hovered just above Lucilla’s arm, his posture protective, and though their expressions were unreadable, there was something in the way they stood together that felt... familiar. Too familiar.

A sharp pang of jealousy gnawed at your chest, but you didn’t dare move closer. Instead, you turned silently on your heel and walked back to your chambers.

You couldn’t bear to stay in that room any longer, not with the questions swirling in your mind, not when you felt so abandoned in the very space that should’ve been your refuge. Without a second thought, you grabbed a cloak and threw it over your shoulders, the fabric billowing softly as you exited the villa once more.

The air outside the villa was cool and quiet as you slipped through the shadows, your heart pounding with each step. The guards were focused elsewhere, their attention scattered by the faint buzz of the city. The path to the gladiator quarters was one you had never taken before, but your determination pushed you forward.

When you reached the holding area, the scent of sweat and iron filled the air. Lanterns flickered dimly, casting long shadows on the walls. The clinking of chains and low murmurs from the gladiators made your stomach churn, but you pressed on.

Hanno, you were told his name was.

But in your heart, he was Lucius.

You spotted him immediately. His broad back was turned to you, his head bowed as he held something in his hands. The sight of him like this inside this cell, broke your heart.

Taking all your courage, you stepped forward. “Hanno.”

He didn’t look up. “What now? You people love seeing prisoners like this, don’t you?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but held your ground. “I’m not here to gawk. I’m here to talk.”

He finally turned; his sharp features illuminated by the lantern’s glow. His eyes locked onto yours, cold and untrusting at first.

He stood in front of a prisoner dressed in gold, not knowing the story interlocked between you both.

You said nothing, frozen under his piercing stare.

Hanno stood slowly, his presence sent shivers down your spine, you didn’t fear him but the possibility of him being your beloved brother.

Hanno’s eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, his stance growing more rigid. The silence between you felt thick, charged with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low and clipped, filled with suspicion. “Are you the general’s wife?” His words were sharper than the chill in the night air, and they stung like a slap.

You held your ground, refusing to be intimidated, though your pulse quickened at the mention of Acacius. The tension between you and Hanno was palpable, and yet you could sense something else, something more.

“I’m not here for him” you said, your voice steady but quieter than you intended. “I’m here to see the gladiators. To make sure they’re well.”

Hanno scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “You think they deserve your pity? These men? You’re nothing more than a part of this twisted game, just like the rest of them.” His words hit like a blow, but you didn’t flinch, though they stung nonetheless.

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to the guards who watched from the shadows, before turning back to you with disdain.

“You wear their pain like a cloak, but you’re not one of them,” he spat. “You’re just another piece of property, owned by the man you married. Don’t pretend you’re anything else. You can’t fool me. You-”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes catching on something above your eyebrow. His gaze sharpened, his face shifting from scorn to recognition. His expression faltered slightly, and he took a step closer, his attention now focused entirely on the scar.

“That scar…” he whispered, his voice faltering. “No. It can’t be...”

You said nothing, frozen under his voice.

The world seemed to slow as your heart raced. You had never told anyone about it, not in years. It was a relic of another time, another life before this one, before the crown, before Acacius.

Hanno’s eyes widened, his hand rising instinctively toward your face, as if drawn by some invisible thread.

“Your name is Lucius Velarius,” Tears welled in your eyes as you spoke “You’re the brother to a siste who is stand in front of you right now, hoping that’s is you.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to convince himself you were real. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his rough hands trembling as they held you., You could hardly breathe, the weight of the revelation pressing down on you. The realization came slowly, but it hit you hard, like a hammer to the chest.

Your brother.

His eyes softened as the truth sank in, and for the first time in years, you saw the hint of a smile tug at his lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the scar on your face, as if confirming you were truly there, truly the same person he had once known. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“I thought you were dead” you replied, your throat tight with emotion.

You clung to him, your tears soaking into his tunic. “I thought I would never see you again.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders as he studied your face. “Why are you here? This is no place for someone like you.”

“I had to see you,” you replied, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t stand not knowing if it was really you.”

Lucius’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening. “You shouldn’t have come. If they find you here-”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “You’re my brother, and I won’t abandon you.”

His eyes softened again, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders. “Then we have much to talk about, sister.”

+++++++++++++

Lucius sat down heavily on a wooden bench, wincing as he shifted his weight. The dim light of the small cell barely illuminated the fresh gashes and bruises marring his skin. Your hands trembled as you dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, wringing it out before gently pressing it against a cut on his shoulder.

He hissed in pain, but you didn’t stop. “Hold still,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “These need to be cleaned, or they’ll get infected.”

Lucius watched you closely, his gaze flickering between your face and the careful movements of your hands. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

“And you shouldn’t be fighting for their entertainment,” you shot back, your eyes narrowing. “But here we are.”

He let out a dry chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince. “You’ve grown sharper since we last saw each other.”

“You left me no choice,” you replied, dabbing at a particularly deep cut. “I had to learn how to survive without you.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of water dripping back into the bowl. Lucius finally spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You know it wasn’t my choice.”

You paused, your hands stilling as his words sank in. “You never tried to come back.”

“I would be dead.” he admitted, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, resuming your work. “But you are not.”

His hand reached up, catching yours and stilling your movements. “But what about you?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “What have they done to you?”

You hesitated, the question cutting deeper than any blade. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, avoiding his gaze. “What matters is getting you out of here.”

Lucius’s grip on your hand tightened. “And how do you plan to do that? These people… they don’t let anyone go, not without a price.”

“Then I’ll pay it,” you said, meeting his eyes with determination. “Whatever it takes, I’ll free you, Lucius.”

He stared at you for a long moment, “You’ve always been stubborn,” he said with a small, bittersweet smile.

“And you’ve always underestimated me,” you replied, dabbing at his wounds one last time.

Lucius's gaze softened as he watched you work, the rough edges of his hardened exterior beginning to crack just slightly. There was something in the way you spoke, the quiet determination in your voice that made him believe, if only for a fleeting moment, that maybe, just maybe, you could change the outcome of his life.

+++++++++

The trip back to the villa was a blur, your mind heavy with the thoughts of Lucius, and the promise you had made to him. As you arrived at the villa, the sight of the grand stone walls did little to ease the tension in your chest. You couldn’t stay in that cell forever, and you knew there would be consequences for what you’d just done.

Inside, the quiet stillness of the villa seemed to press in on you. You didn’t want to face Acacius, not after everything. Not after what had just happened with Lucius, with the way he had looked at you and spoken to you, reminding you of the bond you shared, the family that had once been torn apart.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Acacius was waiting for you in the courtyard, his broad figure standing against the fading light of day, the tension in his posture unmistakable. His eyes, dark and intense, followed you as you walked toward him. You could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical presence.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice edged with something sharp, something that wasn’t just concern. It was frustration. Maybe anger. You didn’t know anymore.

“I’m not here to discuss time, Acacius,” you replied, your voice cooler than you intended, but the fight in your chest was growing.

He stepped forward, his expression tightening. “Where were you?”

“Out, taking a walk,” you said bluntly, not willing to sugarcoat it.

Acacius’s eyes flashed with anger, and before you could even process it, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm with an intensity that caught you off guard. “Where?” he asked, his voice low but simmering with rage. “What were you thinking?”

You yanked your arm back, glaring at him. “What does it matter to you?” The words escaped before you could stop them, frustration bubbling over. “You were busy with my mother, right?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening at your words. His hand dropped from your arm, but the tension between you both was thick. "That's not the point," he said, his voice colder now. "The point is, you didn't come to me. You didn't think to tell me where you were going, what you were doing. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to go off on your own, especially with everything going on? After what Geta did to you?"

His anger was palpable, but so was the hurt. You could see it in the way his fists clenched at his sides, the way he stared at you as if you were slipping away from him, slipping away from the bond you shared. It was clear to him that there was something more, something deeper happening, and he didn’t know how to reach you in this moment.

He stepped closer, his breath coming quicker now, trying to seem calm, maybe even desperate, hidden behind the harshness of his words. "I care because I love you," he said, his voice low, almost broken. "Even when I’m angry.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, the raw honesty of his words piercing through the fog of anger that had clouded your mind. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come.

"I don't need your love, Acacius," you said finally, the words slipping out more bitter than you intended, making up a lie you didn’t believe “Your love made me weak, Acacius.”

Acacius froze, his face going pale as your words cut through him like a dagger. The air between you both seemed to freeze, his body stiffening as if the words had physically wounded him. For a long moment, neither of your spoke, the only sound in the room was the heavy, labored breathing from both of you.

His voice trembled when he spoke again. "You think I made you weak?" He took a slow step toward you, his eyes searching yours with disbelief and pain. "You think my love for you made you weak?"

You tried to steady your breath, but it caught in your throat. Your heart twisted painfully as you met his gaze, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the raw emotion that mirrored your own. But you held firm, even as your chest tightened with regret.

"Yes," you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain cold. "I had to rely on it. On you. And now..." You couldn’t finish your sentence, the words getting stuck. The truth you refused to admit was suffocating you.

Acacius didn’t move. His face was unreadable, but his eyes, those soft brown eyes that had once looked at you with so much tenderness were broken.

The moment you saw the tears fall from his eyes, something inside you shattered. The wall you had so carefully built around your heart crumbled, and you felt the weight of everything you’d been holding in, your fears, your anger, your pain, all come rushing to the surface. You had hurt him, and the sight of his vulnerability, of the pain in his eyes, made you feel like you were drowning.

"I didn’t mean it," you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth tumbled out of you. "It’s a lie... I’m sorry, Acacius. I didn’t mean it."

Before you even realized what you were doing, you stepped toward him, closing the distance between you, and kissed him. Your lips crashed against his with an urgency you couldn’t contain, as if trying to take back all the hurt, all the mistakes, in one breath. The kiss was desperate, frantic, and full of apologies you didn’t know how to say.

He couldn’t hold back, he kissed you back, his arms pulling you closer, his hands sliding into your hair. His kiss was full of relief, as if he had been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You broke the kiss reluctantly, your forehead resting against his as you tried to catch your breath. "I’m sorry," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know how to... how to deal with my jealousy.”

Acacius cupped your face, his eyes searching yours as if looking for the truth in them. "I love you. Only you." he said softly. "

“Show me.” You pleaded, “Show me how much you love me, Acacius.”

His hands were gentle, but there was an urgency in his touch that matched the racing of your heart. Acacius pulled you closer, his lips finding yours again, this time with a fiercer intensity, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The way he held you made everything else in the world fade away.

You circled your legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the warmth of his body press against yours. His arms were around you, steady and strong, and for a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had lifted. There was no war, no political schemes, no uncertainty, only the two of you, caught in a moment of raw, vulnerable truth.

Acacius broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "You have me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "In every way. I always have."

You could feel his heart pounding, matching the beat of your own. He held you tighter, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands roaming to places that made your breath hitch in your chest. "Show me," you whispered again, more desperately now, wanting to feel every piece of him, to bridge the gap between the broken parts of you both.

++++++++++++

The next morning, a summons arrived from Emperor Geta, delivered by one of his trusted attendants. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, though a sense of foreboding settled deep in your chest. As you entered the emperor’s hall, you were greeted with the sight of an opulent feast laid out on a long table, the scents of roasted meats and sweetened wine filling the air.

Geta stood at the head of the table, his expression warm but calculating. “Ah, the princess of Rome,” he said with a smile, gesturing for you to join him. “Come, sit. Let us enjoy the morning together.”

You hesitated before stepping forward, your gaze flicking to the feast. “Do you do this for all your prisoners?” you asked, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Geta laughed, a rich sound that echoed through the hall. “For you? Always.”

You took your seat cautiously, your back straight and your hands folded in your lap. Despite the lavish setting, there was no mistaking the undercurrent of tension in the room.

“I’ve heard some interesting tales,” Geta began, leaning back in his chair and studying you. “Stories about my dear princess sneaking into the gladiators’ quarters. Healing slaves, no less.” His eyes glittered with amusement and something darker.

Your stomach tightened, but you met his gaze steadily. “I didn’t realize compassion was a crime,” you said evenly.

Geta chuckled, pouring himself a goblet of wine. “Compassion? Is that what you call it?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Tell me, what’s going on? Why risk yourself for men who are nothing more than property? What would General Acacius say if he knew his wife was spending her nights in such unsavory company?”

Your heart raced, but you kept your expression calm. “Acacius has no reason to doubt me,” you said carefully.

Geta swirled the wine in his goblet. “How noble. But I wonder... is there more to this than you’re letting on?”

You forced a small smile, even as your hands tightened in your lap. “What could there possibly be, Emperor? I am simply doing what I can to ease the suffering of others.”

He watched you closely, as though searching for a crack in your armor. Finally, he leaned back with a sigh, his playful demeanor returning. “You are fascinating,” he said. “A woman of such fire and mystery. It is no wonder I love you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you maintained your composure. “I am married to General Acacius,” you reminded him firmly.

“And yet here you are, sitting with me,” he said with a smirk.

You said nothing, unwilling to give him more power over you.

The feast continued in strained silence, and though Geta’s attention remained fixed on you, you managed to deflect his probing questions. By the time the meal ended, you felt as though you had just survived a battle of your own.

As you left the hall, your mind raced with thoughts of Lucius. You couldn’t let Geta or anyone else discover the truth about his identity.

As the feast continued, Emperor Geta leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on you as you took a sip of the wine he had poured. The drink was sweeter than you expected, with an almost metallic tang that lingered on your tongue.

You set the goblet down, a faint unease creeping over you. Your head felt oddly heavy, as though the air around you had thickened. Still, you forced yourself to maintain your composure, unwilling to show any weakness in front of him.

“You seem quiet,” Geta remarked, his voice smooth and casual, but his eyes glimmered with something far more dangerous. “Is the wine not to your liking?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “It’s... fine,” you managed, though your voice sounded distant, even to yourself.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair as though satisfied. “Good. It’s a rare ancient. Fit for a princess such as yourself.”

A strange warmth spread through your limbs, dulling your senses. Your vision blurred slightly, the edges of the room softening. Alarm bells rang in your mind, but you pushed them aside, trying to focus on Geta’s voice as he continued to speak.

“I can see why Acacius is so fond of you,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “You have a way of captivating men, don’t you? Even ones who should know better.”

You clenched your hands beneath the table, willing yourself to stay upright. “If you have something to say, Emperor, say it,” you replied, though your voice wavered.

Geta’s smile widened, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I’ve said enough. The rest... well, time will tell.”

A wave of nausea hit you suddenly, and you reached for the table to steady yourself. Geta’s expression didn’t change, but you caught the faintest flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Perhaps the wine was too strong for you,” he said, feigning concern. “You should rest. Shall I have someone escort you back to the villa?”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to stand despite the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm you. “No... I can manage.”

He rose as well, stepping closer to you. His hand brushed your arm, the touch cold despite the heat radiating from your skin. “Take care, my dear,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

You pulled away, your heart pounding as you stumbled toward the door. The room spun around you, and each step felt like a battle. By the time you reached the villa, your body was trembling, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,”

Acacius whispered, his arms pulling you closer, cradling you against him.

“I’ve got you.”

+++++++++++

Tags 💌: (if you want to be removed feel free to tell me. I'm super shy when it comes to tags. By the way I couldn't tag everyone)

@greenwitchfromthewoods @joeldjarin @picketniffler @sptbear @bambisweethearts @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine

[wintersettled]

Here's a list of recs if you'd like to read somecomics about different batfam characters:

BRUCE WAYNE - Batman: Year One (1987) - Batman: The Long Halloween (1996) & Dark Victory (2000) - Batman: Knightfall Saga (1993) - Batman: No Man's Land Saga (1999)

SELINA KYLE - Catwoman (1989) - Catwoman (1993) - Catwoman: When in Rome - Catwoman: Selina's Big Score

DICK GRAYSON - Robin & Batman (2022) - Robin: Year One - The New Teen Titans (1980) - Nightwing (2016) #35-43 - Batman: Black Mirror

JASON TODD - Batman: The Cult - Batman: A Death in the Family (i dont actually care for this but i feel obligated to include it so here...) - Batman: Under the Red Hood - Robin Lives!

TIM DRAKE - Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying - Robin (1993) - Young Justice (1998)

CASSANDRA CAIN - Batgirl (2000) - Batgirl (2008) - Batgirl (2024) - Birds of Prey (2023) (which also includes Barbara!)

BARBARA GORDON - Batgirl: Year One - Black Canary/Oracle: Birds of Prey - Birds of Prey (1999) (especially Gail Simones run!!) - Suicide Squad (1987) #49-50

DAMIAN WAYNE - Batman and Robin (2011) - Robin: Son of Batman - Robin (2021) - The Boy Wonder - Batman & Robin (2023) (currently ongoing! imo this would be a good place to start reading since its happening right now so you can see it happen along with everyone else!)

DUKE THOMAS - Batman: Zero Year - We Are Robin - Batman & The Signal

HELENA BERTINELLI - Huntress: Year One - The Huntress (1989) - Batman/Huntress: Cry for Blood - Helena is also a character in birds of prey from issues #57-127 and a reocurring bat character in the 90s

STEPHANIE BROWN - Detective Comics #647-649 - Showcase '95 #5 - Robin (1993) #126-147 (steph has a ton of appearances in Robin 1993 so it would be good to read that for more or to look through her appearances on locg if you just want to read about her! these chapters are her as Robin.) - Batgirl (2009)

I haven't read a super large amount for every single one of them so disclaimer that some of the ones I mention here might not be their best! These are what I could think of but there are plenty more, especially as standalone issues, so if anyone sees this please mention more!! also, there are lots of comics that are questionable but this list was very much on the fly off the top of my head so i was kind of sat here with my head in my hands like 'god i need to give more than one jason todd comic dont i....' and this was all i could come up with that wasnt like.... a random detective comics issue idk

I'd also like to say these feature a lot of minis just for ease but there are a ton of really good guides available for these character -- imo a lot of Jason's best stuff is as Robin within tec and batman

[cripplecharacters]

What might be a good way to design a wheelchair in a medieval fantasy setting? The issues being that it seems to generally be a no-no to make a walking chair with legs as a wheelchair replacement, and the fact that terrain in that kinda setting is not all that friendly to wheelchairs, with dirt/mud paths, cobblestones, etc.

Hello, thank you for your ask! Please note I’m not a historian, just someone who’s done a lot of research. If anyone on Tumblr wants to add anything they know about the subject that I didn’t cover, feel free!

I’m going to start with the terrain before I get into the wheelchairs, and to start, a wheelchair can definently get over dirt and cobblestone. Even back before paved roads people needed smooth roads in order to transport carts, and even Rome had very well maintained cobbled roads in 300 A.D. to make transport as efficient as possible. There are, of course, uneaven or poorly maintained cobblestone paths, and those would certainly be an issue. If your story takes place in an area with uneaven stone roads, I’d recommend looking into manual hiking wheelchairs for design inspiration. Dirt paths shouldn’t pose as much of an issue either, unless they’re like covered in roots, plants, mounds, etc, but a well traveled dirt path should be packed well enough to not be an issue. Mud can pose an issue, but even dirt roads with hard-packed dirt from heavy foot traffic should have much more shallow puddles and less loose mud than regular loose dirt would. If your character likes in a particularly wet/rainy area I’d recommend looking into beach wheelchairs and manual all-terrain wheelchairs. Otherwise, your character should be fine on ancient roads! Now, onto ancient chairs.

The medieval ages span quite a long time, from the 5th century A.D. to the 14th century, and wheelchairs have been being created for that entire time. While many other disability aids were also being used during that time, I’m going to focus on wheelchairs and wheeled aids so I don’t make this too long, and because that’s what was asked. A quick note is that the first self propelled wheelchair was made by a watchmaker named Stephan Farffler in 1655 [pictured below], so if you want your character(s) to be able to propel themselves you’re going to have to take some creative liberties. [Note: Stephan’s chair was probably very useful for getting over uneaven terrain, with its three wheels and low center of gravity making it harder to tip.]

Records show that Greece was one of the first countries to develop wheeled-aids. The first instance of the Greeks using something similar can be found on a vase from 530 B.C. depicting a child on a bed with wheels being taken outside. Now there isn’t much surviving evidence of ancient Greek mobility aids, but there have been Greek temples found with both stairs and ramps, which imply people were being wheeled into temples fairly often [source]. There have also been vases imagining Triptolemus on a wheeled chair since 400 B.C., though it seems like imaginative work rather than something accessible to the public considering the chair doesn’t look like it could stand upright? But then again I’m not a historian and it’s possible a wealthy disabled person at the time took inspiration for what their chair would look like, or vise versa.

The first record of a wheelchair in China is found on a stone carving from 525 A.D. showing a wealthy man in a custom chair. For those with less money, records show they had been using wheelbarrows to transport disabled people since 200 A.D., and this form was definently more common for the average person who didn’t have money for a custom chair. [I unfortunately couldn’t find artwork depicting someone being carried in a wheelbarrow during this time, every picture I found was from the 1900’s and sooner, but feel free to look them up for inspiration.]

Wheelbarrows were then brought from China to Europe in the 12th century and were also used to transport people, as well as having the design changed.

In 1595 King Phillip II of Spain received the first clearly recorded wheelchair after becoming bedridden with gout. Unlike the other chairs it had the ability to have a reclining headrest and adjustable footrest. This chair was definently designed more for confort than practicality, as the king probably wouldn't need to travel any unkept roads like a poor person would.

Wheelchairs developed way more during the 18-19th centuries, and you can always look there for ideas if you want your character to be more independent.

I hope this was all helpful!

Mod Rot

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

night visit. l General Marcus Acacius

💔 a few ways to break your heart 💔

Summary:  he decided to show you your place

Warnings:  angst, knife, attempted rape, many bad words

A/N: sorry for these scribbles. I hope that despite everything you will stay with me.

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

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

When you heard the sound of hooves in the yard of your house, you felt uneasy. It was late and you weren't expecting guests, the appearance of someone could only mean that something bad had happened.

The commotion behind the door to your chamber lasted for some time and finally Caius appeared in the doorway, bowing low and declaring that General Acacius had arrived.

"Let him enter." you said, getting up from the ottoman.

Although your heart was glad at the sound of that name, a strange fear still crawled under your skin. After a moment, however, you saw the face of your beloved.

He was wearing a traveling cloak, and his furrowed brows meant that something was troubling him.

"Marcus! Good to see you." you said, approaching him and kissing his cheek, you immediately smelled the sweet scent of wine from him. "What brings you here at such a late hour? You were supposed to be at the feast with the senators and other politicians."

There was something strange about him. He didn't react to your greeting, he didn't hug you like he always did. 

The coat he took off landed on the table where the remains of your dinner were still resting. Marcus walked a few steps before answering anything.

"I was at the feast." he announced, his voice low and strangely dark. "And I came straight to you."

"That's nice, but I'm afraid I don't understand." you replied, folding your arms over your chest. "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe you'll tell me? Maybe you'll tell me your secrets, love?" eyes dark as night were watching you predatorily. Marcus took a few steps towards you, and you instinctively stepped back. "Senator Augustus had a lot to say about you."

You frowned. You knew this man perfectly. 

Augustus was like a slippery snake among other politicians, and every conversation with him was equal to a bite, the venom dulled the senses of the listeners, and he always achieved what he wanted.

"And what did he say?" you asked, although you already felt that it was nothing good. It couldn't be since Marcus was standing in front of you in such a state.

In a few steps he covered the distance between you, and you stepped back so abruptly that you hit your back against the chest of drawers standing behind you. A few candles fell and rolled on the floor.

"You had a good time in Rome when I was in the barracks last week, didn't you?" he hissed through clenched teeth "I didn't expect my woman to spread her legs in front of half of Rome. That she's no better than the cheapest prostitute. Augustus told me everything, love."

"You're talking nonsense!" you choked out, totally surprised, but also outraged by Marcus' words "You're drunk or crazy, or both! Did you believe him?"

"Senator Titus said the same thing."

"Because he's just as fake as Augustus! Marcus..." you placed your hands on his chest. You felt his heart pounding, how he breathed rapidly. "You know perfectly well that I love only you. I couldn't... Gods! I can't believe we're even talking about this!"

The flames of the torch were reflected in his angry gaze. Up until now, you knew that Marcus wouldn't hurt you, but at that moment, anything was possible.

"You don't seem convincing to me." he said finally, and you sensed a threat in his voice. "I think you might want to hide something from me... Maybe that you’re just a whore who..."

A muffled crack echoed through the room as you slapped him. Anger was already coursing through your veins. The man you loved not only hurt you, but also doubted your loyalty to him. This was madness!

"Get out of here. You're drunk!" you said, trying to hide the trembling in your voice.

However, when Marcus looked at you again, you felt like every one of his opponents must have felt. Fear almost paralyzed you.

Marcus was fast, much faster and stronger than you. He grabbed your arms tightly and pushed you against the wall, then pressed his whole body against you.

"I should have shown you your place a long time ago!" he growled, "I will not be the laughing stock of Rome, because my beloved is a whore! I will teach you humility and respect for me!"

"Marcus!" you groaned feeling how he violently began to pull up your robe, exposing your thighs.

You guessed what he wanted to do. There was only one way a man could show a woman his superiority. You couldn't let that happen. 

You loved him more than your life, but you didn't want him to humiliate you like that, you didn't want him to take you like a wild barbarian.

"I was too good to you, too understanding. I loved you and I thought you loved me too..." he babbled as his hands brutally spread your thighs apart "But it's over now. Do you hear me? You'll learn your place, love."

At the last moment, your outstretched hand caught one of the torches fixed in the wall and you struck Marcus with all your might. Sparks rained down on both of you, and he shielded his face, trying to keep them from getting into his eyes.

You took advantage of this and got out of your trap. You grabbed the knife lying on the table and moved away from Marcus, pointing the blade at him.

"Get out of here!" you shouted, tears glistening in your eyes "I don't want to see you here!"

Marcus turned around and looked at you with pity. "Do you think you can hurt me with this?" he sneered, looking at the blade.

Desperation led you to one possible decision. When you pointed the blade at you, Marcus' eyes widened.

"Give it to me..." he said, extending his hand toward you "You'll only hurt yourself..."

"I'd rather stab myself with a knife than let you do what you want to do!" you growled "How could you do this to me, Marcus?!"

"My love..."

"Augustus got furious because I rejected his advances in public, and you believed every word of that man!" you continued, fingers tightly clenching the handle. He noticed how your hands were shaking and didn't risk coming closer. "You believed him, not me!"

"But he..." he began uncertainly, but you interrupted him again.

"How dare you doubt my love and loyalty! I never gave you a reason to doubt it!"

The woman standing before him was extremely desperate, ready to do anything. You were ready to take your life to defend your honor.

"My love, my goddess..." Marcus' voice was almost soothing.

He whispered these words to you when you were tangled in the sheets, when he kissed your body tenderly. At that moment, however, they were arrowheads pointed at you.

"Get out of here! I don't want to see you anymore!"

Something strange flashed in his eyes. For a split second, you thought you saw your Marcus, your beloved, in that look. However, you didn't lower your blade. He took his cloak and quickly left, leaving you in total despair.

The blade fell from your hands and hit the floor as you slumped down, crying.

redemption : night visit. l General Marcus Acacius

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[11cupids-tarot11]

What can help your dreams ★Manifest☆ ?

1 -> 3

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Tarot Deck used: Garbage Pail Kids

Oracle Deck used : The Roast Iconic

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 1- The Devil, Six of Coins in Reverse, The Hanged Man

Oracle cards- "Billionaire: Are you hoarding wealth to fuel your King or Queen Baby dreams? Do not pass Go, do not collect a million dollars, don't even go to jail or pay taxes- think about doing some good and using your hoard to end WORLD HUNGER ALREADY!"

"Black Square: Apparently, you are only down for doing the bare minimum during an incredibly significant time to stand up and advocate for human rights. Drawing this card reminds you that your actions need to not be just performative, they must be based in real knowledge and include follow-through, both online and IRL (in real life). You don't have to be on the front lines, but at this point in history, you can't be silent either."

Hi my pile 1's 😭 I feel like it's been forever I hate being away from my blog for too long cause I start to miss y'all literally lol.

So anyways for your reading today I feel like Spirit is wanting to draw attention to maybe some addictions, self sabotage is what I heard while shuffling the cards. I feel this heavy energy of someone purposely messing up their own blessings in a way I feel like maybe someone's stuck in this very heavy energy but also not really doing anything about it? Like maybe you know something's not good for you, maybe it's a connection or even a job that's tiring you out, it's something along those lines but you just can't stop it, you know? I heard someone needs to do an energy cleanse! I heard take some time off. Maybe someone's drowning themselves in something like studying too much, there's something about over doing something. Someone could have very curly hair here.

So I'm hearing here someone should take the time off and do something fun, relax a little. I think there's a message here also of feeling like you haven't done enough of something and you're obsessing about it mentally a lot and spirit is saying just take a little break from it and endulg in something else, something that makes you happy and makes you feel like you, you know? Even if it's just taking a walk while listening to your favorite music or maybe reading your favorite book and watching your favorite movie, you know? So with the six of coins here I'm also getting a message of like you've worked really hard already and you've done a great job honestly it's okay to rest and not be perfect already already, Rome wasn't built in a day I'm hearing!

The hanged man is just confirmation you've definitely been making yourself sick and stuck by obsessing over this thing. I also feel like maybe you're stuck because spirit is wanting you to see things from a different perspective, like in my garbage pail kid tarot card Wacky Jacky is hanging and all stuck in a tree but while she's stuck she realizes she sees the world in a whole different perspective and it's then new ideas come to her. Approach your goal from a new angle!

I feel like someone here is also someone very important with a very hard position and that might be why you work so hard, you have a lot of pressure on you maybe. Take what resonates!

Hope you enjoyed this reading! Let me know, I love you and take care ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 2- Queen of Wands Reversed, Seven of Wands Reversed and Three of Cups.

Oracle cards- "Troll: Are you a Necessary Evil? Do you feel you must play Devil's Advocate? Or are you someone who hates themselves so much they feel they have to try to get others to feel the same way? If you answered "yes" to one or more of these questions, please seek help or therapy, or get a hobby."

"Bitch: Are you being a Bitch, or just making sure they can't take advantage of you? Stand up for yourself, but make sure you don't steamroll anyone in the process. Do no harm, but take no shit."

Hi pile 2's, hope you're doing amazing 🤩

So right off the bat I'm picking up shy energy lol, someone who's maybe more reserved or introverted. I don't want to say basically Spirit thinks you should be loud or more outgoing but I definitely think you'll go through a time period of weird energy and out of the ordinary situations happening that are forcing you out of your comfort zone. You might not get any more extroverted but I definitely do see branching out might help, sitting with your close friends and just letting yourself let loose or just enjoy the company. You might be someone who people look at and not get the big picture right away, like they have lots of accusations about you but you're kind of closed off so these accusations aren't 100% true because there's more to you than people know, you're just not the type to go and give yourself away that easily. You might be someone who prefers to keep a very close knit group of friends, I heard something about trust issues.

You could be petite, someone who doesn't look like they're very strong and that's what surprises everyone when you finally do show them you are indeed strong. You can be loud and extroverted too I think it's a choice to really be in this shell of yours, maybe it's what's comfortable and that's exactly the problem, when we're too comfortable we don't see the point in changing. Like why fix it if it isn't broken? But you hold great significance, you're just a significant person to the universe and I'm not even sure if you're aware but you are lol.

It's crazy because I'm picking up mixed messages lol, with the Queen of Wands in reverse it makes me feel like someone here is very down and unsure about themselves, needs to take some me time and get away from socializing but with the Three of Cups someone here needs to "stop being alone so much" is how I channeled it, advising you to go out more with the people you love and celebrate, have a good time and just have fun so take what resonates as you know yourself best and what applies to your situation.

With the seven of Wands I'm getting a message of someone who's stressed, you maybe have felt very tired, over worked maybe, even dealing with certain responsibilities or relationship makes us feel tired and all worn out so take this how it resonates. You're on the brink of giving up, maybe you felt like it's not worth it or simply just can't find results you've been wanting to see, maybe this thing is literally killing you because Spirit is stressing you drop it enough to take the stress off you. I wouldn't advise anyone to just give up, but Spirit used such words as "drop it" like maybe the thing you're supposed to drop isn't serving you and that's why it's making you feel so bad. I'm just hearing Spirit even ask if you think all of this is worth it? This is something tough that's been bothering you, it could even be as simple as negative thoughts with all of the wands energy here, I think this is a group in their head a lot always trying to hold themselves accountable and very motivated to just do right. I heard a message that it's hard coming up for new creative endeavors because of all of the negativity in your thoughts holding you back, this energy is blocking your ideas. It's like you vs you almost, I think you have the power to help your dreams manifest all on their own just with your thoughts alone so keep a check for your energy, watch who you share your energy with because it's important and powerful. You're powerful I heard!

I hope you find this helpful! Take care angelz love you! ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pile 3- Seven of Cups, The Chariot and King of Wands.

Oracle Cards- "Black Square: Apparently, you are only down for doing the bare minimum during an incredibly significant time to stand up and advocate for human rights. Drawing this card reminds you that your actions need to not be just performative, they must be based in real knowledge and include follow-through, both online and IRL (in real life). You don't have to be on the front lines, but at this point in history, you can't be silent either."

"Red Flag: No matter how often you try to bleach the red flags white, they only turn back to red. You have been warned- now PULL ANOTHER CARD!"

"Cult Leader: You are not a guru, a Timelord, or a demigod. You are an egomaniac who needs minions so you can feel like an authority to compensate for your own feelings of inferiority. Grow up!"

Hi pile 3! Hope you're having a fantastic day where you are!

So right away I'm picking up a message of not seeing the bigger picture, this pile feels more like a "How to Manifest more quicker" lol. I'm hearing this very slow moving energy, someone refusing to move on to the next chapter though you might be aware it's time to even but I'm getting a sense of fear. Even if you are unaware of these changes there's still so much anxiety and fear surrounding you at these times because the universe is basically forcing you to move lol! Move or be moved I'm hearing.

So overall I feel like someone in this pile might have lots of distractions, someone might have adhd and a hard time concentrating on tasks. Spirits drawing your attention these times and reminding you to stay focus.

With the Chariot card I feel like there's some movement here that needs to happen, you need to take action. I think that's the best way to help your manifestations right now, maybe someone here even forget exactly what they were manifesting and Spirit is like "Uhh HELLO? DO YOU REMEBER THAT THING??" lol. I heard someone's just been away from the job a little too long, I even get from the Seven of Cups it might've been you were distracted with something else that just sparked your attention better, but all that glitters isn't gold!

So I think you're working on being in this King of Wands energy, someone who is very productive, knows what they want, speaks up about anything, rather it's an idea they have or just wanting authority. I feel like a few of you even might know exactly what this is, I feel like a few of you might not even have a specific dream you want to manifest just clicking on the reading for fun lol but there's still a secretive message here I think you'll understand as you apply it to your situation.

Spirit is asking you to maybe think about the roots you want to plant and start from there, stay true to your craft and perspective and be committed.

I hope you enjoyed this reading! I love you, see you soon ❤️ ★

[theoceansluvr]

Percy Jackson x Marnie Biologist! Reader

warnings; none !

author's notes; this is pure self indulgence bc marnie biology has my whole heart <9 i tried to set this in New Rome but it might not read that way so bear with me. . .

right off the bat he was your biggest fan

both because he loves you and because of your major !

who better to date the son of the god of the sea than a marnie biologist right ?

talks to the fish about you none stop

they love him but gods does he talk too much

will literally go to the twilight zone just so you can research some

until he found it just then..

undiscovered fish for your essay or project

your professor doesn't even asks asks how you did it they just go with it

calls you a bunch of ocean related petnames ?

starfish, seashell (<9), killer whale

you know, cute stuff !

talks to his dad about you a lot because.. Poseidon-

his mom LOVES you

makes the the world famous blue cookies everytime you come over

she thinks the blue suits you

Percy would take you to the aquarium just so you can talk about all the ocean facts you know

even though he probably knows most of them already. . .

he can't help himself ! he likes how passionate you are about this, he likes it's cute

matching shark bracelets that are also those tracking ones ?( i think Fahlo ????)

yeah you guys have those

he begged his dad to help you start your own business

whether it was just research or a clinic, he was going to make sure you got whatever you wanted

has so SO many pictures of you with the animals

he keeps them in his wallet and shows random kids walking to class if they happen to start up a conversation with him

"Oh, you major in marine biology ? Yeah my partner's in there too..." followed by a long speech about why he loves you so much and how you're better at it than that kid

Grover is also a victim of seeing all the pictures

he secretly thinks it's very cute !

anyways my favorite barnacle boy and i miss him everyday !!

[pinterestanddaydreaming]

Chapter 1: A City of Timeless Beauty - Lucius Verus x Reader

Summary: Y/n is a college student in Rome majoring in Roman History and Archaeology with her friends Priya and Alaya. Her mentor offers her the opportunity of a life time, to work at a dig site that could possibly hold the ruins of a Roman emperor's palace. The excavation starts in summer and it would mean that she can not go home to spend it with her family. Will she do it?

Author's Notes: Hey everyone! I know that I have posted a collage earlier for the reader's aesthetic but this collage accompanies this chapter. I personally like to make these to also help myself visualize the things I write about. Please know that y/n does not have to look like the girls in the picture, you can visualize her in any way and form you want to. Another thing, this story will be slow burn and I have not decided what the ending is going to look like so read the series at your own risk. This is my first time writing so the quality itself may not measure up the other very talented writers in this fandom, please know I am working on it!

Warnings: None!! It's just a bunch of girls being smart and lovely! If you hate girls stay away please and thank you! 🤗🙏

The golden hour blanketed Rome in a glow that seemed to blur the line between past and present. The streets buzzed with life, and y/n strolled through them with an air of calm curiosity. Her bag was tucked under her arm, brimming with essential beauty items and notes from her class on the history of Roman politics. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the sounds of the city, the distant hum of traffic mingling with the laughter of tourists and the occasional snatches of conversation in Italian. 

Y/n looked at her wrist. She still had about forty minutes to get to the restaurant where she planned to meet Priya and Alaya for dinner after their classes. Y/n, Priya, and Alaya had grown up together in London, and their business-owner parents were more than happy to let their daughters move to Rome to pursue their passion for studying history and archaeology. 

After nearly a year in Rome with Priya and Alaya, y/n felt at home. She had become familiar with the city and she loved living here. As y/n walked, she thought about the internship offer from Professor Marino, her professor who teaches Archaeological Field Studies. Y/n has been taking the class with Priya and Alaya and they all have gotten close to Marino. She has become a mentor for y/n and she has chosen Marino to be her senior thesis advisor. She is a renowned archaeologist and has been working on finding a royal palace of a Roman emperor for the past ten years.

When y/n talked to her earlier this week, she sounded sure that she had discovered the site for a royal palace. Marino had invited her and her friends to meet her at a local café to discuss an internship opportunity.  

“You see,” Marino began, leaning forward, her cappuccino momentarily forgotten, “this isn’t just any site. I believe we’ve found the remains of the imperial palace of Emperor Lucius Verus—a palace and man we have lost to history and time.”

The warm aroma of coffee and fresh pastries enveloped the small café where Y/N, Priya, and Alaya sat with Professor Marino. The professor, a striking woman in her late forties with sharp features and an air of quiet authority, gestured animatedly as she explained the significance of her latest discovery. 

“Lucius Verus?” Priya asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “He ruled after the mad twin emperors, Geta and Caracalla, right? We don’t have a lot of material culture from the time.”

Marino nodded, a smile curling her lips. “Exactly. And that’s what makes this find so extraordinary. If we can excavate and study this site, we might find details that reshape our understanding of who this man was.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “This could rewrite history, ladies.”

Alaya, who had been quietly sipping her espresso, finally spoke. “How sure are you about the location, Professor? I mean, after ten years of searching, it must feel incredible, but what evidence do you have?”

Marino smiled, clearly pleased with the question. “Preliminary scans have revealed a structure consistent with the layout described in ancient texts. We’ve also uncovered fragments of frescoes and inscriptions that point to a residence of significant importance.” She paused for effect, letting the weight of her words sink in. “But we need to confirm it. And that’s where you come in.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re asking us to join the dig?”

“Not just join,” Marino said, her voice lowering as though sharing a secret. “I want you three to be part of the core team. I am not sugarcoating when I say that you three are the sharpest students I have had in a while. You are all familiar with Roman history and have taken more than enough credits on archaeological field methods. I really think you can get something out of this experience.”

The trio exchanged another glance, excitement buzzing in the air like an unspoken agreement.

Priya leaned forward, her excitement barely contained. “When would this start?”

“Summer,” Marino replied, her expression turning serious. “It’ll be a demanding schedule—early mornings, long hours under the sun, meticulous cataloging. But I promise, it will be worth it. What you learn and contribute could shape your careers.”

The discovery of a potential royal palace sounded exciting to y/n and she has loved spending her summers in Italy. But working at the dig meant postponing her return to London and spending time with her family.

As she turned a corner, a small shop caught her eye. It was sandwiched between two bustling cafés, its entrance almost hidden beneath climbing ivy. The antique shop’s name, "Eterna Treasures," was scrawled in faded gold letters above the door. Y/n hesitated, feeling an inexplicable pull toward it. Her feet seemed to move on their own, and soon she was pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, the shop was dimly lit and smelled faintly of sandalwood. Shelves overflowed with curiosities: ornate goblets, faded maps, and statues worn smooth with age. Behind the counter stood a woman who could only be described as eccentric. Her gray curls were untamed, her dark eyes sharp and knowing, and she wore a patterned shawl draped over her shoulders like a queen surveying her domain.

“Ah, there you are,” the woman said, her lips curling into a sly smile.

Y/n blinked. “Sorry, do I know you?”

The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Not yet. But I know you.”

Y/n laughed awkwardly, taking a small step back toward the door. “That’s… not creepy at all.”

The woman chuckled, a rich sound that filled the tiny shop. “Oh, child, don’t be afraid. I simply have an eye for people, and you, my dear, are no ordinary girl.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that so?”

The woman leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have the face of someone out of place. A beauty so timeless it doesn’t belong in this world. No, you belong in another time. A time when Rome wasn’t just ruins but the beating heart of an empire.”

Y/n tilted her head, unsure whether to laugh or feel unnerved. “Well, I do study history. Maybe you’re picking up on that.”

The woman ignored her, her gaze seeming to pierce straight through y/n. “Such eyes… deep as the Tiber itself. They’ve seen more than you know. And you have a dimple!—ah, men would have crossed oceans for a smile like that. Some might still.” She sighed theatrically. “You could change history, my dear. Bring a man to his knees.”

Y/n stared, caught somewhere between discomfort and fascination. “Okay… that’s very poetic and all, but I’m just a history student. No one is crossing oceans for me.”

The woman snapped her fingers suddenly, her tone shifting to something brisk and businesslike. “Well, never mind all that! Let me show you something.”

She disappeared behind the counter, rummaging through a glass display case. When she resurfaced, she held a small velvet box containing a gold ring and a matching necklace, each adorned with a ruby so vivid it seemed to glow from within.

“These,” the woman declared, her earlier intensity replaced with a saleswoman’s enthusiasm. “These are perfect for you. Look at the craftsmanship! Ancient, regal, and absolutely meant to be yours.”

Y/n hesitated, eyeing the jewelry warily. “They’re beautiful, but I wasn’t really planning to buy anything…”

The woman scoffed, thrusting the box toward y/n. “Nonsense! Try them on. You’ll see.”

Y/n sighed and picked up the ring, slipping it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, the ruby catching the faint light and gleaming like fire. The necklace felt cool and strangely heavy as she clasped it around her neck.

The woman clapped her hands, her grin widening. “See? They were made for you. A perfect match.”

“They’re… nice,” y/n admitted, still unsure. “But I’m not sure I need them.”

“Need?” The woman leaned closer, her voice dropping back into its earlier, cryptic tone. “They aren’t about need. They’re about destiny. Some things find you, not the other way around.”

Y/n frowned. “You’re really good at making this sound ominous, you know that?”

The woman only laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ominous? Perhaps. But it's true.”

With a resigned smile, y/n pulled out her wallet. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt compelled to buy the set. Maybe it was the allure of the pieces themselves, or maybe it was the woman’s strange, magnetic energy.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the small bag the woman handed her.

“May they bring you fortune,” the woman replied, her voice soft and enigmatic. As y/n turned to leave, the woman added, almost as an afterthought, “And perhaps… a bit of the past.” 

Y/n paused at the door, glancing back at the woman, who was now humming to herself as she rearranged trinkets on a nearby shelf. Shaking her head, she stepped back into the bustling streets of Rome.

The city was glowing in the last light of day, but y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. The ruby ring felt warm on her finger, and the necklace rested against her chest like a weight she hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe the eccentric woman was right. This wasn’t just simple jewelry.

End of Chapter 1

tags - @bad-grammer

I don't have an official taglist yet! But I can create one if you guys would like, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and let me know if you would like me to either create one or just tag you in the next chapter!

[smallerontheoutside]

a non-exhaustive list of things i miss from the first doctor's era when i'm watching new who:

more rooms in the TARDIS (please i want to see more i'm begging you)

little domestic / casual moments (like Barbara making a dress, Ian and Barbara teasing each other in Rome, etc.) - aka scenes where no-one is in mortal danger

companions from other times / places (Vicki, Katarina, etc - Leela and Jamie later as well but this is mostly about the first doctor. i miss how the doctor didn't just pick companions from Earth chronologically, but just occasionally came across them on his travels)

always having at least 2 companions (at least up to where i am now, which is meeting Sara Kingdom)

alien planets with no humans / fully humanoids (like the Webbed Planet)

the doctor being occasionally morally grey

the doctor having a great time and just chuckling to himself as he goes around the ship

more scenes / times where the doctor and companions are all separated but it's not an occasion for panic / they're not just waiting around for the doctor to come and rescue them, they're all doing equally important things (sometimes they're just chilling, this I also enjoy)

that's all for now but i might be adding more, i really do enjoy the first doctor's era a lot! i also love the modern era though, they're both brilliant, just different :)

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 3 (Finale)

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 8700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: I asked and you voted! One final part instead of 2! Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

A New Life Masterlist

The horses neigh and stomp at the ground, anxious to enter the city and start their path through its streets to the capital building where the Emperors were waiting for us.

Not us. Him.

The tent opens and Marcus strides out of it, his presence commanding. He’s dressed in a white and gold armor, a ridiculous color for actual battle but damn if it doesn’t leave me breathless. His hair sits in perfect salt and pepper curls, a new scar on his face a red line across his cheek, enhancing his attractiveness. Now I understand why Lucilla dressed me in a white and gold tunic - to match him. To show a team. To show my support of him. 

Marcus is lost in thought as he makes his way to the chariot where he is to ride and lead the procession, I'm somewhere behind him, not so far back that I’ll have to run to keep up with him at the end, but not so close that I take any attention from him. Not that Marcus would care in the slightest, but these Emperors are so damn picky. He doesn’t notice me at first, completely focused on whatever he’s thinking about until he nearly knocks into me. He steps back, an apology forming on his lips that dies there as he takes me in, his eyes roaming up and down my body. 

“You…you’re stunning.”

I can feel my cheeks warm and I glance away from him and back. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Marcus scoffs. “This old thing? I feel ridiculous in it.”

I step up next to him and speak in his ear. “Well then I’ll have to help you out of it.”

A growl rumbles in his throat. “Let’s skip the celebration. Think they’ll notice?”

I smile. “They might.”

“Damn.” He tips my chin up and presses a soft kiss to my lips that starts to heat up when his chariot driver clears his throat. Marcus breaks the kiss, his eyes lingering on my face a moment longer. 

“Sir. Sir, it’s time.”

His eyes are glued to mine and I can see all the anxiety and worry building there, not just for himself but for me as well. “See you up on the hill.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Damn this city is loud. I thought we had a lot of people but they were nothing compared to this. Packed in tight and yelling their approval, I can barely hear myself think. Despite my rapid heartbeat that increases the closer we make it to the center of the city, I can hear them chant his name. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! They love him. And I find my first commonality with the people here in the great city of Rome.

We turn down a street and head through these massive pillars and down another path, at the end of which stands a massive white staircase. At the top I see 2 men clad in white robes - they must be the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. My stomach turns immediately and I have a sense of foreboding, but that may just be my nerves. I’ve never met rulers of a nation this size before. Marcus hops off his chariot and walks back to mine, offering me his hand as I disembark.

“Are you ok?” He asks as I step down.

I shrug. “As good as I can be.” 

He escorts me up the stairs, pausing several from the top to drop my arm, a move we had discussed earlier, as the Emperors would want to address him directly. I watch him ascend those last steps alone, praying that everything goes alright.

Also to check out his thighs because damn.

Some words are exchanged between them that are lost to me, the crowd behind me is too loud for me to make it out. Then they place a crown of golden laurels on his head, which sends my mind whirling. He looks like one of the Gods themselves. He addresses the crowd with a raised hand as they all cheer and chant his name. Then he extends his hand down to me, his eyes immediately finding mine and trying to offer some comfort. I gather up my tunic and ascend the last few steps, happily taking Marcus’s hand. He gives it a little squeeze and some of the nerves leave my body. 

“Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. May I present to you my wife, Cornelia.”

Pale makeup cakes both of their faces, coal darkening the skin around their eyes making them look less imposing and more…psychotic? Geta addresses me first, his eyebrows raised as his eyes rake over me and flick between Marcus and myself.

“General Acacius. You found yourself a wife. It’s about time.” He takes a step closer to me. “We all thought he would die without having heirs.”

I nod. “I see, my Lord.”

His head cocks to the side, his eyes still on me as Caracalla steps up beside him. “Your hair is absolutely gorgeous! That red is so vibrant!”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Their eyes are studying me, watching me and for the first time, I realize exactly why Marcus asked Lucilla to tutor me. 

“Come! Let’s celebrate and get to know your new wife!” They turn and head into the room behind them, marching up to a table with a few goblets of wine. Marcus looks at me and gives me a soft smile before offering his arm to escort me inside. A servant offers us both a glass of wine and I take it, copying Marcus. 

“We will have the games in your honor, Acacius.” Geta holds out his cup to toast. 

“That is not necessary. I am merely happy to serve Rome.” Marcus lifts his glass to toast, but Geta withdraws his own, Caracalla looking between them with disappointment. 

“Nonsense. We are celebrating your wins, Acacius.”

“The wins are not mine but yours. I do this for Rome.”

Geta stares at Marcus for several tense moments. “Then you’ll be happy to hear we plan on conquering India and many others next, under your leadership of course.”

Marcus’s shoulders droop ever so slightly. “My Emperors. I was hoping to have a break from war to spend time with my new wife.”

My heart swells, but then Geta interrupts my thoughts. “Surely it won’t take you that long to make babies?”

Caracalla laughs. “It might brother. He is old.” They laugh together, Marcus smirking at an attempt to join in the jest, but I’m seething inside. This old man could kill them in an instant. 

“Whatever time it takes, I’d like to make sure my wife settles in and is comfortable before I go off again.”

Geta studies him a moment. “Nimibia.”

I can feel Marcus tense beside me. “What of Nimibia?”

“Take Nimibia for us. Once you return, we will have the games and then talk of a break for your lovely wife.” Getas eyes find mine for a moment, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips before he looks to Marcus. “That is not a request.”

Marcus takes a deep breath. “As my Emperors command.”

Caracalla claps his hands together. “Excellent! And don’t worry about Cornelia. I’m sure she’ll have fun at court!”

It’s merely a week later when Marcus heads for Port Ostia, his troops sailing this time to Nimibia. We had said several long goodbyes as I held him between my thighs. His last kiss was hard and deep, pouring every ounce of love and worry into it. He pulls back and cradles my face in his hands, speaking so quietly that I can almost not hear him.

“Stick close to Lucilla. You can only trust who she trusts, yes?” I nod. “Say nothing to anyone. There are ears everywhere.”

“I understand.”

He kisses me again. “Please be safe, Cornelia. Court is deceptively dangerous.”

“You’re going off to a literal battle and you’re telling me to be safe?”

There is no smile on his face. “Some battles are fought with swords. Others are fought with words and they can often do more damage.”

He’s right. “I understand. If I miss you, I can simply go stare at your statue.”

Marcus groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “You’re never going to let me live that one down are you?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“I did not ask for that.”

“I bet not.” 

“Truly! I came back from a campaign and they demanded it. And now I have to stare at that thing every time I walk down that street. I try to avoid it.” We chuckle together at that and then fall silent for a bit. 

I smooth my hands down the front of his armor. “Listen here, Marcus Acacius. You-” I jab a finger at his armor. “-are not allowed to die. Or get severely wounded. I forbid it. I won’t allow it. Do you understand me?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he tries to remain serious. “Yes, ma’am.”

We watch each other for a few moments, Marcus brushing a few stray red strands of hair off of my face. One last kiss, a heated one, and then he abruptly spins on his heel and leaves, closing the door behind him. One might find this harsh but I get it. He had to make a quick exit. It’s too hard to leave otherwise. I walk to the window and watch him stride to his waiting horse, taking the reigns from the stable boy as he heads out of the city. 

The house is quiet, except for the street noise from outside. There is a servant wandering around in the kitchen, but I am truly alone in this giant city.

Alone in a city full of people, most of whom I can’t trust. 

It’s been 2 months and I am certain about one thing: I. Hate. Court.

The Emperors demand my appearance at nearly every single party they put on, some of them more mild but most of them are outrageous. They bring in people to fight to the death as they place bets, the blood and body parts splattering across the floor to cheers and geers. The first time this happened, I was not prepared. I practically ran from the room to empty my stomach into the first pot I could find. 

When there weren’t fights to the death, and even when there were, the amount of promiscuity made me extremely uncomfortable. I am not a prude by any means, but I also don’t care to partake in massive orgies, especially when I was not made aware it was that kind of party. Emperor Geta tried to get me to stay, talking to me as I tried to keep my attention solely on him. Eventually, the woman hanging off of him took his full attention and I managed to slip away. Thankfully, no one questioned my absence. 

I tried often to get out of these parties, choosing to spend more time with Lucilla or pretend I was sick. It worked sometimes, either I missed my invitation or I was too ill to answer it. I remembered what Marcus had told me about being careful so when Lucilla told me I would have to stomach at least a few parties to keep up appearances, I did. For Marcus. 

Another month goes by when I receive another invitation. I’m about to say my apologies, as I have no desire to be amongst all of the backstabbing and political plays, but the delivery boy taps the front of the letter, urging me to read it. I open the invitation and my stomach flips, my lips pulling up in a smile as tears drop from my eyes.

Marcus will be home the day after tomorrow, a successful conquer of Nimibia. 

“Let the Emperors know I will be at the welcoming ceremony.” The boy nods and turns, running back to the capital building. 

My mind is whirling with questions and scenarios, mainly wondering if he had been injured. I had only received one letter in his absence, and he told me it would be almost impossible to communicate once he reached a point. Still, it has been hard these last months without him. 

“Leta?” I call out and my servant comes around the corner. 

“Ma’am?”

“General Acacius is coming home. Come, help me figure out what to wear.”

Just like my initial arrival into the city, the crowds are massive and loud and for once I’m glad I’m at the top of these ridiculous stairs. Leta and I had chosen the same outfit I’d worn on that day to match Marcus. Before we head out of the capital building and wait at the top of the stairs, Emperor Geta walks up to me.

“Nervous?” His eyes study me.

I smile coyly, playing my part. “A little.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. And if not…well I’m sure I can find a place for you here.” He takes a sip from a goblet, his eyes never leaving my face.

I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. “You are too kind, Emperor.”

He takes a step closer to me, too close in my opinion. He brushes my hair behind my exposed shoulder, his eyes tracing down my neck and across my collarbone. “I am nothing if not generous.”

Before I can say or do anything, a soldier walks in and salutes, his fisted hand tapping the opposite side of his chest. “Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. They are in the city walls.”

Geta’s gaze is still on my face. “Come. Let’s go see if your husband is still…intact.” He offers me his arm and every fiber of my being wants to reject it. But I remember Lucilla’s words of warning. Always accept an arm from the Emperor. I put on that coy smile and take it, my stomach churning both at his touch and anticipation for what I’m about to see. Caracalla comes to my other side and we all walk out, Geta dropping my arm several feet from where they will great Marcus. I wait and try to remember how to breathe. The crowd gets louder and louder, their cries suddenly taking on a shape.

Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!

Relief washes over me as I realize they’re chanting his name, which means he must be on his chariot. I can’t see from my position, but a few moments later, Geta and Caracalla look down the steps and I assume he must be coming up them. I hold my breath, waiting for my first glimpse of my husband since he left nearly 4 months ago. 

Suddenly, he’s there. Dressed in white and gold, the sun shining down on his beautiful greying curls, a new scar across his cheek, but otherwise in perfect health. All limbs and no limping. I let out another sigh of relief, unable to stop a few tears from tracing a path down my cheeks. Marcus salutes the Emperors, pointedly not looking at me. I know he has to pay them their proper respects. It’s all part of the game. Some words are exchanged between them, but I only have eyes for Marcus, how he leans his head down so they can place yet another crown of laurels upon it, the way he stands strong, but trying not to impose. The way I can see how exhausted he is in his eyes, even though others may not see it. 

“Ah yes. Your wife. She is here.” Geta steps to the side, gesturing for me to come. I follow the command, my eyes on Marcus, seeing his face light up as his eyes rake over my body both in concern and something darker.

Marcus offers his outstretched hands to me and I take them, his familiar touch relaxing me even more. 

“My lady,” Marcus leans and plants a kiss to the back of my hand, standing back up to smile at me.

Marcus turns and addresses the crowd once more, his arm high in the air, before turning back and offering his arm to me, following the Emperors back inside the capital building. A servant comes and offers us wine, which we all accept. 

“We will have games in your honor. May your sword always be sharp and ready for Rome.”

Marcus shifts beside me. “Games are not necessary, my Emperors. I do this for Rome.”

Geta lowers his cup, the sip he was about to take abandoned. “Nonsense. We must give you the praise you’ve earned.”

“I am happy with no praise. I am only here to serve Rome.”

Geta studies him for a moment. “Well then you’ll be pleased to know we’ve decided to go after India next.”

Marcus clears his throat and I can feel him tense beside me. “Emperors, I was hoping to have the time off of war to spend with my wife that we had discussed before Nimibia.”

Geta looks at me and smirks. “Oh, I think she’s settled in just fine. Haven’t you, Cornelia?”

I plaster on as convincing a smile as I can. “Everyone here is wonderful. But I’ll admit, I have missed my husband and would love to have time with him, as husband and wife should.” 

“Mmm…” Geta’s eyes slowly move to Marcus. “And what say you, General Acacius? Would you let your wife keep you from doing what you do best?”

“May I speak plainly, my Emperors?” Geta cocks his head slightly but nods. “I was contemplating retirement. I am not getting any younger and my captain is more than capable of taking my place. It would give me time to start a family on the estate I am due.”

Caracalla stomps his foot. “No games, then? I want to see limbs being chopped off! I want to see blood! I want to see-”

“Brother! Enough. But you do give me an interesting thought.” He pauses, and I feel like I want to vomit. “We will have the games. And General Acacius, you are correct. You are due an estate at your retirement, anywhere of your choosing. However, it would be a great loss to Rome to lose someone of such skill.”

Marcus shifts slightly. “My Emperors, as I said before, my captain is perfectly-”

“I am not finished.” Marcus closes his mouth and waits. “As I was saying, your retirement would be a great loss to Rome. So how about this: you will compete in some of the battles in the games to represent us, Rome, as a sort of…farewell. If you win, you get to retire and you have my promise no one will bother you. If you refuse, you will leave for India immediately and you will continue warring in the name of Rome until the day you don’t return.” 

Caracalla claps and whoops, but all I hear is whooshing, the sounds from all around me fading into the background. Marcus? Compete in the games? The ones where people fight animals and each other and Gods know what else to the death?

“May I have a moment?” Marcus asks. Geta waves a hand, taking a sip of his wine and turning to talk to his brother, who is still animatedly waving his arms about. 

Marcus takes my arm and escorts me a few feet away, glancing around to make sure no one is in ear shot as he leans in, his eyes on mine. “I have to take this.”

“No! I have not been to these games but if they’re anything like the parties I was forced to attend, you cannot do it!” 

“Cornelia, I cannot keep going away to war. The moment I get back they will send me off again. And one day I may fall and not get back up, lost to another land.”

I lean up, pretending to kiss his cheek. “We could run away. Tell them no and I’ll sneak on the ships or take Caius. We could run away and start over somewhere else.”

“My love, you know they would hunt us down and find us. This is the Roman Empire. They own almost all the world.”

Tears well in my eyes as he pulls back. “I am afraid, Marcus. What happens if…if…”

He pulls my hands up and kisses them. “If something happens to me, go to Lucilla. Stay with her. She will get you out of the city safely. They won’t chase just you.”

“No, Marcus. You can’t.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I must.”   

The next day, Marcus and I sit in chairs behind the Emperors, his hand holding mine as they let loose some animals and fighters into the arena. The scene that follows is not a pretty one but I force myself to watch as the men mostly get punctured with horns or teeth, others being stabbed by their fellow fighters once the animals have all died. One man remained, brown hair and anger in his stance, and he was declared winner of that round.

There were several more rounds of this sort of thing. Sometimes the men would have weapons and other times not. The one thing that was consistent was the blood and gore and death. My stomach churned as I watched the blood pool in pockets around the arena, handlers carting away limbs as the crowd cheered. Then the Emperors stood, Geta turning to face Marcus and I as we stood. 

“Tomorrow, you will have your first match. Sleep well.” He smirks before leaving through the door, Caracalla following in his wake, his monkey perched on his shoulder. I start to say something but Marcus squeezes my hand, shaking his head slightly. It’s not safe to talk here. We hardly say a word to each other on the way back to our apartment, both of our minds on tomorrow. I let Leta go home the moment we come in, rounding on Marcus the second she leaves. 

“You cannot go tomorrow!”

Marcus beckons me to him as he walks to a small table to pour us 2 glasses of wine. He hands me one and we each take a sip, Marcus patting the seat next to him. I take it, setting my glass back on the small table. He speaks quietly, as if he’s afraid there’s someone listening. 

“There is more to this than you can see.”

My eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He leans in closer. “There is a plan to retake Rome.”

“You mean, overthrow the Emperors?”

“Exactly.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He shifts even closer to me, our bodies touching. “I have 5000 soldiers coming to Port Ostia. Men who are loyal to me as is my captain. They will march into the city and arrest the Emperors for crimes against the people.”

Nerves hit my stomach, both from relief and anxiety. “Then why don’t you move?”

“They won’t be there for another 8 days. We just have to hang on for that time.”

We’re quiet for a moment. “Who takes over?”

“Lucilla and those still loyal to her father have a plan. Rome will serve her people once more.”

Marcus cups my cheek, turning my face to look him in the eyes. “I know I am asking a lot of you, my love. I did not anticipate the Emperors asking me to compete, but I must keep up appearances.”

Tears start to well in my eyes at the thought of tomorrow. “But what if you-” he cuts me off with a kiss, his tongue pressing its way into my mouth before he pulls back, his forehead against mine. 

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. I may be older but I am still a soldier.”

I don’t eat the next morning, Marcus already gone before I wake. Leta dresses me in silence, this time in a black tunic laced with a gold trim, a red scarf to toss over my shoulder. She gives me a small smile. “To match General Acacius,” she says simply, having seen him depart this morning in his armor. 

An hour or so later, I’m sitting in the Emperor’s box, my chair moved to be seated between the Emperors. I clasp my hands together to keep them from fidgeting with my outfit, willing my legs to stop bouncing. A couple of battles go by but I pay them little attention, only noting that the same man with the anger in his eyes seems to have won some more, the crowd now starting to chant his name. Hanno! Hanno! Hanno! Once the arena was cleared and reset, the announcer clears his throat, addressing the crowd.  

“This battle will be different. General Acacius has agreed to compete in the fights in the name of Rome!” The crowd, momentarily bewildered, starts cheering and chanting his name. One set of gates open and several armed soldiers exit, walking to the middle of the arena. Then the gates on the other side open and the crowd goes wild. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! Marcus struts out into the arena, sword in hand and determination on his face. I hold my breath and I swear my heart stops beating. A few of the soldiers step forward, meeting Marcus halfway. He salutes them, the hand holding his sword pressed to the opposite shoulder as he bows his head slightly, the soldiers copying him. 

And then, he dances. 

Marcus runs at the first soldier, slashing him down instantly with his sword, coming up to meet the next one. He gets tripped and lands on his back but wastes no time in slashing at their ankles, getting back on his feet only a handful of seconds after he fell. Another soldier slices him across the back and I gasp, seeing Marcus yell in pain before turning to slash at the soldier. 2 more rush him and he parries, a fist making contact with his cheek before he can block it. His sword rises and slices through 2 more soldiers within moments, leaving only one left. The soldier knocks him down but Marcus pulls him with him, angling his sword up so the soldier spears himself upon it as Marcus’s back slams into the ground, his chest heaving. 

The crowd goes wild, his name is chanted louder than before, deafening in the echo of the stadium. He rises to his feet, his sword at his side as he looks around, finding me in the Emperor’s box. He puts his fist to his shoulder in salute, bowing to not just the Emperors, but to me. A sigh of relief escapes me as I release the breath I had been holding for what feels like ages. Then a scoff of disappointment reaches my ears. 

“Damn. I wanted to see more blood!” Caracalla whines, his monkey screeching once at the rise of his voice. 

“Don’t worry brother. You may see more of it soon.”

Rage pours through my veins, my chest heaving against my will to not say or do anything. I swallow hard, turning my gaze to Emperor Geta. 

“My lord, may I go and see to my husband?”

His dark eyes bore into mine. “I think they have doctors there that would be better suited to tend his injuries.”

“You are correct of course, but some things require a woman’s touch.”

Geta smirks, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a more menacing way than I think he realizes. “Touche. Go to him.”

“Thank you.” I bow to them both and calmly take my leave, running once I am out of ear shot. I flag down a guard and demand he take me to where they have the fighters, specifically, the General. He escorts me across the arena and down a few tunnels until we come to a giant barred wall with a barred door set into it. He knocks and a man comes to it.

“Is the general here?”

The guard shakes his head. “Healer’s room. Next gate over.” I thank them both and run to the door, my hand raised to knock before I realize it’s not locked. I walk inside and see…no one. No one is here. I walk back outside and look around. Nothing. But then he rounds the corner, a man following next to him, trying to dab at a scratch on his face. He sees me and his entire demeanor shifts. I run to him, throwing my arms around him the moment we collide. He pushes me against the wall, his hands cupping my face, pressing his heated lips to mine, his thigh sliding between my legs. The man clears his throat but if Marcus hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge him. He merely walks me backwards to the healer’s door and kicks it open, the healer complaining and throwing his hands in the air when Marcus slams it behind us with his foot. 

He walks me backwards, our lips still dancing when my back collides with the exam table. He gropes at my tunic, bunching it up to my hips as he grips them, lifting me up on the table. He shifts himself and pushes into me with a grunt, my lips breaking the kiss as I gasp. His fingers are deep and bruising as he holds my hip with one hand, hitching my thighs around him with the other before slamming it down on the table, giving himself more leverage to thrust deeper and harder, the adrenaline from the fight fueling his desires. I bite his lip and he growls, pressing me further into the table with each thrust as I cling to his broad shoulders. My muscles tighten, my blood pulsing between my thighs as I cum, Marcus swallowing my moans with his mouth. He thrusts into me a few more times before he bites my shoulder, grunting and moaning as he spills himself inside of me. We stay like that, attached and breathing heavily for several long moments, his forehead now pressed to my chest. I raise an arm weakly, running my fingers through his hair. Finally he looks up at me, his brown eyes searching mine. 

“Did I hurt you?”

I smile, shaking my head. “You never do.”

He seems to realize where we are now, straightening up and pulling himnself from me with a hiss. I slide my tunic back down and stand up, adjusting my clothes. 

“I am sorry, Cornelia. I lost myself.”

I cock my head. “Sorry for?”

He gestures around. “It is…not exactly the most private place.”

I stand in front of him and grip him by the armor, looking up into his eyes. “You could fuck me in front of the entire Roman army and I’d beg you to do it again.”

His eyes darken, an eyebrow raised. “Oh really? Because I could make that-”

“Excuse me? Sir?” The healer is at the door, cautiously knocking and trying to avert his eyes. “I need to tend to your wounds. If…if I may?”

Marcus and I exchange a smirk. “Yes. I am…sorry. I get carried away by the sight of my wife.”

The healer chuckles, removing his hand from his eyes and looking at me before looking back at Marcus. “Don’t worry, sir. I have the same reaction to my wife. Which is why we have so many children.” 

The next night, we are wakened by a knock at the door. Marcus sits up and pulls on his tunic, gesturing for me to stay in bed. He comes back in a moment later, his eyes concerned. 

“It’s Lucilla. Did you send home Leta?”

I nod. “Yes. No one should be here until morning. Is everything ok?”

“I don’t know. Get something on an come out.”

I do as he says, quickly pulling over a tunic and a sleeping robe before I head out, seeing Marcus already pouring a glass of wine for Lucilla. She thanks him and takes a nervous sip, looking at me as I walk over. 

“Can I speak freely?” She addresses Marcus, glancing back at me. 

Marcus nods. “She knows. Is everything alright?”

Lucilla takes a shuddering breath and meets his gaze. “It’s him, Marcus.”

“Who?”

“Lucius. My son. He’s back.”

Marcus is silent for several moments, my mind trying to catch up. I do remember her mentioning a son at one point, but I assumed he’d died, as she stopped talking about him after a certain age. 

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I went to see him. This Hanno? That is him. He hates me, Marcus.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. Marcus takes her hands in his in an attempt to soother her. 

“I am sure that is not true.”

She nods. “He hates me for sending him away.”

“May I speak?” I ask, unsure of my place in this conversation. Lucilla looks up at me, her cheeks glinting in the candlelight with her tears as she nods.

“I was sent away when I was young as well. I don’t think he hates you. He may be upset with you but not hate. I’m sure you didn’t send him away for no reason.”

She shakes her head. “If he had stayed, they would have killed him.”

“Why?” I ask, still not entirely certain I understand Roman politics. 

“Because he is the only heir to the Roman throne. The grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

I know that should mean more than it does to me, but I have heard his name whispered and seen busts of him, mostly in Lucilla’s home. I know he was her father and from what I gather, the last decent Emperor of Rome. When the Emperors still cared about the people. 

Marcus address Lucilla. “My troops are only a few days away. Then they will come into Rome to arrest the Emperors as planned.”

“But you will also have to enter the arena again during this time. What happens if you die?”

Marcus’s jaw clenches slightly. “My captain would still carry out my orders.”

Lucilla shakes her head. “I don’t know. This feels like too much time.”

“What if we..speed it up?” I ask. They both look at me questioningly. “It’s just…I’ve had to spend a lot of time with the Emperors over the last few months and…they each hate that they have to split the crown with the other. I can see it in their eyes, their small movements and glances towards each other. There is brotherly love, but there is a lot of hate and jealousy. What if we use that to our advantage?”

“How so?” Lucilla asks.

I take a deep breath, knowing that this will fall heavily on my shoulders. “We pit them against each other. Whisper in their ears rumors that they’d heard about the other one. Maybe about them trying to take the crown for themselves? Anything to drive that wedge. They may just off each other.”

Marcus looks at me. “This sounds very dangerous. And there’s no guarantee that it would be quicker than my troops.”

I take Marcus’s hand. “I’ve had to be around them for months, watching. Observing. Trust me, it’s right under the surface.”

Marcus and Lucilla exchange a look. “It could work, Marcus. She’s not wrong.”

“Yes but she will be in danger. I don’t want that.”

I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. “We’re all in danger the longer we’re here. You don’t think they would try to take you out just to have me? Why do you think you’re in the games? I can do this, Marcus. They would love the attention, especially Geta.” 

Lucilla thinks a moment. “They kill each other and my son takes over as heir. Assuming he would want that title. If not, we have a replacement. He already said he would happily stand aside for Lucius.”

Marcus shakes his head. “I don’t know-”

“It would mean far less bloodshed than a battle between soldiers. You know lives are bound to be lost if the soldiers enter Rome by force. This way, only 2 lives should be gone and Rome will be all the better for it.”

Marcus gets up and paces the room, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Finally he sighs and comes back over.

“Let’s do this.”

The next day, I put on a tunic that Geta had complimented me on previously. Leta fixes my hair, half up with some braids pinned around my head. Leta leaves and Marcus takes her place, his hands on my shoulders. 

“Are you sure, Cornelia?”

I place a hand over his and squeeze. “This will work. I’m sure.”

An hour later, and I find myself tossing my head back with fake laughter at something Caracalla said. I gently touch Geta’s arm as tears stream down his face from laughter. 

“And his head just popped! Clean off! Rolled right across the floor!” Caracalla continues to laugh, turning to one of the men he has surrounding him, who immediately gives him all of his attention. I pick up my glass of wine, thinking of what to say.

“You’re so kind with that,” I nod in Caracalla’s direction, speaking to Geta as I take a sip.

“Kind? With what?” 

I turn and look at him, leaning a little closer, Geta matching my lean. “You allow your brother to go on and on about violence without worrying. It’s clear it means a lot to him.”

“Yes, I am kind…but…I don’t quite catch your meaning here?”

I look up at him, swallowing down the bile in my throat at his close proximity. “Weren’t the two men in his story brothers? Who both tried to control their family farm?”

He shakes his head. “So?”

“So..well, I just thought…oh nevermind.”

Geta shifts his body to face me, leaning closer. “Tell me. Speak freely.”

I hold my wine glass in front of my mouth, as if I’m telling him a secret. “Well, it’s sort of like you and your brother. Twins, having to share the crown. Him being above you being he was born first-”

“He is not above me!” Geta whispers angrily. 

I avert my eyes. “I am sorry, Emperor Geta. I was merely repeating what he’d said to me.” It’s not entirely a lie. I had heard Caracalla speaking about how he was born first and so he was first ruler. But he didn’t say it to me directly.

Fire burned in Geta’s eyes as they shifted from me to Caracalla. “And what else did my brother say?”

“Oh I shouldn’t-”

Geta grips my forearm tightly. “Tell. Me.”

So I launch into a small story I’d made up, planting more and more seeds of doubt in his mind.

That night at their dinner party, I walk up to Caracalla, speaking to his monkey. We chat about monkeys for a moment, Caracalla glancing over my shoulder every so often.

“I’m sorry, Emperor, is there something I’m keeping you from?”

“Hhmm? Oh no. It’s just..” He leans in closer to me. “Geta has been looking at me oddly all day. Like he’s upset.”

I glance over at Geta, who is currently involved in a conversation with a Senator. “I- well I shouldn’t say.”

Caracall looks at me. “Tell me.”

“Well, earlier I heard someone talking about how you’re first born so you’re the first Emperor.”

He nods. “I was and am.”

“Yes, well, Emperor Geta overheard that and was furious. He started telling everyone he was the main Emperor. Not you.”

“Oh really?” The same rage that fired up in Geta’s eyes now burned in his brothers. “He’s always been jealous of me!”

“Well, you do have a great monkey.”

Caracalla looks at me for a moment and then laughs. “You’re right! I do! Come, let me show you how he can dance!”

2 days and I’m spent. I cannot stroke their egos any more. Unfortunately, Marcus is to compete today, hopefully the last battle he will have to do. This time I wake with him, Marcus putting his head between my thighs before I can even move. When I try to pull him up, he declines, saying he needs to save up the energy. Something about it being good for battle. 

“As long as you come home and fuck me into this bed.”

Marcus groans, kissing one of my boobs. “That is a promise. But now, I must get ready or I will simply stay in bed all day.”

“That sounds better. Let’s do that.”

He chuckles, kissing me deeply before pushing himself up and getting dressed, the same armor as he’d worn a few days previously. He cups my face, kissing me gently before looking into my eyes.

“I love you. Be safe.”

Gods his eyes are all big and brown. “I love you. Please come back to me.”

“Now this is another special fight!” The announcer speaks to the crowd. “The strong General Acacius!” The gate at one end of the arena opens and Marcus struts out of it, sword in hand, as he walks to the middle of the arena as the crowd screams his name.The announcer waits a moment, letting the crowd settle a little. “Against the mighty barbarian, Hanno!” The crowd cheers for him too, a mix of names chanting around the arena.

I feel Lucilla behind me, trying not to make a scene. This is not something we anticipated. Marcus should not be fighting Hanno, I mean, Lucius, to the death! My pulse speeds up, my blood quickly pumping through me. Marcus turns, seeing Lucius angrily strutting towards him. But before he gets even part way, Geta stands and addresses his captain.

“Make sure your bows are fixed on Acacius. If he wins, kill him.”

“What??” I gasp out, staring up at Emperor Geta in complete shock. He smiles, the dark makeup around his eyes making them look even more menacing than usual. He sits down next to me, leaning in, a small hand placed on my thigh. 

“Do not worry, my dear. No one will question me and I will free you from this marriage so you can be with me.”

I can feel the color drain from my face. “Emperor Geta, I am..flattered, but I made an oath-”

“And I’ll help you to break it! My wedding gift to you!”

Shit. I flew too close to the sun on this one and Geta took it as flirting. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing I can do. They collide in front of me, swords slashing, Lucius headbutting Marcus as he stumbles, quickly regaining his footing as Lucius slams into him, Marcus using his weight to flip him on his back. Lucius swipes at Marcu’s feet as he leaps back, coming up to lunge at him again, the two men grappling. Lucius manages to slam his hand into Marcus, who relents, turning to shove Lucius into the ground. They roll, Marcus jumping up and to the side as Lucius swipes his sword, barely missing him. But when he rights himself, I can see that Marcus has no weapon. 

Lucius gestures to the staff on the ground with his sword and Marcus picks it up, both of them lunging back into battle, the staff quickly snapping in two. Marcus manages to knock Lucius’s head, momentarily stunning him enough he could get behind him in a chokehold. Lucius flings his head back and Marcus stumbles, quickly rallying with a sucker punch to Lucius’s stomach. They clash again, Lucius dropping to the ground after a few moments, getting back up with a smile on his face. They talk for a moment, but then Marcus throws his weapons on the ground, dropping to his knees, and raising his hand in surrender. My stomach churns and I nearly vomit. What is he thinking? 

“Acacius has raised his hand! He has surrendered!” The announcer yells. “Let the Gods decide!”

I feel Geta shift beside me, but I grab his arm. “Wait!” 

Geta looks down at my hand and then into my eyes. “My love, the Gods will speak through me and this will all be over soon.”

I squeeze his arm, willing my nerves to just give me a moment to think. “I know, but I think we should have a toast. After all, he is your General.”

Geta studies me for a moment. Then he nods and I feel momentarily relieved. “Good idea.” He holds up a hand to request a pause. “The Gods are…deciding!”

While he is distrtacted, I get up, taking the offered glasses of wine, my palla swiftly passing over Geta’s as I hand it to him, my own glass poised for a toast. 

“To us, my dear. And to the Gods.” Geta proclaims.

“To the Gods,” I say back, lifting my glass. I see Geta take a sip and turn to Caracalla, who was just taking his goblet from the tray, having had to adjust the monkey on his shoulder. He picks it up and nearly presses it to his lips before I grip his wrist. “Dont!”

Caracalla freezes. “What? Why?”

“It’s poisoned!”

And that is all it takes to crumble two Emperors. 

Caracalla stands up, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “It was you! You tried to poison me!”

Geta’s eyes are wild. I can tell he’d thought about poisoning his brother. “I did not! Do you hear yourself, brother?”

But it’s too late. Caracalla’s eyes are wide and nearly black with rage as he steps closer to Geta. “You were always jealous I was first! First out of the womb, more loved by mother, and HEAD EMPEROR!” 

Geta’s fists ball up. “You are NOT first Emperor!”

Caracalla laughs manically and I take this moment to sneak out from between them. I don’t want to get caught in that. 

“Jealous! You can’t even admit that I have a higher station than you! So much that you try to poison me?”

Geta’s eyes are wild with anger, spit flying from his mouth as he steps up to Caracalla, yelling “I wish I had done it because you deserve to die!”

Caracalla gasps, momentarily frozen before looking down, the red blood seeping quickly through his white tunic, a knife embedded in him. Geta quickly removes it, watching as his brother drops to the ground, his body moving no more after a moment. Geta tries to straighten up, but he clutches at his stomach. 

“He…he was mad! He was…he would have…what…is happening?” Geta drops to the ground, groaning and yelling in pain as he clutches his stomach. A servant tries to help him but he yells in their face, the color draining from him as his breathing becomes labored. And then his gaze goes blank, his head dropping against the ground.  

For a moment, no one moves. But then the captain snaps me out of it as he commands his troops. “Keep your bows on him! Stand your ground!”

I quietly sneak to a soldier and, in a move Marcus had taught me, hit a certain spot on his shoulder that send him tumbling, but not before I grab his bow and notch an arrow, another in my hand.

“Move!” I yell and the crowd parts as I raise my bow and aim it at the bewildered captain.

I summon all the courage I have, not just for me but for protecting Marcus, and command “Tell your men to stand down!”

The captain just looks at me, almost smirking. “And what are you going to do with that, little girl?”

I loose the arrow and it glides into the pole just next to his head. By the time his head snaps back to look at me, I’ve notched the next arrow. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Look around. Your Emperors are dead from greed and jealousy. Drop your weapons and pledge yourself to your new emperor.”

Still bewildered, the captain takes a moment to respond. “And who might that be?”

“The grandson of Marcus Aurelius and heir to the throne, Lucius Varius Aurelius.” I nod towards Lucius in the arena, my bow still aimed at the captain. 

“Lucius…he’s alive?” The captain asks.

“He is.” Lucilla comes up beside me, addressing the captain. “I can confirm it.”

He thinks a moment. “Well then. Stand down, men.” He watches me as I wait, watching all of the archers to make sure they’ve all put down their bows. When I’m sure, I lower mine as well. 

The captain turns towards the arena. “Lucius Varius Aurelius! I pledge myself to you!” He salutes, one fist against his opposite shoulder as he drops to one knee, his soldiers all following suit. Soon the entire arena follows, everyone bowing to Lucius who, bless him, looks completely out of his element. He tentatively raises a hand and everyone cheers, chanting his name as it echoes across the stonework. 

As the crowd continues to chant and cheer their new Emperor, I drop the bow and run down the back steps, moving as fast as I can towards the gladiator entrance. The guards, having seen me before, fling the gates open and I sprint past them, moving quickly into the arena. The crowds are still chanting Lucius’s name, but my eyes are purely for one man. Marcus turns his head, seeing me coming for him and stands, his chest heaving from fighting and tension, but he still jogs towards me. We crash into each other, Marcus picking me up, his lips finding mine like they were meant to. He pushes his tongue into my willing mouth and I taste sweat and blood mixed in with his scent. The crowd notices as they change from Lucius to ooooo! I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to his for a moment before I look into his eyes, so soft and warm. A small clearing of the throat comes to me and we turn our heads, looking at Lucius.

“Hi,” He does a little wave. “Uh what the fuck just happened?”

We laugh, Marcus placing me back down on the ground. He drops back down to his knee, saluting him. “I, General Acacius, do pledge myself to you, Emperor Lucius.”

Lucius’s eyes widen even more. “What if I don’t want this?”

“You have a choice. If you think this is not your fate, there is another who will take your place. But he is happy to step aside for the grandson of Marcus Aurelius.” 

He nods, still looking uncertain. “But what if I don’t know what to do?”

I smile at him, stepping closer. “Your mother, and her trusted people, will guide you.”

He nods again, turning back to Marcus. “Rise. Or whatever.” He extends a hand and helps Marcus to his feet. “I totally would’ve had you.”

“Keep dreaming, Emperor.”

4 years later on an olive farm outside of the capital…

The light streams in through the window on my face, gently waking me to a new day. I blink my eyes open slowly, stretching lazily. I try to sit up, but a large arm wraps around my bare torso and pulls me close to his own bare body, burying his face in my neck.

“Marcus,” my voice laced with sleep. “It’s time to wake. The twins will be up soon.”

Marcus groans, a quiet “No” emanating from his chest. “Let the servants cook them breakfast today.”

I chuckle. “They do love Leta’s breakfast. But you also have that meeting with the other olive farmers today.”

Marcus starts to kiss a spot on my neck, applying more pressure so as to leave a mark. He lets it go, nuzzling the spot with his nose as the skin reddens. He continues to kiss my shoulder, gently pushing me on my back as he slots his massive frame between my legs. He stares down at me, softly pushing a stray hair from my face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in awe.

I trace the scar on his cheek with my finger. “Not as beautiful as you.”

He kisses me and then pulls back to nip at my chin. “The farmers can wait. I plan on putting as many babies in you as you’ll let me.”

He pushes into me with a moan, my head pushing back into the bed as he gently slides his hips against mine, taking his time to make sure he gets evey sound, every ounce of pleasure he can from me. 

And when I come downstairs and see him play wrestling with the twins, I think about how lucky I was that my brother tried to use me as a pawn all those years ago. Sure, it was hell enduring my brother, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[lilvalleys]

Better Man | CS55

in which carlos is carlos and it absolutely breaks y/n …

warnings- this paints carlos as a bad man / bad bf and i don’t mean anything by it , that’s just the song, neglect, ghosting , destructive behavior , hurt no comfort LMAO

a/n- i really like this one tbh…… hope you guys love it too p.s i’m posting a prompt list soon?? also please give me more song x reader recs… should i open it up to all artists? i’m sorry for blabbering i’m just thinking about a lot lol enjoy

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[vidavalor]

The Kiss

There is a big something that I think might be missing in discussion of The Final 15 that could not only help to explain the finale but also help to answer the following common question:

How could Crowley & Aziraphale really be long-time lovers when the kiss is awkward and Aziraphale's response, in particular, could be taken as indicative of the opposite?

There is an answer. To see it involves asking these questions:

What, exactly, do Crowley and Aziraphale each thing is happening in The Final 15... and what are their plans to stop it that they are trying (and failing) to convey to one another?

Those plans-- Crowley's, in particular? They will show you how the show that is no stranger to the art of prestidigitation is showing basically the worst kiss imaginable between two beings who have been lovers for millennia and just how, exactly, that's possible with what their narrative magic trick led you to think you saw.

Grab a drink and c'mon in. We're going to reverse-engineer The Final 15 and, if you're anything like the people I've already shown this to, you might look at both the kiss and the ending of S2 in a whole new romantic light as a result...

The most common question and comment that I have received is always how it is that I can see Crowley and Aziraphale as very old lovers when the kiss in 2.06, to some people, tells a different story.

Very often this question comes not from people who don't want them to be old lovers but from people who do-- especially people who like my ideas about The Vavoom that Crowley spends half of S2 going on about being their first kiss or who agree with the idea that the ancient Rome scene and its highly euphemistic oysters is meant to suggest the first time Crowley and Aziraphale went to bed together. They agree with the zillions of little suggestions of Crowley and Aziraphale having been lovers in secret for millennia but they are thrown by the only kiss to date being that admittedly very painful to watch one with a reaction out of Aziraphale that is borderline devastated. If they've been a couple for ages, as a hundred different moments suggest, how can we square that with this kiss?

I've given this answer, in bits and pieces, to a few people and they all have been in agreement that it makes sense, answers those above questions, and actually also makes all of the end of S2 a bit more romantic, if still sad. Hopefully, if that's what you're looking for, it will do that for you, too. This is a very long post but if everyone's reading epic fic around the kiss, why not a meta, right? There are chocolate cookies. *passes the tray*

TWs: Satan's attacks on Crowley-- the possession-as-rape-analogy in Good Omens; PTSD; anxiety.

To understand both what's going on The Final 15 and why the kiss is... that kiss... we have to first understand just what it is that Crowley and Aziraphale think is happening in this scene.

There are a lot of distractions thrown in everywhere and, as I've looked around, I haven't seen anyone talk yet about what Crowley thinks is happening, in particular... because it's not just his worry about Aziraphale and the Supreme Archangel job. It's not really actually that at all-- and the show told us (and only us) that back near the start of 2.01.

In the beginning of the season, we are shown that Crowley is freaked out about The Book of Life. It doesn't actually matter in S2 if The Book of Life is real or not. All that matters is that Crowley becomes convinced that it is. This fear that Aziraphale could be written out of it and made to have never existed is then driving Crowley's behavior all season...

...but only we the audience know that. Why does that matter?

Because it explains a lot of the communication gaps happening between the main four characters that are actually what cause The Final 15 to unfold the way it does and what are, therefore, kind of responsible for that blasted kiss being the way it is.

So, we have to look at those miscommunications first, in order to understand how Crowley arrives at a plan he does to stop Aziraphale from being Book of Life'd and what that plan has to do with the kiss. It's not actually something in anyone's mouth-- it's something I haven't seen anyone bring up yet that actually also ties the whole season together. Right, so, the miscommunications and why Crowley hasn't told anyone by 2.06 about how he's freaked out about The Book of Life...

While Crowley is advocating that people talk to one another-- that feeding your fellow metaphorical ducks your metaphorical frozen peas, as he tells Shax in 2.01-- is the way forward, he's holding back on his own frozen peas where The Book of Life is concerned. Despite being open about his emotions with Aziraphale, he doesn't tell him about this all season. Crowley's heart is in the right place for doing so but he's made a *huge* error in judgement in withholding this information from Aziraphale. Why is Crowley making that big mistake when he normally wouldn't with Aziraphale?

It's because of how he learned of the threat of The Book of Life and how that relates to what Aziraphale is going through in S2.

Aziraphale is struggling to deal with the feeling that Heaven has abandoned him. Until Gabriel showed up at the shop, no one from Heaven has spoken to Aziraphale in the years between S1 and S2. He wants Heaven to fuck off but he's also embarrassed by how easily they seem to have been able to do so. Crowley knows what it feels like to feel like Heaven has thrown you over and he's trying to be a sensitive partner to Aziraphale. He can't stand how Heaven has made his angel feel and he's not keen on making it worse by telling Aziraphale more than is absolutely necessary regarding any interactions with Hell that Crowley is having.

In reality, Heaven hasn't actually abandoned Aziraphale-- not entirely. Gabriel and Beez are on Crowley and Aziraphale's side but they haven't told them that. Because of the events of the end of S1, Gabriel and Beez think that Crowley and Aziraphale wouldn't want to talk to them and they also think that all four of them could be in danger if they were caught interacting. They think the best way to protect Crowley and Aziraphale is to pretend as much as possible like they don't exist. This is easier for Gabriel to get away with in Heaven than it is for Beez to get away with in Hell.

The top angels don't care about the bookshop and see being assigned to Earth as beneath them. They're all jockeying for power and focused on Armageddon so none of them are bugging Gabriel about Aziraphale's ambassador job and the embassy bookshop that they presume is just going to be destroyed during Armageddon anyway. Gabriel can get away with protecting Aziraphale by just not doing anything about him or the bookshop whatsoever. Beez, though, is in a tighter position.

The higher-ranked demons all want to get the hell out of there and escape to Earth and Crowley had one of the most plum jobs in Hell. Beez is under a lot of pressure to fire and replace him. They manage to kick the can down the road as much as possible-- probably using the pandemic lockdowns and how there were fewer people out to tempt as an excuse-- until they get to a point where they have to replace Crowley or risk being seen as a traitor themselves, which would put all four of them in danger and would have been abandoning Gabriel, which Beez couldn't do.

So, Beez sends the one annoying them the most about the job-- Shax-- to take over Crowley's position, which also means kicking Crowley out of the Hell-owned flat he had in Mayfair. Beez doesn't actually want to do this. Note how when they talk to Crowley in Hell in S2, they say that they could put a price on his head anytime... but we know that they haven't and it's been four years. They don't really wish him any harm, they just felt they had to pretend like they do in Hell to stay alive. Beez and Gabriel have been doing the best they can to protect Crowley and Aziraphale and they think that, while it is obviously not great that they've had to take Crowley's flat, it's not a total disaster because Gabriel can make sure that the bookshop remains in Aziraphale's hands and doesn't Crowley basically live in the bookshop with Aziraphale anyway?

Gabriel and Beez aren't exactly wrong about Crowley basically living in the bookshop-- but they aren't exactly right about it, either. We are shown that Crowley, for all intents and purposes, does basically live in the bookshop. They both get "plenty of use" out of it, don't they? It's the reason why Aziraphale doesn't notice that Crowley has lost his flat-- Crowley is just there in the shop with him, in what is basically their home, every night until the pre-dawn hours, when he slips out of the side door because they're still trying not to be caught.

Ironically? It's not just Satan and The Metatron but Gabriel and Beez that Crowley and Aziraphale don't want to find out that they're a couple because they don't know that Gabriel and Beez actually have already known forever and are on their side. They don't know that Gabriel and Beez have been trying to protect them from Satan and The Metatron. Ahead of S2, Crowley and Aziraphale see Beez and Gabriel as threats when, in reality, the reason why they've been getting away with their relationship for so long is because Ineffable Bureaucracy already knows, ships it, and doesn't think it's any of their business.

Because no one's talking to each other here about this stuff, though, Aziraphale doesn't know he has Gabriel in his corner. He's understandably very sensitive about the fact that no one in Heaven seems to give a fuck about him. He doesn't want Heaven to be bugging them but he's also embarrassed by how easily Heaven has thrown him over-- a very hard pill to swallow after Aziraphale has spent so many years denying himself the full life he wants because of Heaven.

No angels have shown up in the bookshop in four years to formally fire Aziraphale and try to claim the bookshop, which is, technically, an angelic space. To Aziraphale, this means that he's so inconsequential that Heaven couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge his existence. In reality, no angels have because Gabriel is a fan of both Aziraphale and the bookshop and has been making sure that no one hurts either... but he hasn't told Aziraphale that and, because of what happens to Gabriel in S2, he actually is incapable of doing so because his memories are missing. So, all of this is exacerbating Aziraphale's already high anxiety and depression in S2.

Crowley sees and understands Aziraphale's feelings over Heaven and he doesn't want to make it worse. He can't stand seeing Aziraphale in pain so, while he's open about other emotions and goings on, he keeps from Aziraphale any interactions that he has with Hell.

He's doing so because he thinks it will embarrass Aziraphale even more if he finds out that even Hell cared about Crowley and his demonic job performance enough that they thought enough of him to actually fire and replace him. This is why Crowley keeps from Aziraphale the information that Shax has taken his job and flat-- and the far more important information that Beez reached out to him, asked for his help, and convinced him of the threat of The Book of Life.

All Aziraphale does know about Crowley's interactions with Hell during S2 is that he knows that Crowley is meeting Shax for information (Crowley's "you'll never guess who Shax asked me about" to Aziraphale in 2.01.). Crowley has told Aziraphale this because he has no other choice. The two of them need a source in Heaven or Hell to give them information on whether or not Heaven or Hell is planning on coming after them and when Armageddon: Round Two might be getting going. Telling Aziraphale this was bad enough, as far is Crowley is concerned, because it alone is causing Aziraphale embarrassment.

Aziraphale is mortified that Crowley needs to be the one of the two of them to provide the source. He sees it as a failure to protect Crowley because he thinks it would be safer for Crowley if they had a source in Heaven and he's embarrassed by the fact that no one in Heaven will talk to him. This theme of Aziraphale feeling like he's failing Crowley and isn't able to fully protect him carries into The Final 15 and is why Aziraphale is (quite literally) tempted by the (really non-existent) job offer.

What this means, though, is that Crowley's decision to not tell Aziraphale about his concerns about The Book of Life because it would mean telling him about his interaction with Beez means that Crowley's usual sounding board of Aziraphale is, in Crowley's mind, not an option for all of S2. The person who usually helps calm his anxiety is someone that Crowley has decided he can't talk to without triggering their anxiety when, in reality, it actually would have made Aziraphale feel a thousand times better if Crowley had gone to him with this.

Because Crowley trusts few people, if he doesn't have Aziraphale to talk to about his fears, he doesn't have a lot of other options. Humans and Shax are obviously out, as is Beez, whom Crowley thinks still believes it to be true. When Crowley brings it up to Gabriel, he doesn't actually say "The Book of Life" at any point. He growls that Aziraphale is "risking his existence" for Gabriel, which is really, from Gabriel's perspective, just another way of saying "risking his life."

While Jim didn't have his memories and so couldn't really offer Crowley any counsel about it, Gabriel probably knows whether or not The Book of Life is real or not... he just has no idea, based on how Crowley phrased it, that Crowley is concerned about it. He probably could have told Crowley that it isn't real in 2.06 if Crowley had actually talked to him about it but Crowley didn't let him in enough and that fucks The Final 15, too. When Gabriel gets his memories back in 2.06, he doesn't say anything to Crowley about The Book of Life because he doesn't even know it's an issue... only we do. We are shown it so that we know where Crowley's mind is at and can use that to help interpret what's happening in 2.06.

So, what do all these miscommunications have to do with Crowley's plan and The Kiss?

Honestly? Everything...

Believing in The Book of Life is Crowley's main concern throughout the whole season and, because Crowley got the information that led to his fear of The Book of Life from Beez, he has decided it's not something about which he can tell Aziraphale. This results in Aziraphale having absolutely no idea what Crowley believes the threat is during The Final 15. It is a big part of why they fail to understand what one another is saying... and it's a *very* big part of how that kiss ended up so awkward, despite Crowley and Aziraphale actually being long-time lovers, as you'll see as we talk below about just what Crowley was planning on doing about this threat of The Book of Life.

Crowley is convinced that the dude who shows up with coffee in 2.06 is The Metatron. Because he thinks it's The Metatron, Crowley now thinks that The Metatron is trying to lure Aziraphale to Heaven to write his name out of The Book of Life and make it so that the love of Crowley's life has never existed and Crowley. is. terrified. of this happening...

Is he just going to stand by and watch it happen, though?

Of course not. Crowley always has a plan. So, what's Crowley's plan?

If you were Crowley and you believed in the threat of non-existence via The Book of Life, based on what he (and we) have seen in the story so far, what would you think you could do to save Aziraphale?

Crowley knows that he can't actually prevent The Metatron from trying to erase Aziraphale. He knows they're basically trapped and that he might not be able to stop Aziraphale from going with The Metatron, willingly or unwillingly, because The Metatron seems to have boxed them into a corner a bit here. So, presuming that Aziraphale's name will get erased, how does Crowley put into motion prior to that happening a plan to save Aziraphale from no longer existing if The Metatron erases his name?

And how does he do all of that right under The Metatron's nose, with almost no time to spare?

If your first answer is that they need to get all of Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness out of the body named 'Aziraphale' before The Metatron erases that name from The Book of Life, that is a start... that is the first phase of a plan... but it's not all of it because that would just solve one part of the problem. It's why The Fly isn't really the full answer here and there's another thing happening.

Crowley is thinking that he needs to protect Aziraphale in a way similar to how Beez protected Gabriel, in that he needs to help Aziraphale see the risk and to separate his mind from his body, the way that Gabriel was able to do to elude The Metatron and escape from Heaven just a few days before... but there is one, big issue with this threat of The Book of Life that is different from Gabriel's situation:

Gabriel still had his body.

By using Beez's fly, Gabriel was able to separate his mind and his body enough to be able to use his body to take his mind to the bookshop and, ultimately, save both parts of himself. It's because he was able to pull that off that Crowley and Beez were able to help him reunite his mind with his body by opening The Fly, right?

This doesn't fully work if the threat is The Book of Life, as Crowley believes it is to Aziraphale. Why not? Because Aziraphale's body will have been made to have never existed.

They can get Aziraphale's mind out of his body before he's erased and save his essence but, unlike with Gabriel's situation, there won't be a body to put that essence back into once the threat has passed, right?

So, Crowley knows that his plan needs to account for that. There has to be a way to not just save Aziraphale's mind from The Book of Life but to ensure that his angel's body can be kept from non-existence, too.

So, how is Crowley not just going to save Aziraphale's mind but his body so that Crowley can... *sigh* wait for it...

...restore his friend, Aziraphale, to full angelic status...

...when the threat of The Book of Life has passed?

What is one thing that exists in Good Omens that we have seen-- and so has Crowley-- that could solve the problem of both Aziraphale's mind and body in the face of a threat of The Book of Life?

It's in figuring out how to save Aziraphale's body that Crowley sees how to save all of him. How to save Aziraphale's body?

Crowley knows a guy. So do we. His name is Adam.

Crowley's thinking that, if they can get Aziraphale's mind out of Aziraphale's body the way that Beez and Gabriel did for Gabriel, that, so long as they have a fly of sorts in which to store all of Aziraphale's Aziraphaleness for a bit until after The Metatron erases Aziraphale's name from The Book of Life, they can then, once the threat has passed, drive to Tadfield and get Adam to regenerate Aziraphale's body. From there, they just pop Aziraphale's mind back into said body and ta-da! Aziraphale has eluded The Book of Life.

So, there are just a few hiccups to Crowley's plan here... namely, the fact that Beez is gone so they don't have the option of one of their flies and, even if they did, there's no way that The Metatron is going to leave them alone long enough for Aziraphale to actually extract his memories safely into one.

They are going to have do something like The Fly but that isn't exactly The Fly... and they're going to have to do it right under The Metatron's nose. Right in front of him, without him knowing, and within the few moments after Aziraphale returns to the bookshop...

...or else, Crowley believes, Aziraphale is going to die.

There is only one option left and it is the stuff of Crowley's nightmares:

He will need to be Aziraphale's fly.

To save Aziraphale from The Book of Life, Crowley thinks that Aziraphale will have to possess him.

If Aziraphale possesses him, Aziraphale will become Crowley.

He will be safe in Crowley and they can send the Jimbriel-like shell of Aziraphale left in Aziraphale's body with The Metatron to be erased. They can then get in The Bentley and drive to Tadfield, get Adam to regenerate Aziraphale's body, and they can put Aziraphale back into Aziraphale's own body.

They have no time and no other option for a fly and this is the only way. It also happens to be the thing that terrifies Crowley the most because, while he knows that Aziraphale will never hurt him, Crowley has been attacked in this way by Satan before and this is not something he and Aziraphale do. Aziraphale has Crowley-- body, heart and soul-- but his mind is a red line that neither of them have any desire to cross. They don't see it as healthy because it's unnecessarily triggering for Crowley and Aziraphale has zero interest in doing anything that worsens Crowley's PTSD.

Even if Aziraphale had understood this plan when Crowley presented it-- and we'll look at how he does that in a moment-- it's unlikely that Aziraphale would have done it, even with the express consent that Crowley was giving him. The risk to his own life wouldn't have mattered to Aziraphale more than the possibility of causing Crowley harm. How do we know that?

Because, back in S1, when Aziraphale was discorporated in Heaven, the world was also about to end. He needed to get to Tadfield to help Crowley stop it. The only way to do that in that moment was to possess somebody. With eight billion people and every living thing on Earth at risk, Aziraphale's solution to this problem did not even really include asking for the option of possessing Crowley. He makes a joke about not having a body limiting his ability to "inhabit" Crowley's that is sexual innuendo, not a request to hitch a ride to Tadfield in his mind.

He then sets about telling Crowley that he is searching for "a receptive body," as Aziraphale put it-- meaning, for someone who would consent to being possessed, because non-consensual possession is the supernatural equivalent to rape, as the show has been using as an allegory since its first episode. Aziraphale was not willing to possess anybody who wasn't consenting to it because he's obviously not a rapist. What the scene also shows, though, is that Aziraphale considered the idea of possessing Crowley such a non-starter of a plan that he was looking for literally anybody else on Earth who was willing to be his ride to Tadfield rather than go anywhere near the idea of an action that they both knew would be unhealthy for Crowley.

If Aziraphale hadn't found Madame Tracy, he would have just kept looking, even if it ran out the clock. He was willing to let the world burn rather than possess Crowley-- even if Crowley consented-- back in S1. There is some foreshadowing of possession being part of the 2.06 plot earlier in S2 when Aziraphale discovers that he has basically accidentally quasi-possessed Crowley to an extent when he was driving The Bentley by not realizing that Crowley has essentially psychically linked himself to the car.

Aziraphale was joking around in making the car a sexual metaphor for Crowley and bemusing himself by having the car be increasingly more like how Crowley is privately than how he presents himself to the outside world. He changes the car to the color of Crowley's eyes-- having it take off its black and silver glasses. The car brings him little treats, plays the music he feels like listening to, responds positively to some tongue-in-cheek, playful, soft domming, etc... Aziraphale thought this was purely a metaphor until Crowley told him that he could feel everything that Aziraphale was doing to the car.

Crowley hadn't told Aziraphale prior to Aziraphale leaving that he was linked to his car in that way and, when Aziraphale realizes that his humorous, little mischief is actually the result of being tied a little to Crowley's mind, Aziraphale immediately backs off of what he was doing. We later see him ask The Bentley for music on the way back from Edinburgh and he doesn't make any changes to the car for the rest of the trip. He's aware that he freaked Crowley out by sort-of being in his mind a little, as it was never his intention to do so.

It's likely that, even if Aziraphale had been able to understand what Crowley was trying to say with his plan for Aziraphale to possess him in 2.06, that he simply would not have done it. That doesn't change the fact, though, that Crowley has arrived at possession as the only way to stop The Book of Life and that it's the core of his plan.

So, the other hiccups to Crowley's plan... how does Crowley convince The Metatron that he just is watching romance and nothing else? How does he tell Aziraphale this plan... and how do they pull it off with The Metatron watching them?

First is that Crowley needs The Metatron to think that he has nothing but romance on the brain. He doesn't trust that Muriel-- who is super-excited to be singled out for a possible role by The Metatron-- won't tell The Metatron everything he's said the moment that they leave the shop. Crowley says aloud in front of them something that is both true and a lie at once-- that he thinks that, when Aziraphale "comes back", that they need to go for "an extremely alcoholic breakfast at The Ritz." Crowley does really want to do this and it's arguable that when he says "comes back", knowing his plan as we are seeing it here, he really means "comes back" from all of this Book of Life stuff, but he phrases it in such a way that Muriel, if they repeat it to The Metatron, will make it sound like Crowley is literally thinking of nothing but a boozy brunch date.

Next, Crowley knows that he'll need to speak uninterrupted for a couple of moments about something that The Metatron can hear on the surface but that is really using their hidden language to convey this possession plan to Aziraphale under the surface.

Later in the scene, when Crowley says "no nightingales" to Aziraphale as everything else is falling apart, he's trying to say: you didn't hear the coded things I was saying... but, in the most romantic of *sob of frustration* things ever, that same word also happens to just mean their love for one another, which is what their whole secret language really is about in the first place... So, Aziraphale actually winds up hearing: you don't love me instead.

Back when Crowley was formulating this plan, though? He was sure that he could get Aziraphale to understand him by using their nightingales-y Ineffable Husbands Speak because not like that hasn't been working for them for the last few thousand years or anything! Rare is the day that they don't know what each other means in it so Crowley thinks it will work.

Crowley also knows how to solve the last challenge of this plan, which is that the effects of possession or any influence miracle can be visible to outsiders. We've seen that it can cause observable changes on someone's face. This means that Crowley and Aziraphale will need a way of keeping that contained from The Metatron's view.

Crowley has a plan... as foreshadowed (unfortunately lol) by this bit earlier in the season:

Crowley's plan is that they can cover Aziraphale possessing him if Aziraphale kisses him when he does it.

Before I go on... stop and think about that for a second.

If Crowley's plan to save Aziraphale's life is dependent upon Aziraphale kissing him, there is absolutely zero chance that this would be the first time that they've ever kissed. Crowley would never come up with a plan that was reliant upon Aziraphale kissing him if kissing him wasn't something Aziraphale didn't already regularly do and with which he had no issue.

Ok, so, what this means then is that Crowley needs to be saying something in Ineffable Husbands Speak that sounds, on the surface, like something that he could be reasonably saying so that The Metatron won't be suspicious, even if The Metatron finds it abhorrent. It needs to be something that Crowley thinks can lead directly towards Aziraphale kissing him, once Aziraphale hears the coded speech and understands the plan and that Crowley is consenting to it.

For the first time, they aren't using the hidden language as a smokescreen for their relationship but for a plan. The cant that is designed to hide their romantic relationship being the idea that they're enemies when they're speaking in public is now going to be used sort of backwards from its original purpose. They're speaking openly about their romance in front of The Metatron and using that romance that they usually try to keep hidden as a distraction from the plans to elude Heaven and Hell that they're really using the language to convey to one another. (We'll talk about Aziraphale's plan in just a moment.)

So, how do we know this? Let's start looking at a bit of the plan-conveying dialogue...

Crowley's plan is possession, right? If I asked you to name the single most overt bit of innuendo in Good Omens-- stuff that isn't really even coded-- you are probably going to tell me that it's Crowley and Aziraphale turning talk of possession into overt sexual innuendo with the "receptive body... harder than you think" and "I'm not going to go there" comments in S1, right?

The reasons why this is *so* direct in S1 are two-fold. The first reason is just to help emphasize the possession-as-sex allegory that is happening but the second reason is because the series needs us to see that possession-as-sex allegory exists not just thematically but between Crowley and Aziraphale. We need to see them speak about possession in this way so that, when we eventually get to S2's Final 15, we already know that Crowley and Aziraphale talk about possession in a highly-sexualized way and can then understand what they're saying more subtly in coded language as a result.

For example...

We've known each other a long time. We've been on THIS PLANET for a long time. I mean, you and me.

Known: contains own, which means possession; know, which is an old, Biblical, sexual euphemism for sex that Crowley uses in multiple scenes, and the word now.

THIS PLANET (practically shouted, for emphasis): this is the plan.

For a long time: redistributed, this is all onto me. For is also por in Spanish. Homophone: pour. Pour it all onto me.

I mean, you and me: The word mean comes from the same root as the word mind. "I mean" = "my mind." This is why Crowley says "I mean" several times during this scene when he normally doesn't say it much at all. "You and me" is said so quickly that it comes out sounding like "you in me", especially when his quick hand gesture is reinforcing it and looks like a drink, reinforcing the alcohol/coffee-as-sex vibe. "I mean, you and me" is also "I'm me, and you in me," referring to what he's trying to have happen.

The first lines of the proposal, when Crowley tries it, amount to: This is the plan: You need to weave us together, angel. Possess me.

Take my mind. Do it now.

This is really why he looks like he's going to pass out or throw up. He's not confessing love for Aziraphale. He's not even, truly, asking Aziraphale to marry him, even if that's what it sounds like. He's terrified that Aziraphale is going to die and he thinks the only way out of this is for Aziraphale to take over his mind, which, even though Crowley trusts Aziraphale, is the most frightening thing he can imagine, shy of losing Aziraphale. Crowley being wide-eyed and shallowly breathing here? That's not cute confession or proposal butterflies. That's terror and anxiety. He's trying to stave off an anxiety attack because, in his mind, if he doesn't, it could mean Aziraphale's life.

Every single line of Crowley's proposal is reinforcing this idea. It is just attempting to rephrase it in different ways... over and over. Every single line is basically a different way of saying this same thing. Look at the next ones...

I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. Group of the two of us...

Rely, from the verb ligare, meaning to tie or knot together; also: to lay down or to lay. He's proposing that they, well, tie the knot as a cover for knotting the two of them together via the possession to save Aziraphale. A team, a group... These are singular words that describe multiple people. It's again saying: knot us together, possess me, make us one person. A group of the two of us. They'd be a group-- a singular thing-- made up of the two of them. Additionally? Team contains tea, group contains rou, homophone: roux, and a grouper is a kind of fish. Tea, sauce, and fish = three different sexually euphemistic things in Ineffable Husbands Speak, underscoring the fact that Crowley is basically just saying: SEX, ANGEL. DO THE THING THAT IS LIKE SEX RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

It's the fanfic season. An unique take on 'fuck or die' was inevitable, no? 🤭

There are two moments in what Crowley says where he tries to reference The Book of Life to help Aziraphale understand what he's saying when it has become evident that Aziraphale does not. (We'll look at why and also at what Aziraphale is trying to tell Crowley that Crowley is not getting in a second.) I'm going to point them out because they help to reinforce this possession plan theory. The first is when Crowley says "our existence" and the second is what he says in intentionally mispronouncing Beez's name.

As mentioned, because of Crowley's own actions throughout the season, Aziraphale has no fucking idea that Crowley is so worked up about The Book of Life and, maybe more telling? Aziraphale himself is not really concerned about it, despite Michael threatening him with it a moment earlier. We'll see what Aziraphale thinks is going on below but he's not worried about The Book of Life, which helps to suggest that Crowley was correct back in 2.01 and this thing, the way that he and Beez think it exists? Doesn't really exist.

It suggests that, had Crowley actually talked to Aziraphale about The Book of Life at one point during the past week-- had he told him about what Beez said to him and how he wasn't sure if his memories were correct-- that Aziraphale's response would have been all oh, honey, don't worry-- you were right. That's not real.

Yeah, I'm saying that Crowley has built an entire plan around a threat that he once made up in his mind as a by-product of his own fears about Heaven because...

That's what anxiety is.

Even if it turns out to not be the case? The point would still stand that Crowley anxiety'd himself into this plan because he didn't talk to Aziraphale about what he was feeling and how that led to disaster.

But, back to the dialogue...

The real reason why Aziraphale isn't hearing "existence" when Crowley says it and thinking "The Book of Life" is because Crowley says "existence" for life all the damn time because our demon thinks he can't really have a life, just an existence, since he's damned. Here's Crowley using "existence" to describe his precious, peaceful, if fragile, life with Aziraphale back in 2.01:

So, Aziraphale's mind is not exactly going to jump to The Book of Life when he hears Crowley use "existence" in 2.06. The sentence that hurts Aziraphale-- "and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't"-- actually is a little different in Ineffable Husbands Speak. Tending means to take care of, which is also how Crowley was also using it in 1941's "you tend to see sea things." We aren't = we are knot. To the outside world, they've pretended that they're not a couple but they haven't been pretending that with one another for their whole existence.

(If you go full Mr. Harmony and look at little closer at what Crowley is mouthing after his conversation with Nina in the street about his and Aziraphale's relationship, he actually appears to be mouthing that other word Nina just said-- "life"/"lives"-- and not "love"... speaking of scenes that are designed to mislead the audience... 😉 It's not an oh moment-- it's Crowley thinking of the topic of life that is plaguing him all week-- their own existence and The Book of Life. How could it be an oh moment? This demon had a contact phone image for Aziraphale back in S1 that was hearts being consumed by flames. I think he's caught onto the fact that he's in love with him by now...)

Anyway, as Crowley grows more desperate to convey the plan in 2.06, he employs Gabriel and Beez's names as part of the coded language. Gabriel's name means "messenger" so, to say it while wording, is to say "message." The most important part, though, is Crowley's intentional mispronunciation of Beez's name. He's genuinely crying, which is what both allows for the cover of him saying it incorrectly, but is then also what makes it so Aziraphale isn't sure what he's hearing because Crowley will slur his sibilant sounds when distressed, if not usually in this particular way.

Crowley says Beez's name like this: "Be ale je bub." Je in French is I while bub is short for bubbly, or champagne. (Dark mirror of S1 anyone? They should be toasting each other at The Ritz right now, dammit...) Bees = angels, per Crowley in the prior episode, and he uses be as bee in the cant to mean angel in different scenes. This is saying Aziraphale is ale/beer to Crowley's champagne and they're combined together into one word: Beezlebub. Yes, it's a cocktail, which is probably how Aziraphale heard it, if he caught it (which is a bit of a debatable point) but that's actually not the word Crowley is trying to say. The word Crowley is trying to say is the one that who he believes is The Metatron used to refer to The Book of Life a few minutes earlier: balderdash.

While, today, balderdash refers to words and means utter nonsense, the original definition of it was a drink that combined two different types of alcohol. Crowley is actually trying use Beez's name to reference balderdash to Aziraphale and we can see how his mind would do that, right? Beez is who told him of The Book of Life threat... we get that but Aziraphale doesn't know so he won't get it... and balderdash is what the being Crowley thinks is The Metatron just said about The Book of Life. Crowley doesn't trust The Metatron so he's trying to say that he doesn't believe The Book of Life is balderdash and that's what's upsetting him, that's why he's in tears, because Aziraphale could be erased into non-existence.

By taking what they're each saying just on the surface, the two of them get so turned around that they wind up thinking they're trying to break up with one another. This becomes a huge problem for both of them because if they call it quits, they have to stop talking and if they have stop talking, they are out of ways to convey a plan.

Crowley eventually gets to a point of desperation because they've shifted towards a break up and to prolong it indefinitely while repeating different versions of the same thing is going to look suspicious and The Metatron might figure out what he's trying to do. Crowley needs a way to refer back to what he's already said during the proposal and try to get Aziraphale to see it as coded language.

So, Crowley winds up taking a risk. He says the word for their secret language aloud in conversation, hoping that The Metatron will just take it as a private reference and not coded speech, and that Aziraphale will hear that there is hidden language that he is missing:

The problem here is that nightingales also means their love for each other and Aziraphale doesn't see the reference to coded language that Crowley is trying to convey. Crowley is asking if Aziraphale can hear and pointing overhead, in a nod to the first formations of what would eventually become their coded speech with those other birds-- the crows of the Job minisode. He's speaking of the language but that language exists as a way that they love one another and their name for it is synonymous with that love and Crowley is saying this in a moment when they have both got this all so backwards that they are all but breaking up with one another.

So, in that context? Aziraphale hears, instead: you don't love me.

This is then why Aziraphale turns away and starts to cry, instead of being like ohhhhh! you were speaking in our vocabulary! let me just have a quick think back on what you were saying-- ah, ok, I get it! let me run over and possession-kiss you now!... which is what Crowley was trying to have happen.

Crowley, though, thinks that there's no way that Aziraphale could have heard him say nightingales and not thought it referred to hidden speech. He gives Aziraphale a second, in which he's thinking that he's now got Aziraphale thinking back on the proposal and understanding the plan.

In order for this plan to work, what still needs to happen? The thing to cover the possession, right? They need another opportunity for that so Crowley makes one.

He walks back and, as we all well know, he kisses Aziraphale.

He kisses Aziraphale not just because of the existing emotions of the idea of Aziraphale going to Heaven but because this is the last shot of there being a moment to do so that could cover the possession that could, in Crowley's mind, save Aziraphale's life. He kisses Aziraphale to give Aziraphale the chance to possess him, which Aziraphale, as we've mentioned, likely wouldn't do even if he understood this plan.

This is also why the kiss is terrible. It's why they barely move. It's why Crowley can't deepen it and it just doesn't go anywhere. The whole point of the kiss is to give Aziraphale the chance to use the kiss as cover to possess him so, by default? Crowley can't really do much here but wait out as long as is feasible before this just starts to look weird to even The Metatron lol. It's why he's not really kissing Aziraphale much at all and why he hangs on for the seven eternities of this kiss to give Aziraphale as much time as possible and why he stays nearby for a moment afterwards, hoping that it would have still just then clicked for Aziraphale, who could then jump back into his arms and kiss him to possess him.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale just has no idea why he's being kissed right now and he's just been through an emotional gauntlet. Four minutes ago, he thought Crowley wanted to marry him. Now, they're getting ineffably divorced. He's getting unexpectedly kissed when Crowley was about to leave. This is all not even yet counting in what is actually happening with Aziraphale and his side of this and what Crowley isn't hearing him say this whole time, either. All of those things very much account for Aziraphale's reaction to this kiss, as you'll see.

And still, what happens?

Aziraphale kisses Crowley a bit. He holds him closer. Because he can't not do either of those things. He doesn't know fully what's happening here but he knows he loves Crowley and that Crowley is very upset and he can't not try to comfort him. He doesn't know how to not kiss Crowley, even just a little, even as this is a complete and utter disaster of a thing that Aziraphale can't really fully parse out because he lacks the context to understand even why this kiss is happening right now, let alone with the fact that Crowley doesn't know what Aziraphale thinks is going on and the plan that Aziraphale is trying to convey that Crowley hasn't been hearing.

So... speaking of that! Wait until you see just how frustratingly similar a plan Aziraphale has, even if he thinks something totally different is happening...

As mentioned in other posts, there is a scene in 2.06 that says that Aziraphale spoke to The Metatron the night before after blowing up his halo. It happens here:

So, Aziraphale actually did tell The Metatron where he could stick it the night before. This means that Aziraphale spent the prior night after where we left him during the bookshop attack anticipating that The Metatron was going to tell Satan that Aziraphale was fair game. This is one of the big hints that we're actually watching Aziraphale's fall in S2 and that Coffee Dude is really Satan, who has taken on the appearance of The Metatron in order to tempt Aziraphale.

Thwarting Heaven is basically Aziraphale's part-time job, though, and he doesn't want to fall. He's not just going to accept this fate. He's worked up a plan to try to stop it from happening.

Aziraphale doesn't see demons as lesser beings-- he's in love with one of them. He doesn't want to fall because being a demon means that your soul belongs to Satan for all of eternity and Satan is a) Crowley's assailant and b) The Devil... so, Aziraphale's a bit of a hard pass on falling. It's awfully dark, cramped and violent down there and Aziraphale, having spent thousands of years as Crowley's partner, knows better than most how being a demon comes with a great deal of pain. It doesn't matter to our Marvelous Mr. Fell that no angel before him has ever managed to successfully escape falling. He's going to try.

Aziraphale knows that he can't control the actions of The Metatron or Satan. He has to assume that Satan will show up at his door and he knows he can't outrun him forever. Aziraphale also has humility enough to know that he has a history of trusting the wrong people for the right reasons... and that Satan is the trickiest motherfucker there is. Aziraphale knows that his plan to avoid becoming a demon will have to include the assumption that he will fall for Satan's temptation.

As a result? Aziraphale needs a failsafe.

He needs something that will prevent him from becoming a demon should he fail to resist Satan's temptation. Hell is coming for him and, if it all goes wrong? He needs a way to protect himself. Aziraphale needs, as Crowley once needed with holy water, a failsafe against Hell. He needs insurance.

What is the one thing that could keep an angel from becoming a demon? Even if they fall for Satan's temptation, what's the one thing that could make it so that if Heaven then tries to make them a demon and cast them to Hell, it wouldn't work?

It's a bit of a mindfuck-- literally-- but there's really only one thing.

The only way that an angel being tossed to Hell by Heaven would avoid becoming a demon is if they were already, temporarily, a demon. You can't fall if you're already fallen, can you?

So, how would Aziraphale temporarily become a demon?

Yeah. They have almost exactly the same plan.

Just the key, romantic difference of Crowley trying to offer Aziraphale his mind even though it terrifies him because he'd do anything to save him and Aziraphale trying to offer Crowley his to protect them both from the being who had hurt them by hurting Crowley in the first place.

Both of them know that the way to save each other and to keep the looming threats to Aziraphale at bay is if they love and protect each other and stay together but they can't get one another to hear each other saying that and think, instead, that the other wants to leave when what they both really want is to be together.

Aziraphale's plan to prevent is fall is to have Crowley possess him. If Crowley were to possess Aziraphale, then Mr. Fell would temporarily be fallen because Crowley would become Aziraphale. They'd be together, in Aziraphale's body, with Crowley controlling the possession. Should Aziraphale fall for the temptation, he still won't fall to Hell and become a demon because it won't work when Heaven tries it since the already-fallen Crowley is possessing him.

Pretty good plan, right? In the morning, it becomes a matter of being able to tell Crowley what happened with The Metatron and what this plan Aziraphale has come up with for dealing with it is.

The villains learned from S1, though, and they make sure that not only do Crowley and Aziraphale not have a whole night together to plan the way they did in S1 but that they don't have a moment together alone to speak freely for the entire rest of the season. Crowley is gone all night, held back from Aziraphale by Heaven, and Aziraphale's relief when he returns is palpable. He had worried that Crowley had been harmed and he also was terrified that he wouldn't come back since, without him, Aziraphale stood no chance of avoiding falling.

For the first few minutes of Crowley's return, Aziraphale thinks they still have a chance and isn't really focused on Satan arriving. He thinks if they can just sort out the Gabriel stuff and get all of these people out of the bookshop that he and Crowley can then have some time alone to speak to one another openly. Aziraphale very much wants to check that Crowley is alright after having been missing all night and to tell him what happened with The Metatron and get him on board with the plan. There never is time for this, though, because Satan shows up with the coffee before they ever have a moment alone.

The only alternative to it not being Satan is it being exactly what it appears to be-- The Metatron, apologetic, saying all the things that Aziraphale has always wanted Heaven to say. Aziraphale is not an idiot and has the feeling that this is not really The Metatron. He does want it to be The Metatron because Aziraphale is still feeling like he cannot provide the forgiveness of Heaven and the protection from Satan that Crowley needs. Aziraphale loves Crowley and all he wants is be able to end the pain in Crowley that he thinks he's not enough to stop.

What Aziraphale's own anxieties and insecurities try to tell him is a lie is what Crowley tells him, which is that that all Crowley truly needs is Aziraphale. Aziraphale's own anger and pain over what's happened to Crowley gets in the way of him seeing that he really provides for Crowley all of the things he thinks he isn't providing. It is those things he thinks he cannot provide that Satan offers Aziraphale-- that's what makes it's a temptation.

Aziraphale is genuinely wanting to take a job offer if it is exists. He doesn't actually believe he can change Heaven or even want to try-- he turned down the job offer when it was just the job offer. He only is tempted to take it when he is told that the job offer comes with protection for Crowley. Heaven admitting they were wrong about Crowley and offering through the restoration of his status the forgiveness that Crowley pretends he doesn't crave and the restoration of that status providing Crowley with safety from Satan and Hell as a whole are the things that Aziraphale feels he cannot provide for Crowley. Remember what we said above about him being mortified that Crowley had to get Shax as their source? It's here in this bit of the story, too. He'll do anything-- give up their life on Earth, work the worst job imaginable for all of eternity-- to be able give Crowley the peace and protection that he feels he's been unable to for their entire, very long, existence.

Still, though? Aziraphale would love it if this was really The Metatron... but he's pretty damn sure that it's not.

Aziraphale knows how unlikely that would be. He does know that change is possible in some people-- he's been watching that all week with Gabriel-- but he also knows that he let Gabriel into the bookshop largely because he has seen in Gabriel the likelihood of there being a Jim lurking under the surface for a long time.

The Metatron is a very different story.

There are also a series of things that happen upon Coffee Dude's arrival that seem really off and further suggest to Aziraphale that this is really far more likely to actually be Satan. We looked at some of those in other metas but to quickly recap: the dark suit, the temptation coffee, the quoting of Mary Poppins, the fact that none of the angels can recognize him and he has to go to Crowley to be identified and, most significantly in my mind, that Aziraphale seems aware of what happens when Satan possesses Crowley to get Crowley to let Aziraphale go with Satan alone. Aziraphale knows that it's very out-of-character behavior for Crowley to allow Aziraphale to go anywhere unprotected with someone dangerous like that. He catches Satan looking at him-- and then heads for the door immediately, as if to get Satan away from Crowley. He's almost certain he knows what just happened and who this is but he is a bit desperate to be wrong.

Coffee Dude being Satan also explains other things about Crowley's own ideas about what is happening in The Final 15. The reason why Crowley can't entertain the idea of it being anybody but The Metatron is because Satan was in his head and made him believe that he was looking at The Metatron and no one else. Crowley doesn't even know that Satan was there. It's also why he just stays put and mutters "they'll be back soon" to himself, instead of following Aziraphale and "The Metatron" across the street. It is also likely why Crowley appears to have forgotten that he can freeze time, which would have allowed him and Aziraphale to speak freely, and, instead, makes an entire plan based around their hidden language. Since freezing time is how they were able to help Adam in S1, if I were Satan? I'd make sure Crowley forgot that useful trick in S2. (Even if he didn't, Crowley could have just literally anxiety'd himself into forgetting it.)

So, Aziraphale gets back from being tempted by Satan and he's pretty sure that is, in fact, what's going on... but he's also secretly hoping that maybe he's wrong and it's not. He's still thinking they need to go with his plan to protect himself from falling because this is very likely to be Satan but if he's wrong about what's going on? If it's really The Metatron? Then, Aziraphale would take this offer because he feels like, if he had this to offer, then he would maybe have something of enough value to offer the person he loves... a person who always says that he is enough as he is but Aziraphale has been watching Crowley suffer for literal eons and it's all gotten to be too much.

So, Aziraphale gets back and this is where the first miscommunication happens-- one of the big ones that makes it so that Aziraphale doesn't hear Crowley's coded speech for the entire rest of the scene.

As Aziraphale arrives back in the shop, Maggie and Nina are just leaving. It's the middle of Nina's morning rush at the coffee shop and neither woman tells Aziraphale why they were in the shop. Aziraphale, like many of us in the audience lol, cannot figure out why the fuck these two are back here. Their decision to come back to the shop during Nina's rush hour after they were just endangered in the bookshop moments earlier is puzzling to us audience members... and we are seeing a fuller picture! So, it's mind-boggling to Aziraphale who, without the knowledge that we have that shows it was Maggie and Nina's own, weird idea, arrives at the idea that the likeliest conclusion is that Crowley asked the ladies to come back. It honestly makes more sense than Nina leaving her work for no apparent reason, right?

So, why does Aziraphale think Crowley would do that?

Because Maggie is the closest thing they have to family and Crowley is old-fashioned in the right ways. He wouldn't ask for Maggie's permission but Aziraphale knows that he'd consider telling Maggie of intent to ask Aziraphale to marry him, especially after the week they've all just had. Given that, moments before, they all just saw that Gabriel and Beez are a thing, Aziraphale sees Maggie and Nina leave the shop with nothing but little looks and "we're just leaving" and "I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss" and he thinks Crowley told them that he's going to propose and, of course, what happens right after this to reinforce this idea?!?!

Crowley stands up, takes off his glasses, looks charmingly nervous, and says that he supposes that he's "got something to say."

If you were Aziraphale in this moment, with everything happening so fast and no time to breathe (by the villains' design), and you had just had your world tilted on its axis several times in the last hour, and you and Crowley had been waiting a thousand lifetimes to feel like it might be safe to try to be openly together, and Crowley stood up in the living room in which you've spent countless nights, moments after seeming to tell your daughters that he was going to propose, you absolutely would think that Crowley is trying to ask you to marry him.

The problem is that Aziraphale sees Crowley trying to propose and he thinks that Crowley doesn't think anything is wrong.

He thinks that Crowley doesn't see a threat at all... how could he think there's something wrong, if he's been focused this whole time on proposing marriage and not on the fact that everything is completely and utterly bonkers and Some Sir Derek Jacobi Character is skulking about with creepy coffee?

Aziraphale so loves Crowley and wants to marry him that he gives him a pass on proposing while the wolves are circling instead of doing what Aziraphale really needs him to do, which is help him Bildad up a plan... all the while not realizing, because of the speed of everything and the misinterpretation of clues and context, that the marriage proposal itself is Bildad's bloody plan.

Aziraphale thinks that he has to *tell* Crowley that there's a threat and what it is. As a result, he's not listening to what Crowley is saying at the start of this scene. Neither, really, is the audience, at first. I think even us people theorizing overlook the bit below; I actually noticed this last of everything related to this theory. What Aziraphale isn't fully listening to and what we think is just adorable, nervous babble contains a really, really, really interesting bit of information:

If I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so--

While Crowley is actually trying to tell Aziraphale here of an intent to use coded speech, it's the last line he gets out before Aziraphale interrupts him that tells us quite a bit about their relationship. After having seen this scene in full through its mention of nightingales confirming coded speech, we know that Crowley's proposal is a coded plan. We don't hear it in full until later in the scene but Crowley was trying to start it back here at the beginning of the scene and, when he does, he is expressing regret for how it's going to be phrased. He doesn't want to propose to Aziraphale like this but he doesn't think they have a choice. Listen to how he phrases that though: If I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking...

Crowley is apologizing for the proposal he's about to say that isn't the one he'd really like to give but is the only way he can deliver this plan and that, if he doesn't deliver this plan, he thinks Aziraphale is going to die, and that will mean that Crowley will never get the chance to actually propose the way that he'd really like to-- someday, when it's just them and they're in the better place for it, which is also why he hasn't in the last four years since S1. What's so interesting about this is that Crowley is saying to Aziraphale that he wants to ask him to marry him one day and he is doing so in such a way that he knows this is not new information to Aziraphale. It actually winds up suggesting that they both have already, to some extent, talked about the fact that, if they ever found a way, they would like to marry one another. It's said by Crowley so casually that it is suggestive of an understanding that already exists between he and Aziraphale and is further evidence of the fact that they are already a couple.

Right, so... Aziraphale isn't hearing this because Aziraphale thinks that Crowley doesn't see a problem. He tries the downward hands of "not right now" and glancing out the window towards Coffee Dude as signals to tell Crowley not to propose right now. He both needs Crowley to stop because there is a bigger threat happening in the moment and also because Aziraphale is at about 90-95% certainty that it's Satan outside. He and Crowley have spent thousands of years hiding the fact that they are lovers from Satan because Satan would kill Crowley for it. Aziraphale is also trying to get Crowley to stop proposing just also because their relationship is theirs and he knows that Crowley wouldn't want Satan as an audience to it. (Factor that into Aziraphale's response to the kiss as well...)

We get that shot of Aziraphale just melting as Crowley continues to speak because Crowley all sweetly nervous and proposing is adorable no matter what else is going on but then Aziraphale has interrupt him so he can tell him what he thinks is happening. This is where the conversation then gets fucked in a way that means that Crowley doesn't hear a shred of any of Aziraphale's coded language, either.

Aziraphale, stressed out from all of this, makes an error here which, as Muriel would say, will prove just how human he is. It is, in fact, this very simple, very human error that will help to completely fuck up this conversation and keep Crowley from understanding Aziraphale's side of it just as much as Aziraphale cannot understand his.

That error involves this:

What Aziraphale is trying to do here is to signal to Crowley that he has to stop proposing because there is danger and to start to convey to him what he thinks that threat is. Aziraphale needs a coded way to do this. It has to sound organic in front of Coffee Dude. This means Aziraphale has to reference something to Crowley from their shared past that is like what is happening in this moment in 2.06 without saying so directly in a way that would alert Coffee Dude to shenanigans being afoot but that is conveyed in a way that Aziraphale feels that Crowley is bound to understand.

There is one night from their history together that they both absolutely know by heart and that had a situation that parallels what is happening in The Final 15. It's the big one that we've been watching unfold across both seasons now and so is likely to factor into this big plot twist of Aziraphale's fall here: 1941.

Like Crowley will be later when he references nightingales, Aziraphale is certain that if he references any part of 1941 that Crowley will be sure to know what he is saying, even if other factors actually prevent that from being true.

What Aziraphale is trying to reference from 1941 is this:

He interrupts Crowley with a version of what we can recognize as "that lovely American expression-- played for suckers!" Why this moment?

Because Aziraphale is trying to use the similar situation of the paralleling Greta as a comparison to what's happening here in The Final 15. While Aziraphale was fooled by the Nazi Greta-- believing her to really be the Allied Rose-- he is the one who is correct in the 2023 of S2. It's Crowley, who correctly identified the Nazis correctly in 1941, who is mistaken about who is watching them in 2.06. Aziraphale, though, is almost sure he's correct this time but he needs Crowley's help either way and he definitely needs Crowley to see that there's even the possibility of a Greta-like plot happening with it seeming to be The Metatron but it's really Satan.

(Not to mention that we've seen both Coffee Dude and The Nazi Zombie Flesheaters watching Crowley and Aziraphale through the bookshop window in S2.)

So, Aziraphale thinks: ah ha! I shall reference the moment in the church when it turned out that Rose was really Greta and, because this romantic night of ours is forever etched in Crowley's memory, he'll understand what I mean and know that we need to speak using our hidden language!

The problem, as you might remember, is that this is actually the only part of 1941 that Crowley doesn't remember because, to quote Crowley talking to Gabriel about Aziraphale earlier in S2:

He wasn't there, you see...

Crowley hadn't actually entered the church at this moment in 1941. *We* can see what Aziraphale is going for but Crowley has no fucking clue that Aziraphale just said to him: I think the plot is Greta in the church and I'm going to be using our hidden language!

All Crowley hears is: please stop asking me to marry you because I need to tell you about the convo I just had with my abusive dad who hates you yay so excited please hold that thought of matrimony, sweetheart!

So... Crowley holds the damn thought. 😂

Aziraphale, meanwhile, thinks that this would all be so much easier if they could just speak openly and he would like Crowley to freeze time so they can do what they did with Adam and speak freely and make a plan. As others have noticed, he starts signaling to Crowley the "time-out" hand signal, covering it up from Satan with other gesticulations. He's also saying "The Metatron you know" aloud (flipped around: "You know The Metatron"), in an effort to convey to Crowley that he believes the being watching them is really Satan.

The problem is that Aziraphale has just asked Crowley to stop proposing. He's just asked him for a time out in discussing their relationship. Even if Crowley has just forgotten that he can freeze time-- organically or as a result of Satan-- it's almost besides the point here how or why he has forgotten it because he's just not thinking of it in this moment... because he thinks Aziraphale is saying that he needs a timeout on talking about their relationship. He just kind of half-nods and lets Aziraphale continue and it's at this moment that Aziraphale is just like...

Because, if Crowley doesn't freeze time, they now have to do all of this in a coded way with Satan watching and that means that Aziraphale is about to Ineffable Husbands Speak for his damn life here... and his task with it is actually a lot harder than what we said Crowley accomplished above.

Aziraphale believes that he told Crowley he was using coded speech when he referenced 1941 and that Crowley will be listening for it. So, he now thinks he has to convey the following things to Crowley as soon as possible, all using hidden language (all of which can be found in what he says to Crowley following this, as we'll look at)...

...that he's pretty sure that the being watching them is not The Metatron but Satan; that he thinks he might be falling but he's not totally sure; that he needs Crowley's help to protect him from falling; that Crowley can help him by possessing him; that it's okay to possess him and he has permission; that they can cover the possession with a hug; and that if, in fact, it turns out that he's wrong and that is The Metatron, well! Great news! Aziraphale has been offered a job that Crowley is going to hate but that Aziraphale is excited about because he thinks it can get Crowley what he needs that Aziraphale can't give him so yay!...

...and Aziraphale has to convey all of that using coded speech that is based on nothing but recapping to Crowley the offer just presented to him by Coffee Dude.

Whereas Crowley at least was given a few minutes while Aziraphale was with Satan to come up with something to say that dovetailed with the topic-- to come up with the proposal so he could use amorous language to talk about possession under the surface-- Aziraphale is forced into freestyling into coded speech a fuckton of information using a topic that does not actually lend itself to words with possession-related meaning in their vocabulary anywhere near as easily.

Yet... He does it. I know he does because I took apart everything he says in this scene when I figured out what Crowley was saying and that's actually how I arrived at this theory. Just like with Crowley, while we could go word-for-word here, I'll just give you a sampling of it, but it holds up throughout.

First things first, he says that he thinks he might have misjudged The Metatron. Misjudged = Miss Judge, who is God. He's trying to say to Crowley that he thinks God is judging him aka that he might be falling. Just like with Crowley later on the scene, he uses Gabriel's name to say "message" and then lists Gabriel's entire job title in the sentence because it's actually a great way to explain the plan: Supreme Archangel and Commander of The Heavenly Host. To archangel is to be above angel, which is what Crowley calls Aziraphale-- to top him, to possess him. Crowley would be The Commander of The Heavenly Host. The Heavenly Host is Aziraphale-- hosted the party last night, hosting a party in his body anytime now if Crowley'd just hurry up and possess him already lol. Commander actually breaks down to "man who is with" but it also means someone in charge so it's Aziraphale telling Crowley that he'd be in control of it and that Aziraphale is okay with that, as he trusts him.

What happens pretty quickly, though, is that we start to flash between Aziraphale recapping to Crowley in the bookshop what Satan said to him and then a scene at Marguerite's in which we are, apparently, hearing those words be said. In reality, because we keep going back and forth on Aziraphale's "and then I said"/"and then he said"s, what we're being shown in the Marguerite's scene is, word-for-word, really what Aziraphale is saying to Crowley back in the bookshop.

If Aziraphale wanted to just tell Crowley what was said with no coded speech, he could have actually done it in a single, paraphrasing sentence. Instead, he plays off like he's excited-- and, complicating matters, he is a little excited if it turns out that it is The Metatron, if only because of what he can offer Crowley-- and he uses that to be able to seem like he's babbling a recap of what happened when, in reality, he's very specifically choosing certain words to convey the problem that he's trying to make Crowley see and the plan he has to survive it.

What this means is that when we flash over to Marguerite's, the words coming out of the mouth of Sir Derek Jacobi are actually the words being spoken by Aziraphale to Crowley in the bookshop, along with what Aziraphale says that he said in this scene. The whole scene is in Ineffable Husbands Speak. The plan is repeated in here a few places-- among them, there is that the word exploits actually contains ploit, which means to fall and is Aziraphale trying to really specifically say to Crowley what he thinks the threat is, and many other words being used like this. The one I want to point out, though, is my favorite and also tells what Aziraphale's plan to cover the possession was:

There are huge plans afoot...

This is really Aziraphale trying to convey the plan to Crowley and he uses the word plan in here, right? What kind of plan?

Huge plans afoot... What is a hug plan related to a foot in Crowley and Aziraphale's history?

It's Bildad the Shuite ("need any shoes?") and the simple embrace...

So, the first part of what Aziraphale says is conveying that he wants Crowley to possess him because he thinks it's possible that it's Satan outside and that he's falling and he uses that other time the two of them, from across a room, snuck something by those watching them to save lives to describe how they can do that. Aziraphale's idea for how to cover up the possession is for them to hug-- it's the simple embrace that Crowley came up with having Job and Sitis do to cover up the magical reappearance of their kids. Aziraphale believes it is Satan outside so a hug is bad enough, as far as he's concerned. He wouldn't make the plan involve a kiss because that would be suggesting that Crowley kiss him in front of his abuser and their relationship is private and theirs and Aziraphale knows neither of them would want that.

So, yeah, both Crowley and Aziraphale are trying to reference the damn Job minisode to one another at different times in 2.06 and neither of them see the other one doing so...

So, how does this all fall apart for Aziraphale then?

How does he manage to brilliantly use a recapping of the temptation job offer to convey what he thinks is happening and summarize a plan to stop it in secret to a point that we can see what he was going for right there in the words he chooses to say... but then everything still falls apart?

Because Crowley isn't listening for it at all. Not only did the 1941 reference mistake mean that Crowley is not primed to listen for coded speech, Aziraphale's genuine enthusiasm for what he might be able to offer Crowley overshadows the fact that Aziraphale genuinely does not want to go to Heaven or take this job. Crowley, still thinking that Aziraphale doesn't see a threat to him because he thinks the only threat is The Book of Life and that Aziraphale doesn't see it, believes everything Aziraphale says as Aziraphale says it.

As a result, his response is: "And you told him just where he could stick it, right?"

It's at this that the score comes back into the scene, having fallen silent for Aziraphale's words. It also falls silent again when Crowley is wording during his proposal; it's so quiet that you can actually hear "this planet" echo in the room. The score here has a foreboding sense to it that matches Aziraphale's response, which is that tight "not at all" full of ohfuckohfuckohofuckohfuck...

The score is doom-y because Aziraphale is realizing that Crowley did not hear a single word of wordplay in Aziraphale's job offer explanation. They are still at square one when it comes to communication and Crowley still doesn't know that, ironically? YES, Aziraphale did tell The Metatron just where he could stick it-- that's what actually started all of this!

Only, Aziraphale can't outrightly say that because the conversation path there then only leads to discussion of what could be happening as a result of telling off The Metatron, which, in a bit of truly insane irony, would not help Aziraphale get across a plan for stopping what is happening as a result of him having told off The Metatron.

So, Crowley just starts to express his upset at this ("we're better than that") while Aziraphale tries to figure out how to regroup. They are now boxed into the topic of the job offer, really, and Aziraphale's one chance to speak long enough to convey the plan through using the job offer recap as the surface-level speech topic is now gone. There's also no easy way to change the subject to something else to try again without it looking really obvious so Aziraphale is forced to stick with this.

He's also boxed into a corner here because he can't sound like he's against Heaven because they're being watched. No matter who it is watching them, if Aziraphale sounds too much like he's caught on to what's going on, that'll be the end of their chance to make a plan happen together... and that just might result in Aziraphale falling.

Aziraphale is now forced to try to repeat aspects of the plan in fragments in replies to what Crowley is saying in hope that Crowley will hear it and catch on and it... backfires.

Backfires is probably an understatement, actually. It implodes, pretty dramatically.

What Aziraphale is trying to do is reassure Crowley that he's still on their side while also not sound like he's against Heaven and, if Crowley had been listening for coded speech, this would have easily worked. In Crowley's ranting response, he winds up blurting out that they (Beez) offered Crowley his job back in Hell and he said no-- something that Crowley should have mentioned back on Monday, when it happened-- but Aziraphale is mainly thinking of the plan he needs to get Crowley to understand and enact, as well as how he needs to use words that don't sound like he's against Heaven. He winds up saying, as we know:

"Of course you said no-- you're the bad guys." You're. The. Disguise...

Aziraphale is trying to say "you're the disguise", meaning that the fucking plan is for Crowley to possess Aziraphale and that's how they're going to disguise Aziraphale to keep him from falling. They're going to make Heaven think he's still an angel when he's really a demon because of Crowley possessing him. Aziraphale is absolutely grasping at things here because this barely makes sense without Crowley understanding what Aziraphale said in the offer recap earlier but Aziraphale is throwing phrases in here to try to hope that he will start to catch on because this is basically all he can do at this point.

The reason why Crowley doesn't hear it, though? Or hear anything remotely close to it? Not even just because he's not listening for coded speech here but because of Aziraphale's past of saying things he doesn't mean when he's upset. It's suddenly getting kind of like The Bandstand Argument up in here and Aziraphale is frustrated because he didn't actually mean for it to be. He's trying to tell Crowley something, even if he understands why Crowley might not hear it.

It's here where this takes a bit of a heartbreaking turn. Aziraphale isn't just frustrated that Crowley can't hear what he's saying-- he feels badly about it because Crowley taking all of this at face value means that Crowley is getting hurt by what is being said and Aziraphale doesn't want him to be hurt. He tries to fix it and, unintentionally, makes it a whole lot worse.

Aziraphale uses three words-- light, truth, and good-- to seemingly describe the side of Heaven. In Crowley and Aziraphale's speak, they have before used Heaven/Up for Aziraphale as shorthand to Crowley's Hell/Down. Aziraphale is trying to sound like he's all yay Heaven! because they're being watched but "the side of Heaven" here is actually Aziraphale and the side that he is on... and that side is Crowley's side-- their side together-- because the words that Aziraphale uses to describe that side of Heaven aka his side? The side of light, of truth, of good?

Yeah, those are all words he's used to describe Crowley before...

Aziraphale is using language here that is associated with Heaven but that he sees as being associated more with Crowley and, again, if Crowley were listening for wordplay, he would have understood this. He's not, though, so he takes it as Aziraphale just used positive, loving words he's used to describe Crowley to describe the place that has tortured them both for millennia... and he is, understandably, fucking horrified.

What Aziraphale was going for is to say in a way that could be overheard that Crowley is his side and he did so by using words of Heaven to describe Crowley and you know where he got that idea from? From this guy and what he said just moments earlier still being in Aziraphale's head:

Crowley is Aziraphale's Heaven. That's what he was trying to tell him. Unlike Gabriel and Beez, though, Aziraphale is being watched, so he had to phrase it in a coded way and hoped that Crowley would understand. He did not because this is the No Nightingales season lol.

Instead, Crowley's reaction-- "When Heaven ends all life on this Earth..."-- then causes Aziraphale to realize something that confuses him completely:

Crowley thinks there is something wrong.

Crowley's panic-stricken and all "tell me you said no!" and Aziraphale is like... *blinks*... honey, I came through the door four minutes ago and you reacted like I just got back from picking up my dry cleaning and started asking me to marry you and now you're acting like *something is wrong* wtf?!? If you thought something was wrong, why were you *proposing*?!

Of course, Aziraphale can't tell him he said no, and he's actually getting a bit angry, as well as confused. He's upset that Crowley thinks he'd just leave and that he's not appreciating that Aziraphale could maybe have an answer to their problems with going to Heaven (it's not really an answer but emotions aren't logical) and he's starting to get his back up a bit. We've reached the line that becomes the turning point:

If I'm in charge, I can make a difference.

For what it's worth, this line does wordplay out to something that goes along with what Aziraphale is trying to convey, but... it's wordplay, but it's also not. Aziraphale's lines that follow are also attempts to recap and convey the plan, like this one is, but there's just a great deal of surface level truth to this particular line.

Aziraphale still needs Crowley to possess him to keep him from falling but he's also thinking about the fact that maybe he'll have been wrong, maybe this'll have been The Metatron, maybe it's true-- if he's in charge, he could make a difference. It expresses the lack of power that he feels when it comes to the outside factors impacting their relationship. The fact that those feelings are very, very genuine-- and Crowley knows that better than anyone-- just winds up helping to make it seem not like there's also a wordplay level at all to Crowley.

It's here that Crowley basically starts to pray and we see how that response has visibly confused Aziraphale. It would because Aziraphale, again, has no fucking idea lol what Crowley thinks is happening. The moment that Aziraphale said that he could make a difference if he was in charge, Crowley realized that Aziraphale had every intention of going with The Metatron and he went into Defcon Whatever The Highest Number Is Panic Mode because if Aziraphale went with The Metatron without possessing him first? He was going to get Book of Life'd! He was going to die!

Aziraphale is left looking confused by Crowley being so distraught that he basically starts calling on God for help because, ya know, four minutes ago? To Aziraphale? Crowley was like oh hey, you're back, so where would you like to honeymoon? and now he's like Our Frances, Who Art Probably Elsewhere From Heaven...

Aziraphale is like what the fuck is going on?

Crowley then speeds through a sentence at 100 mph (because anxiety) where he says he didn't get to say what he was going to before and he thinks he better say it now... and then, like a record with a stuck needle, he starts to propose to Aziraphale again.

We know why-- he's got to tell him the plan!-- but, to Aziraphale? This is literally the most batshit insane thing he can imagine.

Aziraphale is pretty sure that's Satan outside and Satan who attacked Crowley in front of him, in their house, while Crowley was in Aziraphale's own desk chair, and Satan who is going to tempt him into falling and if it's not? It's The Metatron, and the offer being genuine would mean that they could find a way out of this mess, if only Crowley would listen to him, and what is Crowley doing when Aziraphale needs him most?

When he really needs Crowley to hear what he was trying to say and give him the help he needs?

When who he needs is 1941 Crowley-- the Crowley that Aziraphale gets all the time? The one who gently reassures him and helps him through all the ups and downs of being a professional conjurer? But who he's getting is Alpha Centauri! Crowley, who isn't listening to what it is that Aziraphale needs and whose inability to hear it hurts?

Aziraphale doesn't know what it is that Crowley is so afraid of but the longer the proposal that Aziraphale cannot parse any additional meaning out of goes on, the more clear it is that Crowley is falling apart. His voice starts to go; he's in tears. Aziraphale is upset that Crowley is upset and would give anything to just talk to him the way that they usually do. He can't understand how Crowley doesn't seem to see that they're being watched and that there's a threat and just keeps going on about their relationship when the threat of Coffee Dude is literally looming right outside.

Aziraphale eventually starts responding to Crowley's proposal lines-- all of which, as we've said, are a plan for Aziraphale to possess him, repeated in different ways, over and over-- with similar pleas of his own. They're literally gesturing at one another at times, alongside the words, the suggestion that each other take possession of the other.

Come with me. *hand gesture from Crowley back to himself* To Heaven...

Because of the highly sexualized way in which Crowley and Aziraphale talk about possession, there is an element of comedy to this incredibly depressing scene once you see the hidden language at play.

The only way for both of them to talk about possession in a hidden way is to use vocabulary related to sex. What ends up happening as a result is that their whole persuasive arguments back and forth to one another wind up becoming sexually euphemistic to a point that they are basically just finding different ways to refer to sex and suggest that the other take them...

...and neither of them realize this because they do it so fucking often when flirting that it's not unusual enough for them to flag it as off. 😂

Aziraphale is standing there, likely hearing every innuendo in Crowley's proposal, and simply thinking that Crowley is asking him to marry him with a bit of an Ineffable Husbands Speak twist to it because of course he would, right? They just speak like this to one another all the time now so, if the context isn't emphatically suggesting 'hey, I am using this cant vocabulary of ours to convey a hidden message', neither of them are actually listening for one.

Meanwhile, this is Crowley, getting so hysterical that, at one point, he almost starts to laugh when he's saying "an us" (anus) and has, therefore, officially, reached the point of just yelling "ASS" at Aziraphale in an effort to get himself possessed so that Aziraphale won't die because they are currently trapped in a total fucking nightmare so dark and depressing that it is also kind of funny.

This, I'd imagine, is also why he can't go any further here and is just like "you in me, what do you say?" like please get this, angel, or I'm going to jump off the roof...

Meanwhile, Aziraphale, earlier, was just as euphemistic:

It'll be just like the old times. Only even nicer.

Old comes from auld, which meant adult and nourishing. Only (one); even (emphasizing a balanced sense of power; a word of reassurance); nicer, which you can read about here.

They get so turned around that Crowley even shouts the word "toxic" at Aziraphale about Heaven and Hell in such a way that it comes out as "TALK-ic", in an effort to try to say I'm trying to talk to you and get him to hear other levels of meaning in what is being said.

He's not the only one. There's also this:

Crowley actually doesn't understand what Aziraphale is offering him. Not really. He thinks he does and so does the audience, if they don't see what Aziraphale is trying to say. Crowley does know what it's like to struggle with Heaven and he understands that aspect of what Aziraphale is going through but what he isn't seeing here is that Aziraphale is specifically referencing the offer because, like Crowley will do with mentioning nightingales a moment after this, Aziraphale is trying to call back to to things he said earlier so that Crowley will listen for hidden language. Crowley's quick dismissal of it shuts down another avenue for Aziraphale to try again to say the plan and Aziraphale is again hurt that Crowley only thinks the surface level of what is happening is the only thing happening-- that he thinks Aziraphale truly would want to go to Heaven.

If Crowley knew what was truly happening? If he understood that Aziraphale was trying to say that he thought he was falling and needed help? You know Crowley would have done anything. He'd have gone along with Aziraphale's plan and possessed him. They could have gone together in Aziraphale's body into the elevator. It wouldn't have mattered if it was Satan or The Metatron-- they would have been there to protect each other and faced it together.

While it doesn't matter for the plot of S2 whether or not The Book of Life is real because what really matters is that Crowley thinks it is, there is a lot of suggestion that, at least in the way that Crowley and Beez believe it to be real, it doesn't actually exist. It's anxiety. It's as real as Crowley made it to be. If he had talked about it with Aziraphale, he likely would have found out it's not true. Aziraphale isn't worried about it in The Final 15, despite being threatened by Michael with it, which suggests that it really is balderdash and complete piffle. Michael is never shown having gotten the authority to do it by The Metatron and Michael is pretty impressionable and could have been one of the angels Beez and Crowley once teased into believing in it. Beez's embarrassed reaction in 2.01 suggested that they believed that Crowley was correct about it when he said his reaction was that it wasn't real.

It likely means that Crowley's entire plan in The Final 15 is for a threat that doesn't actually exist.

It means that Crowley's own anxiety and not being open with Aziraphale and talking about it kept him from being a partner to Aziraphale when Aziraphale needed him more than ever and made him blind to hearing what Aziraphale was saying he truly needed.

That "I need you" moment hits a little differently now, doesn't it?

If Crowley walks out the door, so does Aziraphale's ability to not fall.

When you think about it... of course it does, right?

How do you not fall? You let in the love of those around you.

It's also how you get back up if you do fall. Everything goes down, as Gabriel observed, but the flies go up. So do the birds-- the nightingales. Just not in S2.

Their insecurities can be summed up by how Aziraphale has never fully understood how Crowley means bookshop. It's the one word between them that they each think the other fully understands but they don't. They get the sexually euphemistic way that Aziraphale uses it ("...but we both get plenty of use out of it, don't we?") but it really comes down to how they each see Aziraphale. To Aziraphale, the bookshop that is metaphorically him is a compromise. It's not good enough. To Crowley? The bookshop is everything because the bookshop is Aziraphale and the place Aziraphale made for them. The clever idea his clever partner had for them. The place where Crowley feels loved and safe. It's all he needs, just as it is, but Aziraphale thinks it's not enough and wants to be able to offer more.

Aziraphale thinks they're talking about the bookshop itself in 2.06 ("oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever") because it's been on his mind all season. It's the bookshop from which Aziraphale would like to move, and if you think that Crowley's proposal was ill-timed, ooh boy lol, this is not the best time to start to tell that one, particular person you'd like to go to that cottage by the sea, Aziraphale... but Crowley?

He thinks, of course, that Aziraphale means their fucking relationship and on go the sunglasses...

...in reality, part of why Aziraphale feels stuck in the same daily round of the bookshop is because of Crowley's attachment to it. It's because of Crowley having been devastated by the fire. Aziraphale thinks it would be better for them if they could find a way to move, if he can find a way to get out of the mess that is the embassy bookshop situation, but he hasn't yet found a way to talk to Crowley about that and tell him he'd like to them to go live together and it's only coming up now... when he's otherwise basically said he's leaving for Heaven. As a result, Crowley thinks that the nothing that lasts forever in question is their relationship.

Their words are so fucked at this point that Crowley winds up thinking that Aziraphale just said that their millennia-long love affair was a fun lark but it's over now that he's going to take over Gabriel's job.

Aziraphale's anxiety that Crowley likes the safety he could provide with the bookshop-- if not ever enough of it-- more than he loves him as a person; Crowley's anxiety that Aziraphale would choose Heaven and not him. Both of them knowing that it's insecurity talking-- Crowley even believing that he must have the short end of the stick enough to stop leaving and stay when Aziraphale asks him to come back-- but they're both so confused from what they think has been said during this scene that they're extra-vulnerable.

When Crowley tries "no nightingales" and the kiss as a last-ditch effort to get Aziraphale to understand The Book of Life as a threat and possess him, it doesn't work. Just like how Aziraphale also fails to get Crowley to understand that it is, likely, Satan that is watching them and that Aziraphale is about to fall without Crowley possessing him. What makes the kiss so heartbreaking and romantic is, actually, the fact that it is such a fucking root canal of a thing. Why?

Because both of them were waiting for the other to understand and possess one another. There's 90 billion interminable seconds of neither of them actually really kissing one another because both of them have a plan that involves possession for which this kiss could provide cover, even if it's only Crowley whose plan actually involved a kiss.

The kiss is so awkward because it's a pretense for something else, more than it is a kiss they both just want to share for the sake of kissing, and they both know they're being watched. Aziraphale is more in shock over the kiss happening because he has emotional whiplash from a proposal to a break up to being told he didn't love Crowley to a kiss out of nowhere. Crowley is basically not moving because he's kissing Aziraphale in the hopes that Aziraphale has gotten the plan and will start kissing him back and possessing him any second now. This renders Crowley basically a passive participant in the kiss. He might have been the one that started it but, once he touches his lips to Aziraphale, he basically doesn't move because that would be against the point of why he's kissing Aziraphale.

The same things that cause people to think that this looks like a pair of eighth graders trying to kiss for the first time lol are also just that way because of the plot reasons why this kiss is happening more than the emotional ones. The circumstances involved mean that this kiss actually says exactly nothing about how they normally kiss.

Crowley never tries to deepen it-- or, even, honestly, really to kiss Aziraphale much at all-- which honestly... was probably confusing the living fuck out of Aziraphale. Imagine for a moment that they are long-time lovers who have been kissing for thousands of years. How incredibly fucking weird would it be for your partner who knows how to bring the vavoom to go from proposing you get married, to ranting about Heaven, to proposing again in a series of sexual euphemisms, to telling you that you never loved him and that he's leaving you, only to then turn around, walk back, and give you this bizarrely dry kiss, the likes of which the two of you have never shared in all your worst days?

Not to mention that, if you're Aziraphale? You need Crowley to possess you or you will fall to Hell. This kiss could have covered that, as insane as all this emotional up-and-down of the last few minutes has been. This kiss could have saved your life and it doesn't because you can't get Crowley to get past his own stuff enough to hear you-- no wonder you're pissed enough to say, angrily, that you forgive him for it. Falling to Hell is going to mean that they take your memories. It's a form of death first before you're a demon. The only way to avoid that would have been for him to possess you and he wouldn't. Is it because he doesn't know? Is it because he just won't-- that it's too much for him, after everything? If you're Aziraphale, you don't know.

All Aziraphale knows is that all of this hurts and, to make everything all even worse, that kiss was such a mess (and it's likely the last one) that it feels like they might have broken what was between them with it and that, alone, is reason enough for Aziraphale's reaction when they pull back from it. Is it any wonder, then, that Aziraphale after that kiss is just a fucking mess?

That he is this close to saying the I love you that he feels but he's also so fucking angry that his emotional devastation flips within a few seconds to frustration and the all-too-self-aware "I forgive you"... because that's what this is all about. That's what Crowley, feeling unforgivable, has always seemed like he needs to heal and the thing that Aziraphale doesn't have the power to give him. He's not enough to end Crowley's pain-- unforgivable, that's what Crowley is, according to Crowley.

He's just not enough for Crowley, period, is what Aziraphale thinks. Not good enough. It doesn't matter how much Aziraphale loves him, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough to overcome the pain of Heaven having cast Crowley out. That's all he wants to do-- end Crowley's pain. Make Heaven say they were wrong and give Crowley the peace he deserves and the safety that Aziraphale feels like he can't offer him on his own.

Crowley, in the end, goes out the door, rather than acknowledge that he knows why Aziraphale feels this way. Aziraphale is left gasping "no" and touching his lips over what he thinks will be their last kiss... because Crowley is gone and also because he's likely going to fall now. The option for that to not to happen went out the door with Crowley.

Satan comes back in right afterwards and we get the scenes that see Aziraphale slip towards that fall very quickly without Crowley there. The bookshop goes to Muriel and Aziraphale almost refuses the temptation and goes to Crowley but, like Beez, upon the realization that The Book of Life likely wasn't real, Aziraphale sees Satan twist the knife by flattering him and then intentionally letting him hear the "The Second Coming" comment that proves that it was all a ruse. In that moment, Aziraphale knows that they wouldn't put him in charge of Armageddon and that there is no job offer.

He's left standing there with a choice to make-- he can go to Crowley or he can get in the elevator and, if he gets into the elevator, he knows who it is for sure now who is holding open the door. He knows what awaits him, which makes it a bit of a suicide attempt, in that he knows he's in the last moments of his life, as his memories will be taken from him and he won't come back as a demon the same.

He could go to Crowley but, like Beez earlier in the season when they realized that The Book of Life wasn't real, Aziraphale is that thing we talked about at the start of this meta.

He's embarrassed.

He knows he could go to Crowley and Crowley would tell him that it was all okay and they could talk it through but Aziraphale knows now that there is no chance that he's ever going to be able to provide Crowley the kind of safety and peace that he thinks he can't provide for him and he knows that Armageddon is coming again and that they're going to have to stop it all over again and just keep living this circular nightmare forever and he can't take it anymore.

In that moment, he wants coffee but he's too worn out and, in his unpredictable predictableness, he chooses death. He doesn't truly want it but it's a relief from the same kind of suffering-- a false freedom-- and he falls for the temptation of that in the moment.

It will ultimately wind up okay. They seem to have made an accidental fly in The Bentley when Aziraphale drove it that could restore memories. There is an overthrowing of Heaven/Hell on the horizon that might even make it so that Aziraphale is the last angel who ever falls and the concept of a demon changes a bit in S3. There are ways forward but there is no plan already happening when Aziraphale gets into the elevator. He had one; so did Crowley. They tried to communicate across a space while being watched-- like in the Job minisode, like in 1941-- but, this time, they failed, and that, I think, is the point of the No Nightingales season.

Their communication gaps are really their own insecurities reflected back to them. Aziraphale, no matter what Crowley does or says, feels like he is not good and not good enough for Crowley, so he's always felt like Crowley can do better than him. He thinks he should have been able to figure out how to give them a life that's better than their bookshop compromise by now.

Aziraphale doesn't stop to think about how this really doesn't make sense... about how Crowley would never just ask him to marry him with The Metatron lurking in the street... about how he asks him to run away with him sometimes in a panic when trouble is looming, yeah, but this is different from that. This isn't run away with me to our stars, angel! but I would like to marry you.

He doesn't stop to consider that because all Aziraphale can hear is his own inner voice telling him that he should have been able to give Crowley this life a long time ago.

Meanwhile, Crowley doesn't stop to think that Aziraphale would never want to leave him and so, even if tempted by this restoration of status offer for Crowley, would not actually want to go to Heaven. He doesn't think about how they're being watched and so Aziraphale is trying to code his speech because Crowley's own biggest insecurity-- one of his worst nightmares-- is Aziraphale going full Heaven Pod Person on him.

Crowley loves a happy ending to a love story but he doesn't truly think he's ever getting one because it's always going to be too late for him-- he's damned, after all. The only happy ending to a love story for him that he'd ever want is to be with Aziraphale forever and that has seemed impossible from the start, given that he's a demon and Aziraphale is an angel. Crowley doesn't think they get a happy ending and he thinks it's his fault that they won't. He has just been trying all these years to make it so that Aziraphale doesn't get hurt in the process and now what's happening in 2.06? That he's not good, that he's unforgivable, that he's damned, is coming home to roost and he's got to watch what feels like Aziraphale on a path towards death, slipping through his fingers, with nothing Crowley can make happen to prevent it.

They both so desperately want the other to believe they are as good as they see each other as being and would do anything to convince each other of that and suffer when they feel like they're failing at it. What neither of them really fully realize, fundamentally, is that they don't need to accept labels and judgements of those who have harmed them. It's a hard thing for anyone to learn and, sometimes, they let each other in and listen to one another reiterate that they're great as they are and, other times, it gets harder and miscommunications happen as people get too stuck in their heads.

That's S2 but it won't be S3.

Aziraphale only wants Crowley's restoration of angelic status because he thinks it will make Crowley see that he's not unforgivable and because it will keep him safe from Satan if he's an angel again. Aziraphale doesn't need Crowley to be an angel to love him-- he's painted his entire damn house the color of Crowley's demonic eyes. He's absolutely mad for him, just as he is.

The same is true of how Crowley feels about Aziraphale. Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves him but he doesn't love himself-- not enough, anyway. He feels like he's a failure when he's really brilliant. He thinks he's not a good person when he's unfailingly kind. He thinks he doesn't have anything to offer Crowley when all Crowley wants is Aziraphale, exactly as he is...

The Nightingales finale in S1 is about them getting it so very right in the moment. What they say to one another is exactly what the other needs, which is what makes it so romantic. It shows how well they know one another and that, more often than not, they get it right. When a series of unfortunate events and their own anxieties pile up at the same time, though, we get the No Nightingales finale in S2 when, overwhelmed, they both let their own fears and anxieties get the better of them, and the inability to speak freely and to pause, as they usually do, and ask what each other's exactlys mean, exactly, eludes them.

And, even then, after it all falls apart? The most romantic thing is still happening because they are both still trying.

In the end, they're both still trying with the exact things the argument over Gabriel in 2.01 made it clear that they're both helping one another to work on:

Crowley stays by the car, because he's promised to stay and work through things without succumbing to fear and running away. He fucked up and walked out the door but he stays nearby, to show he loves him.

Aziraphale leaves their song to be played for Crowley, because he's promised to try not to succumb to fear and blurt out angry words he doesn't mean. He fucked up and said things he regrets but he has the car play "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square", to show he loves him.

Crowley says with his actions: I am always here and I won't leave you on your own. Aziraphale says with his: You are my whole world and anything I do, I am trying to do for you.

They honestly didn't really even break up so much as both just get enormously fucking confused.

And here's where I'll leave you by mentioning one, final thing...

It actually is about 2.06 but it's a bit of foreshadowing from the final shot of 1.06, in this moment here:

Much amazing discussion has been had about the piano in the last scene in The Ritz in S1-- about how their song is being played and about how the piano lid looks like a wing and makes this scene something of a parallel to others, like Eden and Before the Beginning, that end with Crowley and Aziraphale each sheltering one another with a wing. All of that is stellar and I agree with it but I think there's one, subtle thing that gets overlooked about this piano-- and that's the piece of it that is involved in it being played in the first place.

Just as unraveling nightingales is a key to Crowley and Aziraphale's hidden language, their nightingale-themed song is being played by a human on the piano-- on piano keys. In order to access those piano keys to play the song, though? The pianist had to first do one, specific thing...

She had to access the keys by first moving back the cover that hides them when not in use and let them see the light of day. Without doing this? No piano. No piano?

No nightingales.

What is action that the pianist did to play the song in 1.06 called then, in musical terms?

Lifting. Up...

...The Fallboard.

[david-talks-sw]

hey david! Do you have any George quotes regarding the final Vader vs Obi wan fight? Like did obi wan deliberately throw that fight and let vader kill him or did vader win the duel and obi wan did the Force ghost thing as a last resort?

Here's the quotes I could find that are relevant to the subject:

"A particular case is the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Darth Vader. You know there's something, some relationship they have to each other, 'cause they talk about meeting again ‘and now I'm going to get you’ and all this kind of stuff."

"So there's some kind of old battle going on that we don't know anything about that works amazingly well considering that all it is, is ultimately this one scene between him and Tarkin where he says, “He's here. He's come for me. And it's our destinies to meet up again. And I'm gonna handle this myself. I have to."

"This confrontation with Obi-Wan and Vader— it works just as a confrontation between the good guy and the bad guy. I mean, he’s— Obi-Wan's, at this point, the strongest good guy. He’s the one that has the most knowledge— the father figure that has taken on Luke. Then you have the bad father figure who is the evil father."

"And the subtext of this, which is that this is the culmination of a larger issue… has never really played, I think, for people. It's really just the confrontation between bad and good. Then the surprise at the end of this, is that: Vader doesn't kill him… but that he's able to join the Force, and by being one with the Force, influence things in a more powerful way than he can just being a Jedi." - A New Hope, Commentary Track, Special Edition DVD, 2004

"When he loses Ben, [Luke] freaks out. He’s depressed and all the things that you would be. But Ben has put that idea in him that things happen naturally and there’s also this other thing that’s never explained, which is that he allowed himself to be killed. He didn’t really die. He disappeared. There’s more to this than just a death. Later on in the movie, Luke hears Ben say, “Use the Force!” It mitigates that loss a little bit, because he knows Ben’s somewhere and that something’s going on." - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018

So there you have it.

In a destined confrontation between good and evil, good triumphs not by defeating evil but by ascending and growing beyond it.

So it feels to me that it's a "when in Rome" kind of decision on Obi-Wan's part, wherein he realizes he won't win this fight, and so he decides to make his end meaningful, so that he can show Luke that death is not the end of the journey... he's joining the Force.

Now, if we're talking power-scaling...

... you could argue that Ben might have put up more of a fight, had it been necessary.

George acknowledges that Ben's an old man when explaining the more dynamic fights in the Prequels... but back in the early days, he ranked him as more powerful than Vader/equal to the Emperor.

"Maybe we should set up some kind of levels of achievement. Ben can say that Luke is now a level 2 and Vader is a 4; ‘‘I was a 6 and the Emperor is a 6, and he’s on his way to becoming a 10, which will be a force so powerful in the universe that nothing can stop him. You must stop the Emperor before he achieves the level 10.’’" - Story converence, 1977, as transcribed in The Making of The Empire Strikes Back, 2010

"[Vader] ended up losing his arms and a leg and became partly a robot. So a lot of his ability to use the Force, a lot of his powers, are curbed at this point, because, as a living form, there’s not that much of him left. So his ability to be twice as good as the Emperor disappeared, and now he’s maybe 20 percent less than the Emperor. So that isn’t what the Emperor had in mind." - Vanity Fair, 2005

Now, the first one is an old quote from the development of Empire Strikes Back, when the story was very different; it's take it or leave it, if you ask me. Power-scaling is invented to justify storytelling, so if the story changes, it's not guaranteed the power-scale remains.

But if you're going by "everything Lucas said is canon!" rules then you could make the argument that, in terms of power...

If Ben = Emperor and Emperor > Vader then Ben > Vader.

And thus can argue that Ben might've beaten Vader if this confrontation was/turned into more of a Force-based contest than a physical one.

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[pommedepersephone]

Buck up, Hamlet! or how Aziraphale and Crowley's blocking helps communicate the evolution of their relationship

Can we talk about the blocking?

Specifically, I have been rewatching S1E3, one of my favorites. I love how the development of the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is shown through these little vignettes. There have been some great explorations of the costuming and dialogue, but what always strikes me is the BLOCKING. The way their placement and movements add such depth and tell the story of living as a queer person, having to communicate in coded language.

Through the episode, we get 4500 years of history - Eden, Mesopotamia, Golgatha, Rome and Wessex - to see Aziraphale and Crowley standing on their opposite sides. Aziraphale always on the right, Crowley always on the left. But after the Arrangement, their blocking changes drastically and becomes much more fluid and nuanced. Each scene after this is distinct but the scenes in at the Globe and the Bastille have the most development, and I find myself rewatching them A LOT. Here is what I see. 

All the World's a Stage

This is the first meeting we see that isn’t a chance encounter, though the two try to stage it as such. It takes place in a theatre - and they are acting, playing their roles as demon and angel. Even the humans are complicit in this performance, with Shakespeare stepping in to address the two "in your roles as the audience." Oh, delicious.

But once it's been firmly established for anyone watching that they AREN'T friends, they DON'T know each other (cough cough) the following moves are clearly choreographed and have been played out many times before. Crowley sashays to the right, opening the dance, and Aziraphale accepts the invitation to dance with: “What do you want?” 

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” Crowley is just playing his role as cheeky demon offering up a temptation - but his position to the right of Aziraphale speaks to the fact that they are both very complicit in this performance.

“You are up to no good.”  “Obviously. And you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” Just standard character establishment, here.

“No rest for the, well, good." Ah, this line, the inversion of the well known idiom. Because the line between good and evil (and between angel and demon) maybe aren't so distinct, and Aziraphale acknowledges this with his words. We are moving into negotiations now. "I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do, and a minor miracle to perform. Apparently, I have to ride a horse.”

“Ah hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me. I’m meant to be headed to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” The way Crowley moves AROUND Aziraphale here, intimate but also careful, watching for his reactions.

“Doesn’t sound like hard work.” Said with a little sideways look, because Aziraphale can see where this is going. And he's open to suggestion temptation.

“That was why I thought we should… well, bit of a waste of effort. Both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying?” A little bit of pretense, because Aziraphale has to pretend to be tempted, right?

Crowley presses. “Which is?” Because he is willing to play the part of tempting demon, but only if it is clear this is a farce, that this is indeed mutually agreeable. He is making sure they are doing the same dance.

"That one of us goes to Edinburgh and does... both. The blessing and the tempting."

Yes, they are doing the same dance, and what is left is the formality of concluding the dance - a moment of Aziraphale expressing his concern for Crowley, the coin toss - they both know how it ends. It's a ritual, an act of give and take.

But if it were ONLY the Arrangement, a simple quid pro quo, it would have ended there. It doesn't. Instead, the two offer each other a more intimate exchange - "It'd take a miracle to get people to come and see Hamlet."

Aziraphale doesn't even have to ask with words, just a look, and Crowley happily agrees. That is the final part of the dance, a small acknowledgement that this isn't just about making their jobs easier.

A Free Man in Paris

Paris is something else. This is a HUGE step beyond making sure that audiences like a show your angel is particularly fond of. This is a stolen dangerous moment, an OUTRAGEOUS flirtation that takes place outside of time, conducted in clear view of others but beyond their understanding. Isn’t that how their entire relationship is now conducted, hidden in plain view and so clearly affectionate? 

And look, Aziraphale is BITCHY in this scene. Peak That Bitch. He's just purchased a bookshop, he's creating a very permanent place for himself here on earth - Aziraphale is feeling quite proud of himself. In fact, he's preening a bit that he has figured out how to exist, even in some small limited way, as himself within the confines of the system of Heaven. Buuuut he may have gone just a bit too far, and gotten himself in a spot of trouble. He has landed in a prison, threatened with "death" and stuck because he's already gotten a warning about being frivolous with his miracles. Oh jolly good that Crowley is here to save the day!

There is something raw being communicated here here, where both Aziraphale and Crowley are presenting themselves to the world in ways that are dangerous. Aziraphale's reaction tells us that Crowley's look is doing things to him, but also in a way that it is NOT socially appropriate. Aziraphale may have showed up in all the trappings of an English aristocrat, but here is Crowley as a French royal sympathizer. NEITHER of these are safe choices in the middle of a revolution. The costuming is so critical to fully appreciating this scene, so check out the amazing clothing overview with @cobragardens.

When Crowley arrives and stops time, he and Aziraphale find themselves situated facing one another, but angled so they aren’t facing straight on. Interestingly, from Crowley’s perspective, he is where he is supposed to be - the left of Aziraphale. But Aziraphale, from his perspective, is also to the left of Crowley. It was Aziraphale after all who initiated this situation, who put himself in danger by being too… Aziraphale. It’s dangerous to be yourself when you don’t fit into heteronormative social expectations, isn’t it? Still, the two keep up a very flirtatious banter as they discuss the situation, and Crowley maintains his very-intentionally-unbothered sitting position up until Aziraphale goes too far and thanks him for coming to his rescue.

While Crowley is also flirting with danger in the way he is dressed, he also didn't just pop over for a nibble dressed this way. And whatever he might have been up to was interrupted so he could rescue Aziraphale from the consequences of his own reckless authenticity. After removing the chains, Crowley pushes Aziraphale to reconsider his honest expression of himself in this exact place and time - for the sake of survival.

Aziraphale, willing to risk himself alone, rather quickly adopts a more acceptable appearance when it might impact Crowley. It is only after Aziraphale is safely disguised and returned to his proper place to the right of Crowley, ONLY then does Crowley restart time. They can go enjoy lunch now, with the proper precautions and masks in place.

For these two particular human-coded occult beings, this is also such an honest moment. They both showed up damn authentically - Aziraphale so fabulously ostentatious, focused on chasing down some pleasure (in this crepes) and Crowley wrapped in a clear protest against the current violence. Just as Aziraphale indicated with his "Oh good LORD" as he looked the demon up and down with obvious thirst, Crowley's request to Aziraphale to change his appearance and mask better is done in such a way that affirms that Crowley LIKES who Aziraphale is without the mask.

The scene is so playful on the surface, the body language and dialogue flirtatious. It's something so familiar to the queer experience, making light of the absolute danger that we must sometimes navigate just to exist. The more I watch it, the more obsessed I become.

A Spot of Bodysnatchin'

It is worth remembering that we didn't get this scene in S1.

I am going to go through it soon, because again they dance back and forth beautifully in this minisode, but suffice to say we all know... it didn't end well for Crowley.

No Walk in the Park

The moment in St. James Park is brief, and it wasn't until S2 and the meeting at Edinburgh that we got the full context for this meeting. But even without this, we can clearly see that things are weighing heavily on Crowley. The scene in the Bastille took place in a prison, with the threat of execution over their heads. The juxtaposition of this conversation taking place in a park - a place that is not only NOT inherently dangerous but looks lovely and welcoming - only highlights the change in Crowley's attitude. He still attempts to be playful, but he's afraid. Look at that paper, it's a bit crumpled, he's been carrying it around for a while.

They are firmly entrenched on their assigned sides for the entire conversation, both very stiff. It feels uncomfortable to watch. When Aziraphale refuses his request, and indicates whatever is between them is just "fraternizing" with the enemy, we get a glimpse of how fearful Crowley really is. In none of these flashbacks has Crowley ever spoken to Aziraphale with the anger we see here. When they part in anger, it feels wrong.

Take Me to Church

So there is a long break between meetings now. But then, ah, the church. The place Aziraphale realizes his feelings. (Look, if Michael says this is where Aziraphale realized he'd fallen in love, I am not here to argue.) What I love is that again we see Crowley and Aziraphale swapping sides. Crowley is here to save his wayward angel, AGAIN. Despite feeling the ill effects of walking on consecrated ground, Crowley is here to save his angel and defeat Nazis. It's definitely not remotely evil intentions.

It isn't like the Bastille, but some of the parallels exist - Aziraphale failing to grasp the risks of his actions. And the silliness of his little dance coupled with just how deadly serious this situation is harks back to their flirtations in the prison.

Crowley is to the right of Aziraphale from the time he arrives until the bomb drops. Then in the rubble, with the danger past, we see them on their assigned sides again. UNTIL Crowley hands Aziraphale the books he saved with a "little demonic miracle of my own." He then crosses Aziraphale, and we see the look of absolute adoration as the angel watches him walk away to the right.

Sweeeeeet baby Jesus, baby girl has it BAD.

Always Crashing in the Same Car

This extremely heartbreaking scene has been dissected, chewed over, breaking our little hearts with it's sharp pieces.

But it is purposeful that this scene took place in the Bentley. Being in the car is symbolic because Aziraphale is here making an offering to Crowley, in his space, something that he Aziraphale feels is WRONG which is highlighted by his placement to the left of Crowley. He is scared, acting against all his own desires, but he does it anyway because he cares for Crowley. It's simple, powerful placement. Need to hurt more? Yeah, thought so. Take a deeper look at the dialogue with @zionworkzs.

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens - December reads part #1- fanfics recs 🤓🩷🎄

I ´ve decided to write a short summary each month about the books i read. I need this to let go of the stories, its a nice way of saying good-bye to them and to spread the love to the authors and to you. 🩷

I only read finished stories and rarely one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here, as i really like to dive deep into the plot and i keep losing track of WIPs. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Thank you to @di-42 for inspiring me to do this with her own monthly review! 🤗 Check her out, she is an incredible author!

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but sadly some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Multichapter Fanfics

Forbidden roman(ce) by WorseOmens

Sadly this story seems to have been deleted, also the author is not on AO3 at the moment. Maybe they have disabled or deleted their account. Its a pity, because it was a truly nice story.

It plays in ancient Rome. Crowley is living in a villa just outside Rome and "inherits" a slave from his uncle. For at first undisclosed reasons he tries to keep him away from his other slaves - and what other way is there than to spend time with him himself?

A nice story, only a bit angsty to me, and the last 2 chapters really cracked me to sobbing tears. I do so hope that the fic goes up again or that some of you might know the author and tell them about this. Maybe some of you have downloaded the story already (just like i had) and will still be able to enjoy it!

Lunacy by @snae-b

OMG - i have been a sucker for the whole Alien-Films for decades. If you know them (Sigourney Weaver - i mean how cool can you be stearing a hauling-robot to kill an alien?) - you know the feeling they produce.

This is exactly what this story is able to capture. Crowley is head of a mining-crew on the outer borders of the known space. Aziraphale is a geologist coming with them. The plot is an angsty pageturner which had me leave the light on at night. Just loved it and made its way to my re-read list. 👽

Love in the Garden by @tawnyontumblr

It´s the early 90ties, its UK and its gay. HIV and Aids are kind of a rumor, no one knows exactly what is going on. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves right in the middle of it. This story is SO SO important, but please do mind the tags before you start. It will be a hard read. 🩷 To me it was very precious, this is exactly my teenager-time and i remember it all too well. Please remember i only rec stories with a happy ending! Apart from that - i am SO thankful for how far we have come concerning this disease.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Goodbye? by appleseeds

Human AU; Aziraphale is dragged to a Halloween-Haunted-Castle-"Party" by his friend Tracy. He clearly would rather curl up in bed with a book than being there, but thank Someone there is this beautiful stranger sitting across of him, who doesn´t seem to want to be here either. They go ghost-hunting through the castle - what will they find? 😅

The small ad by @theladydrgn and @sylwritesstuff

Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other ... This is the ad Crowley puts out and Aziraphale decides to call. With the family reunion ahead he doesn´t want to go there alone - again. Gabriel would be too much of a nuisance. You can imagine the rest!

I love the authors and have read more of their books in the past. They are always very easy to follow, funny and satisfyingly smutty. 🌶😁

Three two one, we go live by HazelSage

Crowley is falling in love with his secretary Aziraphale, while secretly being addicted to a camboy called "not an angel". What he doesnt know - Aziraphale has a secret side-hussle ...

The story is merely an excuse for writing lots of cam-scenes with Aziraphale having solo-sx for his fans-only-channel. Do mind the tags !! Plot-to-Smut-Ratio = 15:85 😁

Tastes by @tawnyontumblr

Aziraphale is bound to be wedded and searches Crowley´s help to become a rake so that his betrothed doesn´t want to marry him any longer. Love in regency times, gentle gender discussions in a time that no-one even knew or at least talked about it. Wonderful story that had me re-read whole pages because they were so touching. Also: very hot!

One-Shots!

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by @theoldaquarian

I found this story through another rec from @di-42 and it really had me laughing. Crowley rents his flat out as an Airbnb and here you can read what people say about it. Very funny! 😅 The author seems to have deleted their tumblr-account, so i couldn´t link them.

Naked and afraid: Jingle Hell by @klikandtuna

Crowley and Aziraphale don´t know each other, they participate in the same TV-Show, which is called "Naked and Afraid" and is set in the Jungle. It´s a survival show. The rest is a very funny plot exclusively consisting of banter and scene-descriptions.

Not really a One-Shot, it´s over 20k, but i stumbled in and it was just so funny that i kept on reading. Biggest laugh: "I’m about to lose a testicle to frostbite." 😅 A christmas-story you can read all year through.

Some strangeness in the proportion by @trailingoff

Set after the end of S1. Aziraphale has been punished by the "destruction of the demon" and he grieves deeply. He moves into Crowleys flat and just wants to be alone. If just this angel wouldn´t keep showing up, trying to help him overcome his feelings.

Loved this one, it was written before S2 and somehow i wonder if it doesn´t hit to the point with its message ... Also a bit longer for a one-shot with 11.500 words.

Puttin on the Ritz by @moonyinpisces

It´s New York, it´s the 1920ies and Aziraphale is on a heavenly mission, when he accidentally bumps into Crowley. As part of their arrangement Crowley decides to take over and Aziraphale gets to watch a demonic temptation for the first time. Will he be able to resist? A short, funny, fluffy smut story. 😉

Incredible Artwork by Zoe @vavoom-sorted-art 🩷

Green Light by @dragonfire42

After the second not-coming Aziraphale decides it´s time for him to finally "cum". He uses all the historical appropriate terms to tell Crowley his wish and can´t fathom why Crowley doesn´t understand. At least at first. When he does, 6000 years of pining break loose. Very funny!

All i want for christmas by @naromoreau

Oh i loved that story so much! Crowley is the single-dad to Warlock, Aziraphale the single-dad to Adam. They meet at school for the christmas-party of their kids, where Aziraphale also acts as Santa Claus and asks Crowley to help him dress up. How they end up in the janitory closet? Guess you have to find out! Very sweet and hot. 🎅🩷

So thats 13 fanfics in the first 8 days - wow. I never kept track of my readings this way and i am a bit surprised myself. thanks to all the wonderful authors for making my nights! 🤗