#and NOT TO BRING UP ANCIENT ROME AGAIN—

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I know a lot of ppl felt that a premise as dark as The Hunger Games being geared toward tweens and teens was a terrible idea. but I think it was really good that I saw it as young as I did, bc The Capitol gave me a fantastic lens through which to view Hollywood and the extravagances of the elite, as I came of age at the precise time social media began exporting those extravagances into every home in America.

[juletheghoul]

Hi, thanks for continuously expanding the story of The General. I like reading it. :) I'm just wondering if you might feel like writing kind of like sci/fi time travel troupe where a woman (willfull and stubborn) from the present gets transported back to ancient Rome and meets Marcus Acacius. How would their dynamics be?

Obsessed with this, genuinely—I started a little something 👀

Not sure if I’ll continue it or make it into something big but I loved the idea of them not even understanding one another.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

(Not beta’d, barely proofread)

—

Warnings; threat of violence, language, shifting POV, plenty of historical inaccuracies I’m sure lol

Pairing; Marcus Acacius x Modern F!reader (time travel shenanigans)

Word count; 1.4k

-

The sigh doesn’t fix anything, but it helps with the frustration. So you let out another one, deeper than the original while you gather your wits. This was Rome, a massive city with millions of tourists trekking through it just like you, surely if they could do it without getting hopelessly lost, you could too.

The ruins were a maze, incredibly easy to get mixed up and turned around in. It was just a matter of retracing your steps and rejoining your group. Easy peasy.

With renewed optimism, you follow the sounds of people ringing through the remnants of the temple, or bathhouse, or gladiatorial training rooms… where the fuck even am I again?

You backtrack through the doorway, turning left into what must have been an antichamber, or dormitory? The mosaic under your feet isn’t familiar and a sense of dread creeps along your spine, should you have turned right? There’s a giant arch in the distance, one you distinctly don’t remember walking through. It doesn’t look as aged as the rest of the structure, most likely preserved when the site was excavated.

Walking through the arch fills you with a foreboding dread, like being dunked in ice water. It leaves you dazed, stumbling into the light of the sun almost drunk. An open door all but manifests and it’s with a relief so great it almost pulls tears from your eyes that you finally exit the building and step into the open air. You cannot help but laugh at yourself, embarrassed by your reaction, by the silly fear of getting lost.

The sun is hotter than you remembered it being when you left the hotel that morning and all at once the desire to explore and take in the culture all but evaporated. Resigned to abandon the tour, you decide to make your way back to the hotel. The new goal, the new prize for the day is a shower and an ungodly amount of pasta.

The road is nowhere to be found. The tourists have disappeared, and have been replaced with what looked to be actors. A fresh horror spreads through your veins, the exit you came out of must have led somewhere you were definitely not supposed to be.

-

He’d been called forth to deal with a strange situation. A woman had somehow infiltrated his camp. He frowned at the news, scoffing at the sentinel who’d brought it to him.

“A woman? Solitary? One woman snuck passed you and made her way into my camp?” He all but sneered at the soldier, anger pulsing in his head to learn that his guards were not as observant as he would have thought, as he trained them to be.

“General, by the Gods, we did not see her. One moment there was no one and then the next she was there, like some apparition.” He seems rattled, Acacius didn’t blame him. A lapse in protection meant death and dishonour. It meant his army was not in the shape it should be. Rome was not safe, not protected.

“Well, what has she to say for herself? What explanation did she provide for her miraculous presence here?”

“We do not know, we cannot understand her.”

He sighs. Anger bleeds into his tone when he orders her brought to him, dismissing the useless soldier in the process.

When they bring her to him, he frowns. Her robes confuse him, the fabric almost painted in the strangest shades, some he’s never even seen. She clutches at a bag, at a strange jar and although her voice is clearly agitated and angry, he cannot understand the words she speaks. Her face is painted, eyes darkened with some sort of kohl, lips shiny with oil and for a moment he thinks she might be one of the women who sold herself.

“Peace, woman.” He puts his hands up and speaks slowly, “I need to know where you come from, and why you are here. What is it you seek?” She twists her face in confusion, anger colouring her voice more still. She screams at him in more words he doesn’t understand until the soldiers that had brought her approach to no doubt silence her. At the sound of their footsteps her eyes widen with what he knows is genuine fear.

“Don’t.” He commands them, and they stop in their tracks. “Leave her with me. Go about your business, and tighten up the borders of this camp.” He sends them away with daggers in his voice.

“But General-what if she attacks?” They hesitate for a moment.

“I can handle her. Go.” They leave, her eyes follow them before turning back to him. She speaks again but he shakes his head.

“What am I to do with you then, hm?”

-

If you had known that you’d land in some insane fucking ancient Roman reenactment, you would have stayed in the hotel.

The older man is really into his role, some high and mighty soldier or general on a power trip or God fucking knows what, holds you in his tent. You try to explain to him calmly and then not so calmly that this is a mistake, that you didn’t mean to crash their party and that you just want to make it back to the hotel. He frowns, and shakes his head with confusion. He responds in his own language, what you imagine is Latin and the frustration floods you once more.

“If you cannot help me, I will leave. I’ll just go back through the stupid building and see if I can catch up with my tour group. If they haven’t already left, God if I missed my shuttle I will lose my fucking mind.” With a sigh you clutch at your bag and turn towards the entrance. You don’t make it three steps before he grabs at your arm, holding you in place with what sounds like a stern warning.

“Listen, I appreciate the realism and everything here, but let go, I need to leave.” You try to shake out of his grip but it’s iron, his big hand tightens enough to hurt.

“You’re hurting me, let me go!” With a growing fear, you try harder until he pulls a knife from a hidden pocket and presses it to your throat. He points to the entrance, to you, and then presses the tip to your neck once more.

You cannot understand his words, but the warning is crystal clear. If you leave, he will kill you.

“Intellego?” You can infer what he must mean, and so you nod. He returns the gesture and puts the knife away. He moves about the tent while you stand there, arms aching from clutching at your things, body trembling with fear and adrenaline at his threat of violence. He continues speaking, his deep, clear voice filling the space while he moves things around and gestures to a giant scroll.

Stuck like a fly in honey, you watch him pointing and talking, half listening while you try to formulate an escape route.

He comes close with a huff, pulling you gently towards his table.

It looks like a map, but it’s not like any map you’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck am I meant to be looking at here?”

He continues speaking, pointing at the map, and then gesturing outside. He points again, at a different spot and then to himself.

“Oh.. okay you’re from here?” He nods, then he takes your hand and puts it on the map, repeating his words and you can assume he’s asking you to point out where you come from.

“Dude I don’t know, this map is wild as hell and about a thousand years out of date from the looks of it.” You move your hand away but he persists, a bulldog with a bone. He takes your hand and puts it on the map, then taps your chest, asking his question once more.

“I’m not on this map!” You tap your chest, and then to the edge of the map, “I’m not here, we’re not on the map yet. Understand?” You gesture again, pointing to an empty edge, and point to yourself.

The look on his face is almost funny, he’s either really committed to his role, or this is the weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had.

He’s quiet after that, ruminating, studying you with a critical eye and after the day you’ve had you don’t have the patience. You sit in one of the chairs, resigned to endure the ride until you find an opportunity to get off, and away as quickly as you can.

-

Tag list; @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name

[lionlena]

Even if you fall apart... (Marcus Acacius x wife!reader)

I'm back! (For a moment)

Marcus Acacius pulled me out of the hole of the abyss and the lack of desire to write.

Summary: Marcus returns from war and has a PTSD attack. (Yes, I know it's ancient Rome and there was no such term back then, but I'm sure that even in ancient times many soldiers had to deal with the emotional consequences of war)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, soft!Marcus, mention of miscarriage, mention of blood, and death of a side character

*I've established canon that Marcus loves dogs…

Even if you fall apart…

You hated it when Marcus wasn't home. You hated the emperor's greed and his wars. You and Marcus had been married for three years, but you didn't see him often because of the constant wars. The first time he had to leave you right after your wedding night and you felt devastated. But when he returned, he proved to you what a caring and loving husband he was. When he left you for the second time, you were pregnant. But when he came back, he had to face your sadness after losing your child and then he proved to you what a supportive and compassionate husband he was. When he left you for the third time, he promised you that it would be the last time, but when he came back, you could easily see the sadness and tiredness in him. And you knew that the emperor would send him to the battlefield again, so you understood that despite how much you hated Marcus' absence, you had to focus on the good times.

You tried that this time too, but you saw that Marcus had returned as someone else. More tired, more sad. Even his warm smile didn't reach his eyes. You knew that he had lost his loyal friend in the battle, and you tried to show him support.

Knowing how much he loves dogs you decided to bring home a new puppy and it seemed to cheer him up as he watched the playful pup run around the floors.

"He's really fast," he remarked one evening as the pup chased a firefly. "I'll need him on the hunt…"

"He's untamed." You muttered and took the glass of wine from Marcus.

"Like my lady."

You snorted in mock outrage and rolled your eyes, earning a quiet chuckle from him that warmed your heart. It seemed like everything was going in the right direction. But suddenly, in his crazy play, the puppy knocked over the table, from which the vase fell. You saw the exact moment Marcus' face changed. He flinched at the sound of the bang and dropped his wine glass, which shocked him even more. His eyes widened and his face contorted in pain. The wine flowing on the floor resembled blood.

"Marcus… Honey?"

"NO!"

His scream shocked you. You had never seen him like this. You caught the puppy in your arms and immediately pushed him into the arms of the maid who was standing nearby.

"Leave us alone!" You growled.

You usually tried to treat your servants with respect, but that wasn't important at that moment. You saw her curious gaze and you were sure that something bad was happening with Marcus and you didn't want anyone else to witness it.

When you were alone, you ran up to Marcus and grabbed him by the arms:

"Should I call a medic and…"

You didn't finish your sentence because Marcus screamed and pushed you away with such force that you fell to the floor. You didn't know what was happening. Your husband would never, ever intentionally do any harm to you. You saw him retreat to the wall, pressing his back against it. You had the impression that he was terrified. Only Marcus was never afraid. He wasn't stupid or reckless, but he wasn't timid either. He was a Roman general who rushed into battle without batting an eyelid. And yet you could clearly see the state he was in.

You slowly got up from the floor and looked at him sadly. It hurt you that he was suffering.

"Marcus… my dearest…"

You saw Marcus put his hand on his chest and try to catch his breath. This time you approached him slowly like a wounded animal.

"Honey, it's me… Y/n… I'll come closer… try to breathe…"

You took a step forward.

"Breathe… I'm here…"

You tried your best to keep your voice steady and calm. Even though you were trembling inside.

"Can I come closer?"

You saw a small change in him. He blinked and took a deep breath, then nodded.

You were so close you could touch him, but you held back, feeling that he had to decide about it.

"Can I help you somehow?"

In response, he extended his hand towards you. You immediately took it. Your small and delicate hand contrasted with his large, strong, and calloused one. You felt him squeeze you tightly.

"Y/n…"

"I'm here, honey. I'm here all the time."

You saw him sigh with relief, and then he slowly slid down the wall to the floor, pulling you with him. You knelt next to him and placed your free hand over his heart. You stayed silent for a few moments. You watched as your husband's breathing returned to normal. Finally, you asked quietly:

"What was that?"

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at you with sadness and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry… I don't know… I'm so ashamed…"

You turned towards him and took his face in your hands.

"No, no… Don't blame yourself or apologize. What happened was in no way your fault and it won't make me respect you any less."

Marcus took a shaky breath and covered your small hands with his large ones.

"It was like a nightmare… Like a memory and a dream in one… I… I was there again… I heard the crash of the ships falling apart…" He closed his eyes and whispered: "I felt fear… fear that I would fall apart…"

You looked at him sympathetically, your thumbs rubbing his stubbled cheeks.

"Even if you fall apart, I will pick you up."

Marcus looked at you with love and devotion. He couldn't hold back anymore and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

"You are a blessing from the gods."

You stroked his hair tenderly.

"No… You are my blessing…"

And you meant those words. Because you knew that among Roman husbands, domineering, demanding, and strict, yours was an exception.

You hugged him tightly and kissed his temple. You felt Marcus relax and that was the most important thing to you at that moment. Although deep inside you felt your own fear. Fear for Marcus, for another war expedition. And you silently prayed to the gods to surround him with care and not let him fall apart when you were not around.

Permanentny tag list: @harriedandharassed

[profeyandere]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐒 ─── ☾ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏᴅᴜꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

The soft and warm breeze coming from the deserted Roman streets caused you, as was usual in your slightly anxious and nervous person, a strange feeling of restlessness that many could assimilate due to the strange cool gusts that arose suddenly and chilled anyone who was surrounded by them, but all assumptions disappeared when you stressed to yourself that the reason for your anxiety had begun not long after the sudden death of the former emperor of Rome. Marcus Aurelius, known for being a man as strong as Hercules himself or as wise as the ancient ancestors, had been a second father to you, a man who with his extensive memory told you even the smallest details of each of his adventures in the foreigner and the various conquests that he had managed to make and be victorious around Rome to make his empire one that he had managed to take to Africa, being discovered as a technologically backward continent and very little known by those who were around his Roman kingdom, turning out to be one of the kindest men to those who really knew him, having helped the most impoverished population through various laws and in dire situations, including slaves, women, and children. That man had always taken care of you, he had made you feel protected under his attentive, loving, and proud gaze; He was the father you never had. Although you did not belong to one of the highest social classes, at least you did not belong to one of the lowest, and this, together with the fact that your mother took care of her children since the first of them was born, evidently your arrival into the world. It caused you to spend more time in the Roman palace where the emperor and his children were.

"As thoughtful as always," said a voice behind you that caught your attention, bringing you back to reality with a soft gust of fresh air that made you sigh. "Again, you find yourself thinking, even if you are in the safest place in the whole world, next to me."

That voice, which was usually distant from those who bothered him or showed irritability when directed towards less close people, was now soft and calmer than how you had heard it before. He had been angry before, your husband had been really angry, and now everything seemed more peaceful because he could see your wonderful ethereal figure next to the large balcony of your room.

“I find myself thinking about you, as usual,” you murmured, hoping to show him a little of the affection your heart held for him, slowly turning your body to turn your back to the beautiful view of the empire that loomed beneath your feet, facing the sharp and distant look of the man who had not moved from the main door of the room. "You know I always think about you. I worry about you, especially when you're awake when the moon is so high in the sky."

A soft growl, barely audible, came to you like the roar of a lion. You always liked to show your affection towards him, but you were also aware that he wasn't entirely used to receiving it from anyone other than his sister, even if he had shared his life with you since he was five years old.

Now everything was very different. Commodus was no longer the adorable boy who so often held your hand when he forced you to run with him through the palace corridors, trying to get you to keep up with him so that the guards wouldn't catch you in some absurd game that he thought that it had occurred to him and he would win for being the son of the emperor, even though that was only an excuse to be closer to you and explore that physical contact that he had heard so much about from the cooks; Commodus was no longer the charming boy who so many times tried to sweeten your ear so that you would ride a horse with him despite the various denials you gave him every time he proposed that activity that avoided being malicious, even if the only thing he wanted to feel was it was your arms around his waist. Although, despite all this, and even though Commodus had grown to become the man you know today, there was one thing that had never changed despite the years.

"I don't see the point in waiting up for me. Tomorrow you won't get out of bed until it's late and all I want is to share at least a little of my awakening with my wife's love," he scolded you, trying to be a little serious with you, even if the slight curvature of his lips denoted the opposite. "You do it every night. You wait until I come to the room, whether you long to rest in Morpheus's arms or not."

"You know that I don't like sleeping with light, and I'm aware of how much the darkness terrifies you," you told him, approaching one of the candelabras that rested peacefully on one of the pieces of furniture near your large double bed, ready to make the flames disappear that little by little were consumed. "I don't want you to feel afraid in a place where you should feel at home, much less after the great and important service you offer to Rome."

The emperor felt something strange inside him, he always did when it came to you. Your kindness and serenity, your understanding, and your sweet soul were the attributes that made you the perfect candidate to rule the great Roman empire with him, even if the latter was never to the liking of his late father; He had too many imperfections and had committed terrible acts that not even he would forgive himself if he had to judge himself, but you always seemed to see through it all to the person who was really hiding behind that same layer of grime and horror. You had met a Commodus that no one else was able to see, or perhaps no one wanted to accept that he was there. He had always been despised, you had seen that with the constant rejections of his father as he was always chosen as his last option; He had always been separated and humiliated, being the laughing stock of the guards who were supposed to protect him so much when he was pointed out as a weak man for not being able to withstand the constant beatings when he was trained to be noticed by his own father; He had always been the outcast of his own family, only knowing love through her older sister Lucila and seeing her as the mother he lacked so much during her youth. All of this meant that the only thing he knew, as far as feelings were concerned, was bitterness and loneliness, even if he had you to vent in his moments of greatest weakness.

"As my wife, you are supposed to listen to me," Commodus said in an attempt to appear authoritarian with you, even though he was aware of your stubbornness and how much you didn't like him speaking to you that way, trying to make himself look more strong and imposing in your presence. He was obviously looking for a reaction from you and got it when you raised one of your eyebrows in question. "I can be fine in the dark, I'm not a child anymore."

"Did you stop being a child three days ago? Because remember, my dear Commodus, that three nights ago you were in bed hugging me as if something bad was going to be done to you, begging me for there to be a tiny little flame in sight or a light to illuminate your part of the bed," you answered with a soft sly smile, keeping you close to the last lit lamp that provided light to the room, putting more emphasis on that fear that you had never managed to figure out how to remove; Sometimes it was exasperating not knowing how to help him at times like this. "Your well-being is one of my greatest concerns and, if you do not feel well in the only place where you should by obligation feel comfortable, then it is my duty to do everything possible to make you feel protected."

Moments like those, in which you showed your genuine concern for him, could be very common throughout the days, but he always appreciated them as if they were the first time you said those important and strong words for him.

An attempt at a smile appeared on his face. He gently lifted the cheeks of his lips, which made you feel a little more relieved to see that the tension he had carried with him all day seemed to have momentarily vanished with your short speech. You observed the way in which his tall body, muscled by the various exercises he performed throughout the week and which had apparently begun to deteriorate a little due to the obligation to continue doing other chores, let himself fall, exhausted and exhausted, to the edge of the large imperial bed that had belonged to you since he was crowned emperor, making it bounce softly at how soft it was, while the thin pillows full of feathers sank with their weight towards the defeated side, closing your eyes so that the Darkness slowly surrounded him, and it was only because his eyelids had lowered and not because the last light in his room had faded with the air coming from outside.

Small hands that he would recognize anywhere on Earth, as delicate as glass and as soft as silk, he felt as they were quickly placed on his sharp cheeks that, thinner than they had ever been, showed a slight deterioration in his physical appearance state due to stress. Your hands so loved and tender, gently cradled his face so that he would relax, causing his jaw to relax as he felt your thumbs tracing his bone and there were no longer any frown lines on his forehead frowning from him; Now everything was starting to be different at that late hour of the night.

"How do you do it?" He questioned himself, even though his words escaped from his lips and reached your ears. "How do you make him feel safe with your caresses, more than I could ever be in the company of the entire Roman troop?"

Your laughter flooded his ears in such a perfect way that he couldn't help but accompany your laughter with his own, as if it were an effect that you had on him, allowing you to attract his head towards your body, thus causing his face to be buried on your soft belly covered by a long white silk nightgown.

"I don't know, you answer that question for me."

His greenish eyes, always showing curiosity, slowly rose and drew your elegant dark and slightly moonlit figure to finally meet yours in that dark and dull room in which you were. And that's when he saw it, at that moment he was able to answer himself. Your eyes shone with love, with warmth, with a light so strong that it could guide him back to you if, at any point in his life, he felt lost wherever he went; because you were his light within his world of darkness.

[the-mandawhor1an]

Searching for the stars pt.2 | Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Summary: You come to terms with the fact that somehow, a Roman general ended up on your worksite. You and Marcus develop a plan to get him back home, or at least to reunite him with his wife.

Words: 7.4k

Tags: Time travel; wet puppy Marcus; Reader is a little horny; alcohol consumption; a hint of infidelity; talk about grief and loss; death during childbirth; angst; heartbreak; religious imagery; no use of y/n;

(further tags omitted to not spoil the outcome)

Speech in italics indicates that Latin is being spoken.

Notes: Well well, part two is finally here. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first one. Marcus is back and he's here to stay (or not, he wants to go home to wifey, after all)

Comments etc. are appreciated, thank you to @rivnedell for beta-ing this for me.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The next morning came way too quickly for your liking, even if you stayed on your mattress way past your usual time. The night had been very short and sleeping practically next to some stranger made your sleep anything but restful. It seemed you weren’t the only one dealing with the sobering realization that yesterday hadn’t been a weird dream. 

General Acacius sighed in disappointment when he awoke on the couch. How he felt any kind of rested was beyond you, he had been tossing and turning and whispering his wife’s name all night, waking you up ever so often. To your luck, you could deal with little sleep as long as you would get some caffeine into your system. 

Feeling miserable and Acacius frankly looking miserable, you had decided to bring him to your apartment. He deserved to freshen up a little and you craved the sweet salvation from this tiredness with the help of some coffee. Your guest was respectful and you had no doubts he would not do anything stupid in your little flat. After all, you could pretend like you had weapons all over your place. A remote, a laser pointer, anything. 

Despite all the concerns for your safety, there was more you had to deal with. For example, you had to introduce him to a few concepts that were absolutely new to him, like the private bathroom you had. While in theory, what a toilet and a shower was, he would know, the way your accommodations worked was vastly different from the ones in his time. The toilet was relatively easy to explain, despite a little awkward exchange about the toilet brush that was in fact just for cleaning the bowl and not … the body. 

With the shower, it was a different story. Hot water, cold water, playing with the handle to find the sweet spot and also… soap. In ancient Rome he would have been used to rubbing scented oils on his skin to get all of the grime off, and now it was scented soap. You apologized for only having floral shower gels, but then again, lavender and rose were at least scents he was used to. It was probably easier on his nose than any kind of soap for men would be. What did “active sport” or “cool ice” even smell like? 

You handed him a towel and clothes you still had lying around from your ex, hoping they would fit, and then let him deal with the bathroom himself. 

Seemingly, your little lesson in modern hygiene was enough, as he came out of the bathroom half an hour later, in your ex’s clothes. You’ve just finished making a simple breakfast, scrambled eggs and some bread, when he came over to you. The clothes fit. The dark t-shirt was a little tight, maybe too tight, as you could see the curve of his pecs so perfectly. Also, the grey sweat pants fit snugly and you did your best to not look to avoid blushing. 

Coffee was ready and you filled some in your favorite mug, processing the sight of his wet curls for a second. “What’s this?” he asked and pointed at the mug. “Coffee,” you explained, he repeated the word and you nodded. “We drink it in the morning to wake up. And during the rest of the day because we’re addicted.” A second mug was placed on the counter, filled with a little and you handed it over to him. The mug suddenly looked tiny in his hands when he held it up to his face and sniffed. Of course, the scent of hot coffee wasn’t necessarily pleasant when one had never smelled it. When he took a sip, his face obscured and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It tastes disgusting,” he complained. 

“Try mine,” you offered and handed your mug, which was about 50/50 mixed with milk and a little sugar. He took another sip and while it looked like he didn’t enjoy that one either, his face wasn’t contorted as much. “It’s better.” You pulled milk from the fridge and offered him some sugar. In the end his coffee looked to be 80 percent milk and a lot of sugar, but he drank it, so what did it matter. 

“Sit down,” you ordered him to sit at the table and set down two plates with the egg and bread. It was probably something that was easier for him to stomach than any other food you could’ve offered. “Eggs and bread?” he asked and you nodded. “The coffee is enough of a adventure for you right now. And the clothes.” “They’re so tight.” “My last partner practically lived in these,” you explained with a shrug. “Where is he? Did he die?”

“No, he just left. We had a lot of arguments and he didn’t want to stay.” Before it would go cold, you started eating your egg. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to give you a bit of energy to think about what to do today. That was, if Marcus was done with his interview. “Why did you fight?” “My work. It was important to me and he thought it was cute at first, but he realised it was my priority and he didn’t want that.”

Marcus nodded and took a sip of his ‘anything but coffee’. It felt weirdly domestic to sit here and eat with him, especially so because he was so relaxed about all of this. Sure, conversing in Latin was weird, but it wasn’t like you were forced to speak a lot of Italian around here either way. It wasn’t too far off. 

“I saw the wall. When did your obsession start?” When was the last time someone was actually interested in something you did? You took another sip of coffee and then you told him in short. How you’ve been obsessed with Rome ever since you could remember. In the beginning it just seemed you never outgrow the ancient Egypt and Rome phase every child had at one point. One of your earliest dream jobs has been archeology. Every weekend you were at museums, every family trip had to be planned around to see the exhibitions there. Once old enough, you worked in the local museum, mostly administrative work but it helped you with getting into contact with other scholars. Also, you could spend your breaks in the exhibitions and just daydream a little. When it came to getting a degree, you studied classical Latin and archeology. 

During your first year of university, they found a bust of him. It was only halfway there, it missed the face, but judging by the armor they could tell it must’ve been a general or a high-ranking officer in the Roman military. A copy of said bust had been in your museum for a while and you were mesmerized by it. It was a little later, midway into your studies, when they stumbled upon the name Acacius so often that they were pretty much certain ‘the General’ was Acacius. You became so obsessed with him, a general that history had almost forgotten, and you wanted to be part of the group that would unveil the mystery about him. Your professors were so exhausted with your antics by the time you had your degree, but this incessant interest is what made you land the job as an archeologist in the end. 

“Why me?” he asked when you were done with your little story, and you shrugged. “You fascinated me. In the beginning it was the mystery around you and your life, also the prestige one would earn from finding more out about you. And then more was found, especially your obsession with starlight, it just… caught me.”  He nodded. “It was our little inside joke because of her name.” “I know… I know. It developed into an obsession, the modern times are so boring compared to the Roman Empire. But… look how far I’ve made it. I found your villa.” “and me” A mischievous yet so attractive grin crept up to his lips and there wasn’t much you could do, you had to mirror it. “That came as a surprise.” “How much of the house have you found? What about the rest of the estate?” 

You got up to get yourself some water. “We’re still on the lookout, why?” His eyebrows twitched and head dipped down. “I had a dream about my wife…” and as soon as these words left his lips, you were reminded that Marcus wasn’t just a handsome stranger you had met yesterday and had breakfast with right now. He was a grieving husband who was stuck in a different time. “She called out for me and told me she was waiting.” “Did she tell you where?” “Where she was laid to rest” 

You fell silent for a bit. While you had daydreamed about meeting Marcus before, this was real. It felt weird to just have him sit at your table, in your ex’s clothes, talking to you like you were coworkers. You wanted to help him reunite with his wife, but also – you didn’t want him to go. There was the man you had been reading about for such a long time that it ruined your relationship, and there were so many questions he could answer now. You left your home to be part of this excavation. And yet you didn’t know … 

“We have no documentation where she was buried. Also, most of the cemeteries didn’t survive all of this time.” Guilt washed over you. Here you were, one of the most knowledgeable people on Acacius’s life, but you didn’t know where they kept Astra’s remains. “She was buried where I proposed to her. There was a very old tree on my estate. We would go there and look at the stars.” 

“Damn,” came out of you, unable to stop it. Marcus was like straight out of fiction, it seemed. A hopeless romantic. It really made your heart flutter. “Pardon?” “My apologies. It will just be very hard to find a tree that hasn’t been there in over a thousand years. With buildings we might find documentation, but trees? I doubt any map we can find would have accurate plant placement.” 

Again, his face contorted as if you had just declined his marriage proposal. “I’m sorry, I just miss her so much.” It stung. You barely knew him but his pain was palpable. With a sigh you walked over to your table and leaned in, stretched out your arm and raised your pinkie in front of his view. “Do what I do.” He did and you hooked his pinkie with yours. “I promise I will do everything in my power to help you find her. Your pain must be bad. I can’t imagine what it must feel like but your face tells me enough.” He flexed his pinkie just a bit and dear God, that man was strong. “It’s unbearable at times. I’d rather be dead sometimes.” Strong, and intense, it seemed. 

The pinkies unhooked and you took the dirty dishes to put them into the sink. Marcus wasn’t done with the topic, however. Your promise to help was one thing, but he had something on his mind. “Can’t I help you?” He could, very easily. “You’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t think about this myself. If there is anyone that would know about the layout of your estate, it would be you.” “How can I help there?” “We will get drawings of the ruins, and if you’re behaving, we can go back to your villa and look at it. But I need you to be quiet, don’t talk unless we’re alone.” 

He nodded and got up. Just as he stretched, the shirt that was a little too tight on him slipped upwards, exposing some of his sun kissed skin. “Can I get different clothes before we go?” As much as I want to say no and stare at you for a little longer… “Can I leave you here unattended for a little?” “You can, I will behave.” “Promise?” He offered his pinkie and grinned. That’s all you needed for confirmation and you left for the shops. You had to guess his size, but judging by your ex’s stuff almost fitting, you knew enough, probably. One size up and you should be fine. Most importantly you got him some underwear because… the sweatpants weren’t hiding anything and you would unfortunately need to focus on work around him. You found some loose-fitting jeans and some natural fiber shirts. They were anything but cheap, but you were a little concerned with how well his skin would handle synthetic fibers, let alone all the detergents and softeners fabrics had in them. Thinking about it, it was a little lucky that he didn’t have any reaction to the soap you had offered him. Socks and some sneakers, and you were off on your way back. 

After your return, he changed into a new set of clothes and you prayed that his poor, unpolluted skin could handle what it was exposed to, as there was no time to wash the clothes before he wore them, first. The rest of his clothes landed in the wash, though. His shirt, silky and almost black, had a little too many buttons and you helped him close them. You took the opportunity of being so close to him to give him a little pep talk. “Just stay close to me, okay? I don’t want you wandering around my workplace unattended.” Acacius was so close you could feel his breath on your skin. It made you a little nervous, especially because you could smell your shower gel on him, and he was closely watching you fumble with the buttons. “I’ll stay close,” he grumbled, just loud enough that you can hear it. After all, why speak louder when you were right opposite of him? Your eyes wandered upwards and found his, and it felt like your heart sank right into your panties. His lips were curled into a one-sided smirk and it took everything from you to not squeak. 

One less awkward walk down to the office later, you found the layouts you had of the villa and placed them on the largest table you had in your little container-office. Marcus leaned over the table, causing you to bite your lower lip for just a moment. His butt looked so good in these jeans. “This is what we have found so far,” you explained and tried to detach your eyes from his backside before he would catch you staring at him. With a few steps you were next to him, leaning over the table just like he was. Your head turned to him. “Please don’t tell me we’re completely wrong,” you added. You felt a little anxious because he looked at it for so long. “No it’s… close enough,” he mumbled. Close enough? 

Before you could ask for clarification, his fingers traveled across the gigantic sheet of paper. “It was a short walk from the villa in this direction.” His fingers soon left the paper and you took another plan. It was a further zoomed out satellite image of the area and the rough walls of the villa sketched in. 

Acacius gave it a look, his finger traveled the same path over and over again, but as soon as he came close to the buildings that were there now, he seemed confused. “This is harder. Everything looks so different and it’s so small.” “It’s okay,” you reassured him and placed a hand on his shoulder “You don’t have to know right away. We can go down to the ruins, maybe it helps to just be there.” 

And you were there all day. You were sometimes even arguing with Marcus until you remembered it had been his house and his opinion was more valuable than any of your educated guesstimations. And upon further inspection, some of the walls actually looked to be younger, meaning the villa had been used after his disappearance and partially rebuilt. 

Philippe had observed you and Marcus all day, ending the shift with way too many notes about the villa. Changes that were to be made in the floor plan. If they could find evidence to claim these changes on rather than someone’s opinion. At least they could justify parts of these changes just by the walls being significantly newer and this would also probably mean there was more funding you could get for this excavation. 

This evening you and the general went back to your apartment. He was very adamant that you should sleep in the comfort of your bed, and your couch was a lot more comfortable for him as well. Despite your reservations at first, you brought some wine and two glasses over to the couch, where Marcus patiently waited for you. “I know it’s probably not the outcome you had wished for for today, but we’re making good progress. I brought some wine, assuming it’s something you’re used to drinking. It might be a little strong. We can water it down if it is. You did good today and I wanted to celebrate it a little.” You filled the glasses with the wine, handing one of the glasses over to him “Thank you,” he nodded and took a sip of the wine. You took your glass and did the same. Marcus had opened the uppermost buttons on the black shirt and you had changed into a cami top and sweatpants, lazily lounging on your couch. 

“Do you think we can find her?” “I’m sure. I can’t tell you how long it will take, but we will. How’s the wine?” He took another sip and nodded approvingly. “I like it. It’s very sweet.” “Just be careful, it might be a little strong for you.” Again, he smirked, this time just a little less cheeky. “I can handle it.” You believed him.   

“So, tell me about her,” you said as you leaned back into the corner of your couch, one arm on the arm rest, the other holding the wine glass on your thigh. Hearing about Astra made you curious. Acacius really loved her, you were sure of it, and you wanted to know what made her so special to him. It was heartwarming to hear about other relationships, after all. That was, until you remembered that he had lost her. 

“She was beautiful,” he mused. “I returned from war and it was like any other day. I was out in the city and she bumped into me at the market. She apologized profusely and our eyes met. She was so gorgeous it took my breath away.” He looked over to you. The candles on the coffee table reflected in his eyes. “She must’ve thought the same,” stumbled out of your lips, causing him to laugh. At least you hadn’t said you agreed with her observation, because this was awkward enough. You had another sip of the wine. The awkwardness flew over his head, or he didn’t want to make you feel any kind of uncomfortable. He just continued. 

“I turned into the biggest idiot in her presence, I didn’t know how to carry myself. Handling legions came second nature to me after being in the military for so long. But being around her… I felt like a child, careless and a little adventurous at times. I took every opportunity to talk to her until she showed up at my villa one evening.” He emptied his glass and helped himself with some more. 

You were hooked and asked “why was she at your villa?” His smile became wider and he sat back “It had been two or three days since I had last seen her, it was a busy week. She came over because she wanted to talk to me. We went to my garden and looked at the stars and talked. It became late and I didn’t want her to walk back home alone. I offered to bring her.” It sounded so romantic and you were a little jealous. Would anyone ever talk about how they met you in such a loving manner? “And she refused?” “She kissed me and asked if she could stay.”   

Judging by his grin, the outcome wasn’t hard to guess. “And she stayed…” “Yes, she did.” You could only imagine what he was thinking about when he grinned like this. You cleared your throat and emptied your wine glass, set it down on the table. Was he aware of what this was doing to you? You were both on your couch, you were drinking – he had his damn chest out and practically openly talked about sex. It was hard to shake off the image of him in the grey sweatpants. It was like you could almost see everything. 

“What about your … partner? How did you meet?” Marcus asked you, possibly out of courtesy. He wasn’t really interested in your love life, was he? “I don’t think it’s interesting. We’re separated anyway. I don’t miss him.” Short and sweet, and such a diplomatic answer. Of course you missed your ex from time to time, but he never understood your passion. Incompatible, that’s what you were. “Is it normal to not be married in your time?” With a shrug you responded “it’s… not unusual. We get married later in life, a lot never marry.” 

Marcus' reaction was expectedly negative. “Sounds lonely.” But you could reassure him “It’s not.” It really wasn’t. You had friends for your social interactions, and on desperate evenings, you had Tinder to remind you that most modern men were absolutely not worth the effort. Marcus seemed to be particularly interested in the latter part, as his next question struck you by surprise. “When is the last time you’ve been with a man?” You gulped and stuttered “I… uh… I can take care of myself.” Which technically wasn’t a lie, but you would rather die than teach him about toys right now. “Sure you can,” he took another sip and cocked an eyebrow. You motherfu… Was he flirting with you? 

Quick, say something before it gets awkward again!! “I’m surprised that it doesn't bother you. Isn’t modesty one of the female virtues in your time?” He nodded, but shrugged shortly thereafter. “It was. But this isn’t my time. Do you want more wine?” His hand pointed towards your wine glass and despite knowing you shouldn’t, you agreed to another glass. Acacius reached for the bottle and leaned over when filling your glass with wine. You could see his heart beat on the vein on his neck, pulsing in the candle light. There was nothing you could do, you stared at him, so handsome in the dim light of the small flame. And so close to you. As if he had heard your thoughts, he turned his head to you, an eyebrow raised. You didn’t move, but neither did he. 

Suddenly, the tension in the air was thick and you could make out his heavy but suppressed breathing. You watched as he leaned over, coming closer to you. One of his hands landed on the back rest, the other on the hand rest next to you, meaning you were caged against the corner on the couch. It felt like time was running slower when he leaned in and before you could react in any way, you felt his lips, kissing you ever so gently. Your hand was in his hair in an instant, pulling him in, tasting the wine on his lips. Reluctantly, he retreated just a moment later, and that’s when it also fully hit you: Marcus had kissed you. 

All you could ask him was “why did you kiss me just now?” because it didn’t make sense in your mind. He had just told you about his wife and suddenly he was practically pinning you against your couch and kissed you. “It must be the wine,” he explained in a murmur. “My apologies.” After you had taken a breath, you shook your head. “It’s nothing. I told you the wine is strong. Don’t worry.” Still, you took the wine glass and held onto it for dear life. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to forget he’s married and just give into the urge and kiss him again. To feel the heat of his skin on yours, the ripple of his muscles and the sweet growl of his voice when he moaned your name. Stop it! You softly smiled at him despite your very dirty thoughts and tried to make the situation just a little less uncomfortable for the both of you. “The couch is yours, you don’t have to kiss me for it.” A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “Thank you.”

Acacius stared into the wine and swished it around, as if he expected there to be some kind of wisdom in the dark red liquid. “Do you think we can find her?” he asked. Maybe he wanted to remind himself that he was on the search for his wife. “I’m sure we will find her. All we need to do is trust in your memories. And we will need to be patient.” You meant it. You were adamant about keeping your promise, even if it took a while. The general was welcome to stay with you. It wasn’t like you weren’t majorly benefitting from his support. “Thank you again for helping me and stopping your work for it.” “We’re not stopping. You’re helping me immensely, your life is my work.” You chewed on your lip for a moment. How long had he been missing his wife now? How long did it take him to kiss a stranger? “How long has it been since she passed?” “In my time?” You nodded. Marcus sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. “A week. She went into labor. I was getting ready to be a father, to hold my child in my arms and suddenly I was a widower, left with nothing but my grief.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you expressed your condolences. It made sense why he had been so distraught when he showed up here. The wounds were fresh. “It was a girl and she was as beautiful as her mother,” he said as a pained smile showed up on his face. “I still don’t understand what wrong I did for the gods to punish me like this. What did I do for them to take away everything I held dear.” Tears welled up in his eyes and sparkled in the candle light. If only he hadn’t kissed you, because now you hesitated placing your hand on him to soothe express your empathy. What were you supposed to say? No one believed in the old gods for the most part, but then again, science was definitely not able to explain why he ended up here, 1800 years into the future. 

You’ve been in thought for a second so you didn’t see him lean forward and cover his eyes with a hand. Only the single sob that came out pulled you back to reality. You put your wine back on the table, leaned in, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Fuck, he’s warm. “I’m sorry. I know there’s not much I can do to soothe your pain, but I’m here for you. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose both your spouse and child but it must feel like you’re dying yourself.” That was definitely making it worse, as his sobs came out in full now. You sighed, swallowed the awkwardness and hugged him from the side. A moment later he put his glass on the table and turned to hug you back. With his face buried in your hair, you let him cry, only stroking his back. “We will find her,” you softly whispered against his head while he still was holding onto you. 

Whether it was the soft touches, your words or the hug itself, you felt his breath become more and more regular. No sobs shook you any more. All you could feel was his heart beat and his warm breath against your scalp. Somewhere in between breaths you could’ve sworn he had whispered something into your hair. You stayed like this until he decided to let go first. Your fingers were in his hair again, giving his scalp a soft massage as he looked back into your eyes. At least you had found the right words to say while you held him. “I don’t care how long it takes. I might need to find creative justifications for why our research is taking a different turn, but we will reunite you with your wife. And your little girl. I promise.”  

After this outbreak of raw emotions, you both decided to pour the rest of the wine down the drain and go to sleep; separately. You felt a little conflicted because it seemed like your presence was soothing to him but it also made him feel guilty, as if it pained him to be around you. And you couldn’t help feeling drawn to him. You’ve sacrificed so much for your research and you were so fascinated by him. Acacius seemed so soft, so loving and gentle deep down. Sure, you projected a lot onto him, imagining him to be the perfect man to his wife. How often had you wondered if you would ever find someone that would love you like he loved his wife?

And then you met him, he fell right before your feet. To be fair, your first meeting had been a little explosive but Marcus was so understanding and frankly… he had taken your breath away as soon as you had met his eyes with yours; it felt a little just like he explained reacting to first seeing Astra – but you didn’t feel like an idiot in his presence, just a little awkward from time to time. 

The next days you spent basically remaking all of the sketches of the villa layout. It was a lot of work, but you had a good feeling that this would help Marcus estimate the distances better. He was your only hope with finding the location of the tree, after all. Then again, without him you wouldn’t be in this trouble at all. 

You didn’t mind. Marcus and you grew closer, working all day on the site, sitting in the office on occasion going over some of the other things you found, only to go home with him, falling asleep in your separate beds to do it all again the next day. You became good friends, you found a routine. Marcus was invaluable to your research and in return for his help you offered what you could. A bed, a bath, lazy sundays on the couch, and an occasional hug when his grief overcame him. 

It wasn’t a lot you could offer, but it seemed to do the trick. The bad nights were rare and you would start seeing a different side of him altogether. Marcus was an intense person, no one could deny that, but he was warm and gentle, even goofy, and sometimes even a little protective when he felt you were uncomfortable. Whenever he was approached by women, which happened more times than you had expected, you helped out. It didn’t take long for him to learn some basic words in Italian and also some in English. He was a smart man, after all, and despite this not being his time, he adapted fast. 

He grew to like black coffee. That was of all things the biggest surprise. The face he had made when he first tried it convinced you he was more of a cappuccino type of guy, but on some mornings you stepped out of the shower and coffee was already waiting for you, your roommate humming to himself while looking out of the kitchen window. 

It didn’t register at first, but for a while it felt like Astra was completely forgotten. You and Marcus worked alongside one another like he was just another coworker that just so happened to live with you. Nothing further than the kiss had happened between you two, it wasn’t like you were actively trying to make him forget about his wife. Rather he would listen to your theories, trying to connect stories of other Romans that lived at the same time. And he would deliver the hottest gossip no one today would know about. 

Today, however, was a different day. “Maybe we should stay home,” you sighed as you watched the rain drops collect on the kitchen window. You were having breakfast, Marcus sat opposite of you in the same dark, silky shirt, the top button undone. “It’s just water, we should get over there soon,” he responded with a shrug. He was right, but still, part of you wanted to just stay in bed today. Was it the rain? Were you a little under the weather? You’ve never been sensitive to changes in this way. 

Something was off with him today, but not in a bad way. There was a pep in his step, so to say, an enthusiasm to work you had not seen in him. At first he was frustrated, nervous, then joyful whenever you could cross off one task of the sheer never ending list. But today, it was like he had just won the lottery. He was all smiles and giddy about the same old work. 

“We should try to find it, I think,” he said as soon as you entered the office. He went straight for the coffee machine while you draped the newest revision of the villa’s layout onto the table. He laid down on the couch and recounted his steps, while you tried to mark the way down on your map. It didn’t have to be 100 percent accurate, but if you had a rough idea of what area to search, you could just go there and see if you could find Astra. 

Did you ever think about how absurd this was? Absolutely, but Marcus was here and very real, why was it so unbelievable that his wife would be here somewhere? 

You spent all day going back and forth with him, until you decided right around sunset that it was probably for the best if he got to actually walk from his villa to wherever he expected Astra to be. “I’ll keep my eyes closed,” he explained when you stood at the ruins, the warm rain pattering onto his shoulders, slowly soaking him and you. You took his hand and nodded. “I will make sure you won’t run into anything.” Marcus raised your hands in front of his face and kissed the back of your hand, never breaking eye contact. As beautiful as the thought was to reunite him with his wife, you knew you would miss this. Miss him. He was by no means romantically involved with you, but his whole presence, who he was and how he was with you… 

It would leave you a little empty and lost. 

“Are you nervous?” you asked him as he started walking. As he had his eyes closed, you could sneak in a few glances. He was so handsome and the joy that radiated from his face made him even more attractive. If only he’d be smiling for you. “Do you think this is it?” he asked, opening his eyes just a slit to look over to you. Of course, you averted your gaze and scanned the environment, making sure he wouldn’t run into anything. “I have a good feeling about this,” you confirmed and nodded. It was a lie. You had a bad feeling about this and that’s what probably meant this was it. He was about to leave. 

If this meant you would go your separate ways soon, you’d better make the most of the time you still had. One question about today burned in your mind. “Why today? What is so special about it? You’ve been so enthusiastic about it since we left the apartment” “The rain.” “The rain?” You both stopped for a second. By now you were almost drenched, but with the heat during the day, this almost felt refreshing rather than uncomfortable. And no one could deny that wet hair made him look even better. You should really stop thinking about him like this. 

“She appeared in my dreams again. She said we would reunite when rain fell from the stars.” His explanation sounded convincing enough, but then again “you never told me you had dreamt about her again.” Your voice actually sounded a little accusatory. Marcus just shrugged “I … must’ve forgotten. It wasn’t like it had rained before today so – it wasn’t important.” 

Huh, not important. You swallowed your pride and you continued on. “Do you think the stars might be crying?” He sounded confused when he replied “why would I think that?” “Well,” you began, “the poem, think of it as a sequel. You might have proposed to her on a clear night, but maybe they’re crying because they’re saying farewell to their sisters again.” “How did you know it was a clear night?” “Stars aren’t visible behind clouds” 

Marcus stopped abruptly and looked at you again. His curls dropped forward, droplets of rain running along the salt and pepper strands and falling onto your face. Did he know how handsome he was, even by today’s standards? Despite all the scars? His thumb gently stroked your hand and a smile crept up to his lips. “You’re such a smart woman. It’s a shame no one appreciates that. Thank you for everything,” he mused. His words touched you, he was one of the few people whose compliments felt genuine. “Thank you, general. I’m so curious to meet her,” you responded, squeezing his hand ever so softly. Only a few more minutes and you could stop lying, to him and to yourself. “I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again.” Ouch. 

You kept walking and after a few close calls with tripping hazards, he stopped for the final time. “This should be it,” he said and opened his eyes. You were in a small alley, behind a house it seemed. “No trees here,” you said softly. Not like you had expected anything else. If there had been a tree in Rome that was this old, you would’ve heard about it.  

Marcus let go of your hand and walked towards a small shrine on one of the walls that had gathered his attention. You stared at your now empty hand. It felt a little cold now that he had let go. “What does it say?” he asked, pointing at a little sign by the shrine, and you followed him to a statue of virgin Mary with baby Jesus. The imagery must have been a little painful to see for him. 

You read the small inscription. “It’s a shrine of the virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, the… son of the Christian God.” You heard him mutter something, probably disappointment, or confusion why a virgin was a mother. “It says here they found the remains of a woman and a child when this house was built, so they put the shrine here.” you turned to look at him. “This must be it. We found her.” 

And as much as it hurt you to know that Marcus would leave, the joy you saw in his eyes soothed your pain a little. After all, your friend had lost so much more than you would lose after he would be with his wife again. They could continue their life and you wondered what this meant for the present, for your time. Would history change? 

Would he forget you for the sake of never letting anyone know where he had been?

You both heard steps coming down the alley. Marcus didn’t dare move and neither did you. As much as you wanted him to be happy, what about you? Could you be selfish for a second? He would leave you behind, separated from him by so much time. It wasn’t like there was much that held him here, besides the one friend he made. 

The woman that came around the corner was definitely not his wife. It was an older lady under an umbrella, taking an evening walk or maybe going home, carrying a small bag. You and her exchanged pleasantries, distracting you for a moment. 

“Astra, where are you?” he asked, as soon as his gaze was back on him, you saw the pain in his face. He ran his fingers through his hair. How you would’ve loved to do the same. “Astra!” he called out into the night and you flinched, startled by the sudden volume. “Astra!” he called again. 

You heard some residents complain about the noise. You blinked a few times and afterwards looked at him, “Marcus,” you softly addressed him. “I don’t understand it. She said she’d be here, but there’s just me and … you.” He turned to look at you and disappointment left for confusion, one eyebrow raised. What?

“Are you crying?” You couldn’t feel the tears on your already wet face but you nodded, certain your eyes were tearing up because you would lose him. With a few steps Marcus was opposite of you, cupping your face with one hand and wiping your cheek. “Why are you crying?” “Happy tears” His head tilted to the side. “I can tell when you’re lying,” he grumbled. Marcus came a little closer, chest to chest with you, and his second hand joined in to cup your face. “Tell me.” How were you supposed to let this go without tears?  

“I’m happy for you, or… I thought I was, but I –” he leaned in and shut you up by kissing you. You leaned in but at the same time you muttered out a “stop” in between kisses. He growled “no” and kept going. “Marcus,” you tried to get him to stop again, this time successfully, allowing you to take a breath.

“I thought we were over this,” you tried to accuse him of something, but it fell on deaf ears this time around. “You’re smart. Connect the dots.” His voice was so silky and you absolutely wanted to hate him for being so hot when you should be mad at him. “You’re kissing me here when your wife is about to show up any second to leave with you!” 

“Carissima,” he stroked your cheeks. “It’s just us here. I should have known from the beginning when I first saw you.” “What?” “It’s you. It’s always been you. You have her wit, her heart… and her eyes.” He gave you a once-over, never stopping stroking your cheeks. “But the rain–” “As you so cleverly pointed out: Stars aren’t visible then it rains.”

And then it partially clicked. “The poem…” “Your eyes are the stars, and your tears are the rain.” Marcus leaned in and placed a kiss onto your forehead before he continued. “I was meant to stumble before your feet and fall in love with you all over again. And I fell hard.” “But you were so persistent to find her today,” you intercepted. Of course, you were a little overwhelmed with what was going on. Was he really implying you were some kind of reincarnation of Astra? He shook his head. “I was waiting for a sign that I was right.” 

You raised your head to see him smiling at you. “Please tell me you feel the same.” It’s a little hard to process it all, but all you wanted was to give in, so you nodded. You had fallen for him a while ago, ever since you had seen the brown eyes for the first time. To confirm your gesture, Marcus kissed you again, one hand in the back of your neck, pulling you in even closer. Your fingers were in his hair, tangling in the wet curls. “Now it’s happy tears,” you whispered when he leaned in once more, forehead against forehead. He smiled warmly and gave you another peck on the lips.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked. Not that the rain wasn’t pleasant, but you stood here in a random alleyway when you had an apartment close.  “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” You offered with a grin. “I would love to. I love you.” “I love you too.”  

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter VI

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 15k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

i never really realize my fics are being perceived so please imagine the actual waterfall i was when i learned someone liked dulcissima enough to draw a scene from it. please check out nine's beautiful piece over here ♡

Chapter VI

He enjoyed watching the fights in the colosseum as a young man. After his first time on the battlefield, led by Maximus, the enjoyment stopped. Then, Commodus fell. And the games started representing everything Acacius was learning to spite. The aimless spilling of blood. The commands given by the twin emperors that have no purpose other than their entertainment, than building their selfish legacy.

But he has to attend. Has to sit and watch gladiators kill each other when he can still so vividly remember the way Maximus fell to his knees in the same spot.

And her face. He remembers Lucilla's face clear as if it was yesterday, tears streaking down her cheeks as she tried to hold her sobs in her throat, her hand clutched tightly around the small one of her son. Acacius led them out of the Colosseum and to supposed safety, straight to the house that he had spent hours in front of, guarding the Commander and his family with his life. He was there when Lucilla scrambled to gather Lucius’s things, gave the boy his own horse to travel on.

He even knelt down and spoke to the boy when his mother couldn’t, still too shaken.

“You must be strong. To survive is your duty now. It is time to retreat and return another day.”

The thought makes Lucilla's face swim in front of his eyes again. Her tears and sobs, for so many nights after she sent her son away and on so many nights still. He never returned. Every time Acacius traveled to the south, he hoped to find him somewhere, to be able to bring him back. But the boy vanished.

His cloak gently moves around him as he steps off the carriage, waving his driver away. Acacius turns to his right, ascending the steps that lead directly to the cubiculum, to the most honored seats in the Colosseum. He makes polite conversation with the other guests, kisses the hands of Geta and Caracalla with his face set like stone when they arrive under applause from the crowd. Then, he steps towards the very side of the box-shaped area, taking his seat. His eyes flicker to his left, taking in the lowest of the benches that run all around the arena. The podium, the area reserved for senators and priests–and vestals.

His gaze finds you immediately. Perched on the lowest of the stone benches, hands folded in your lap as you take in your surroundings.

Acacius' eyes briefly fly back to the Emperors in front of him, to Macrinus off to the other side of the cubiculum. None of them seem to be paying him any attention. So he allows himself to turn his head again.

This time, he finds you staring up at him. There is an uncertainty in your gaze, one so delicate that he wishes he could climb the decorated stone wall separating the areas and wipe any trace of insecurity off your face.

It is not the only imagination his mind surrects that includes your face.

He sends a quick nod your way before shifting in his seat, adjusting the linen below his white and gold armour. The crowd beginning to cheer as the first gladiator steps into the arena is, for once, a welcome distraction.

His attention keeps wandering, though. He allows himself small glances every so often, pretending to look at the crowd or the sky when the only thing he truly wants to look at is you.

There are many women dressed much less modestly, even during winter. Whores, trying to find their way into a rich man's bed, to stay warm and comfortable. He cannot deny they are nice to look at and yet–there is something different about the way your white stola falls around your body, never quite allowing him to discover your shape below it. Maybe it is precisely that mystery that entrances him. You are forbidden. To him, to any man of Rome. Even an Emperor couldn't have you.

Acacius claps with the rest of the crowd as one of the gladiators is brought to the ground, Geta barely giving enough time for the people to yell their judgement as he raises his hand into the air and shows his lowered thumb to the arena.

“No mercy!” His voice rings out, his body shaking with anticipation as he watches the scene below unfold.

The General turns his head just enough to glance over at you and sees your hands folded in your lap again, though this time more pressing. You seem unbothered by a few senators to your left jumping to their feet to get a better look, instead bowing your head ever so slightly to whisper words under your breath. Words that, Acacius realizes quietly, must be a prayer.

He has a sudden urge to envelope you in his cloak, to lead you away from all this violence and blood. You are too pure for it. Too good. Even if you met in another lifetime, he would be too harsh for your gentleness. Anyone would be.

“Acacius, please, join us for the meal,” Macrinus slaps his back gently, giving him his signature wide smile as they descend the stairs after the games. “The Emperors would be delighted to have you, discuss your next assignment–”

“War should never be discussed where too much wine is served,” Acacius gives a firm and polite smile.

“Oh, nonsense! Allow me–Caracalla!” He turns, attempting to wave the younger of the Emperors over to them. Acacius takes a sharp breath, wishing he could just step into the mingling crowd and disappear in it.

“I was planning to–” He begins, still racking his brain for an excuse worthy of turning down an invitation to dine with the twins and a dozen other politicians he does not care for. He doesn't expect the excuse to magically appear at his side. But it does.

“I asked General Acacius to escort me home.”

You stand politely next to Macrinus, who slowly turns, his gaze briefly flickering over you. The headdress immediately lets him understand he is talking to one of the highest priestesses of Rome, a woman whose safety is most essential to all. A kind smile decorates your face, though it is not quite the same one you gave Acacius in the gardens mere days ago. “My guard fell ill and I do not wish to walk the dark streets by myself.”

“I see–” The man's eyes fly between you and the General for a few moments that feel thick with tension and Acacius shifts slightly.

“I will see her home safely and retire to my quarters after. But please, give the Emperors my best once again. I will ask for them to receive me in the morning to discuss the plans.”

“Very well.” Macrinus gives another beaming smile, adjusting the cloth draped over his arm and begins to walk away. Acacius sees your form caving in slightly as you watch him turn a corner, a small breath leaving your throat.

“My lady,” he nods toward the open door leading onto the street. You blink in confusion, wide eyes focused on him.

“What?”

“You asked to be escorted home. I will gladly oblige,” he muses quietly. “Or are there more plans you failed to communicate to me?”

You shake your head and he can see the insecurity in your face. “I did not mean to keep you from–I thought you may not want–”

Acacius can't help but smile and nod. “Like I said. Quite observant. I did not wish to go. I thank you for providing me with an acceptable reason not to.”

“You will have to walk me back to the House of the Vestals though–”

“I do not mind it,” Acacius hums quietly as he begins to walk with you. It is as close as he will get to allowing himself to admit that the thought of walking you home, walking you to the shops, walking you through the gardens, is one that fills him with a deep satisfaction.

The large crowds are streaming into other directions, only few heading toward the Forum,  but Acacius still remains vigilant of the people around you, a few of them whispering when they spot the Vestal among them. It is not unlike their reaction to him and he suddenly longs to ask you if this is what you meant when you told him that you do not mind the veil but the Separation.

A life so far away from the people of Rome, serving Vesta in a temple in the middle of the city, tending to the hearth of the Roman Empire–and yet, always doing it alone.

He watches as the carriage carrying the Emperors, and no doubt Macrinus and other guests, rolls past in the distance. Instead of following them down the main road, he leads you down Via Sacra until you reach the Arc towering above you. You make to pass through it when Acacius shakes his head. “Allow me.”

You follow quietly as he makes a left, leading both of you onto a much smaller and more narrow street that climbs up the beginnings of Palatine Hill.

“Where are we going?” You adjust your stola, wrapping it tightly around yourself against the cold.

“Just a small detour. I promise I will have you home in no time, priestess.”

***

You can’t remember this road. Your service rarely leads you to varying places. It is always the same. The temple. The house. The spring. The potter. Occasionally, visits to shops or houses of Senators.

But you have not forgotten the garden. Walking with Acacius has been on repeat in your mind since he invited you through his gate. Even in the arena, you felt your gaze drawn to him. And the empty seat beside him. You understand why Lucilla does not enjoy being in the Colosseum, why she is such a rare guest to the Cubiculum. And yet, seeing the General attending the games by himself sent some sort of feeling through your body.

The road has turned into what more resembles a path, the sides lined by stone walls and greenery, no doubt belonging to the houses of even more very important people that are allowed to reside on Palatine Hill.

And then, the path suddenly opens up.

A small clearing among the trees and fields, a garden tucked away at the eastern edge of the hill. You wonder if these are hidden all over the city, how you have never noticed them before. And above all, how Acacius knows all of them.

The sun is setting behind you, shining over the trees to bathe the buildings in front of you into a soft, orange light, the colosseum towering in the middle like the flame in Vestas temple.

“This is beautiful,” you whisper, stepping toward the edge and immediately, you feel the shadow of Acacius’s hands around your waist. Ready to catch you. To keep you from falling.

“Careful now,” he hums quietly and you take a step back, surprising him enough that he doesn't draw back in time. His hands land on your hips and you can feel his muscles tense, standing still. Allowing you to move away if you wish to. You don't.

“You seemed to enjoy being high up,” he mutters under his breath, his hands squeezing ever so gently.

“I do,” you whisper back, your eyes leaving his and instead falling onto his slightly parted lips. Somehow, he is all around you. The city below you disappears, with all its columns and people and rules. There is only the last greeting of the sun reflecting in his hair, gold framing his face like he is made of colors on a canvas. “I like it a lot.”

You reach for his armor, resting your hand against the rich chestplate, your fingertips smoothing over the wings of the griffins that decorate it. The body of a lion, the wings of an eagle. Your touch is so delicate as if it is his skin you are touching and you feel your knees quiver at the mere thought that your hand is inches from his chest below.

A short tremble flashes through his body and you think you can feel his restraint, the battle he is fighting with himself. Because you are a soldier in the same war. Until his face softens as in defeat, like he is waving his white flag and surrendering to an invisible enemy.

When he bows down, his hands still on your waist, you are already waiting. You feel yourself overcome with emotion, realizing that you have been waiting for him longer than you’ve known him. And when you feel his lips touch yours, every last thought is driven from your mind. His beard scratches your cheek but his lips are soft, so soft. You press yourself into him, wanting to be impossibly close. If you could crawl inside his armour, you are certain you would.

“General–” You pant when you break apart just enough to breathe. He shakes his head, his gaze flickering between your eyes and lips.

“Acacius,” he corrects quietly.

“Acacius–” you begin but he barely lets you speak his name before he kisses you again, more eagerly now, one hand leaving your waist to cup your face instead. You let out a noise that you have never heard from your own lips, attempting to lean into the kiss and his palm at the same time. You cannot fathom how anyone can choose the colosseum to get their blood rushing when they could just kiss instead. None of the games you have seen can match the way your heart jumps at Acacius’s touch.

He allows a few more seconds before he pulls back, a gentle smile on his lips. His thumb carefully strokes your cheek, sending a comfortable warmth through your body.

“Are you alright?” He whispers, his brown eyes filled with worry and kindness. “I did not–force myself on you?”

The idea is so absurd you almost laugh. “No.” You swallow a bit as you feel yourself sobering up, though his body still pressed against yours is not allowing you to do so fully. "No one can know.”

“No. No one can know,” Acacius mumbles back. You know you should be terrified. Your vows forbid even the most innocent touches. A Vestal is not let go for breaking her vows. She is sent before the gods. None ever come back.

But there is a silent understanding between you. One that, you quietly realize, goes back much further than tonight, maybe even further than the walk in his garden. And still, a nagging feeling in your chest makes your voice tremble as you speak. “Your wife cannot know.”

Acacius pauses at that and for a brief moment, you think you have offended him, called him out on something he does not like to admit. Then, he smiles sadly and shakes his head. “I will not tell her. But she would not mind it.” At your startled expression, he continues. “Lucilla and I go back many years. We were lovers once. We aren’t anymore.”

“But she is your wife-” You press out, because you don't know what else to say at this revelation that, even with your supposed great skill of reading people, you did not see coming.

“She is. Because I wish for her to be safe.” Acacius sighs, his gaze briefly flying over to the Colosseum that is now shrouded in darkness. “I conquer cities. I do not wish to do the same to women.”

You look down at your hand still splayed across Acacius’s chestplate and suddenly feel tears gathering in your eyes. Because you're happy and confused and you wish that you'd been made a wife rather than a vestal, that you could lay with Acacius at night rather than laying alone.

“Please don’t cry.” Acacius nudges your chin softly, making you look up at him. “Dulcissima.”

The name falls so easily from his lips. Dulcissima. The sweetest. You smile sadly. And you feel a plan stirring inside of you.

“Bona Dea is not far away now,” you say quietly. “Men will be in their houses and women will be–”

“Celebrating.” Acacius finishes for you. “What are you saying?”

“Meet me,” you practically plead and you almost feel like you're at the temple, falling to your knees and praying. “Meet me on Bona Dea. Next to Mars.”

He nods and you pull him in again, trembling as you steal another kiss. You feel his arms wrap around you, holding you close. You can hear the people on the streets below, vendors shouting and dogs barking. None of them seem to matter the way they did mere minutes ago.

You stay intertwined for as long as you dare as darkness falls. Your head rests against his chest when eventually, you feel Acacius pressing a kiss into your hair. He stills for a moment, taking a deep breath, allowing your scent to fill his nostrils. Then, he steps back.

“Let me walk you home, Dulcissima.”

notes: thank you for reading. this is the first time we've seen what acacius thinks of all this, do y'all like the switch or would you prefer the vestals perspective? see you soon!

[saythenametotheworld]

Timeless | jww

Pairing: SEVENTEEN Wonwoo x Reader

Notes: 2.5k words. Based on a writing prompt I saw today. here's some story written on a whim! Enjoy!

~

The sun shone brightly up the sky, bringing a comfortable warmth to the late Saturday morning at a park by the Han River. Wonwoo sat there, a timeless observer in a constantly changing world. He leaned back on the wooden bench, closing his eyes to the gentle hum of life around him. The soft breeze, the distant laughter of children, and the conversation of people around him that were reduced to soft murmurs in his ears all melded into a soothing symphony. But his thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back through the centuries to a love long past.

Wonwoo had stopped aging a long time ago, a quirk of fate that he had no idea how he came to possess but had left him a witness to the continuous march of time. He had seen the rise and fall of civilizations and empires, cities that crumbled and rebuilt, and the countless faces of people passing in and out of his life. He remembered the grandeur and the bustling markets of ancient Rome, the silent strength of the Great Wall as it snaked through the mountains between China and Mongolia, the rise of the Goryeo Dynasty, and its eventual transition to the Joseon Period.

Exactly how old is he now? He had lost count. Over time, it just didn’t matter anymore. One of his earliest memories was standing on the shores of a vast, uncharted ocean, the salty breeze whipping through his hair. He had been living his early life on an island with his kin and had no idea there was an entire world beyond the high seas. He had watched as explorers docked on the shores of his home and heard said explorers declare that a whole wide world was out there. Civilizations, society, and people. All of these were foreign to him. Surely, he must set out to see this massive world they spoke of, and he did exactly that.

Wonwoo had set sail into the unknown, his eyes alight with dreams of discovery. That was when he realized that he was no ordinary man. He was someone who had been gifted by the heavens with time—a limitless, continuous, endless amount of time.

In the years that followed, Wonwoo lived among these men, never given the chance to find his home again. He watched as men took to the seas, charting routes that allowed Wonwoo to explore the vastness of the Earth. He had walked through the newly founded streets of New Amsterdam, marveled at the opulence of Versailles, and witnessed the fiery birth of the industrial age. 

Wonwoo did everything and anything a man with unlimited time could do. He explored the world, unearthing and discovering its beauty and magnificence. He studied sciences, medicine, engineering, and even advancements in architecture and infrastructure. He dabbled with arts in its many forms. He made friends with some people who eventually passed but would be remembered as important figures in history. Sometimes he liked to think he had contributed to the progress of humanity, however little it may be.

And romance, well, despite not knowing exactly how to engage in genuine romantic pursuits, that didn’t stop him from indulging himself with people he found alluring—whoever they were, wherever they were from as long as he has taken a liking to them.

But among these myriad of memories, one stood out with aching clarity. You. 

You had been his heart's desire for heaven knows how long. Wonwoo had met you in a bustling marketplace, your eyes catching his from across the crowd. There had been an instant connection, a pull that neither of you could deny. You had spent days exploring the city together, hours lost in whispered conversations and shared dreams, and nights spent with passion and warmth.

He remembered the way your hair flowed freely with the breeze, your eyes that shone in the moonlight, the warmth of your hand in his, and the way your laughter had chased away the shadows of his loneliness. But time was a thief, and it had taken you from him, leaving only memories in its wake. Such was the life of an immortal. People will come and go, friends eventually pass, and the bond between lovers withers away like flowers in October. Although he had never experienced love the way he did with you, he tried to move on with his life knowing no power on Earth will ever bring you back. Or so he had thought.

Years later, he had been wandering through the streets of Paris when he saw you again, your face unchanged, your eyes just as bright. You did not know him—not at first—but the connection was still there, and it was as undeniable as ever.

“I know you,” Wonwoo had told you at the time.

You were surprised at first, frowning at the man with whom you unknowingly held hands when he offered to help you board your carriage. You had thought it was your coachman, but it was a stranger—an oddly familiar stranger, but still a stranger.

“You do?” you had told him, maintaining a dignified composure despite being intrigued by him. What was that slight ache tugging at your heartstrings at the sight of his smiling face? “Well, I do not know you so it would be best if you refrain from approaching me without warning, sir.”

“I see. I beg your pardon,” he replied, still smiling as if he was overjoyed to be in your presence. “I am Jeon Wonwoo. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

In that life, you fell in love once more. And like the first, your time together was fleeting, and you were gone once more. This time, Wonwoo was hopeful that you would find each other again.

This became your pattern. Several years after your death, you would reincarnate, always with the same face, the same smile, the same laughter. Fate would bring you back to Wonwoo every time, even when he wasn't looking for you. In the high society of England year 1750, you had been a debutante in search of a husband and found Wonwoo. In the streets of Tokyo, in 1821, you were a painter, your art capturing the essence of the love you shared.  In the serene hills of Tuscany,  you had been a writer, your words weaving your shared story into the fabric of time. In the roaring twenties of New York, you had been a singer, your voice a siren call that drew him to you.

Each time you were reborn, you and Wonwoo would meet as strangers, fall in love all over again, and then, inevitably, you would leave him.

“I’ll come find you,” he told you on your deathbed, sickness has caused your young body to wither away. It had always been this way. You meet Wonwoo, share a couple years with him, maybe a whole decade if you are lucky, and then some illness or accident takes you away.

“I love you, Wonu.”

“I know. I love you more than anything in this world.”

It was a cycle of joy and heartbreak, of fleeting moments to Wonwoo that felt like lifetimes for you. But he was content. He was happy and he finally had something he wanted to keep living for.

But then, suddenly, you stopped coming back. You just… didn’t. Wonwoo waited, searched, and hoped, but you did not return. The decades stretched into a century and even as the 2000s came, still, you were nowhere to be found. He scoured the corners of the earth, looking for any sign of you, but it was as if you had vanished from the cycle of reincarnation. Wonwoo had been complacent. He was too relaxed and got so comfortable that he forgot something like this could happen.

Desperation and longing became his constant companions. His endless life was lonely and devoid of meaning until he found love in you, and now, without you, it felt empty once more.

Still, Wonwoo did not dare give up. In his search for you, he discovered a new passion: music. He found solace in melodies and rhythms, and his talent quickly blossomed. He began composing and singing, pouring his soul into every note. His music resonated with people, and he became a renowned singer, his voice known across the world. While he enjoyed his craft, his fame also served another purpose. He hoped that by becoming a public figure, his face appearing on screens and stages everywhere, you would find your way back to him.

But as the years passed, his hopes began to wane. No one who came to him even remotely resembled you, not your face, not your smile, nothing. His frustration grew with each passing day, the relentless search taking its toll on his spirit. The world lauded his music, yet he remained haunted by an unfulfilled longing, his heart aching for the one person who made his endless life worth living. The world around him has changed so much, technology advancing, cultures shifting, but his heart remained trapped in the past—the time so long ago when you first saw each other. His heart stayed broken, yearning and mourning you that he had lost.

And today, Wonwoo opened his eyes only to realize that hours had passed since he sat in front of the Han River. This was your favorite spot in your last life. You made the best memories here together, and as such, this place has become the one place Wonwoo can go to if he misses you. As the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the park, Wonwoo closed his eyes again, the weight of his sadness sat heavy on his heart. He did not notice the figure that had taken a seat beside him, nor the way they watched him with a gaze full of curiosity and recognition. It wasn't until the voice broke through his reverie that he was jolted back to the present.

“You're still thinking about me after all this time?”

Wonwoo's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned to look at the speaker, his breath catching in his throat. There was no mistaking that voice. Even if it was over a hundred years ago, or two hundred, or four hundred years ago when he first heard you speak, Wonwoo would never forget that voice. And sure enough, it was you, unchanged by the years, as if you had stepped out of his memories and into the present.

“My love…” he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief and hope. “My love. Is that you?”

You smiled the same radiant smile that had haunted his dreams. “These days, I think it’s cooler to call your lover Babe, or Bub or something short but sweet like that.”

He reached out, hesitantly at first, then with growing certainty, his fingers brushing against your cheek. You were real, warm, and alive, and the floodgates of his emotions burst open.

You reached back to caress his face. “It’s been a while, Wonu.”

Slowly, unbeknownst to himself, Wonwoo’s tears rolled down his cheeks. With both hands, he held your cheeks, pulling you to sit next to him on the grass. “Where were you? I couldn’t find you!” he said, his voice breaking. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to appear aloof even as your own tears threatened to fall. “Silly. You knew you could never find me even if you tried. It is me who must go to you. Always. It doesn’t matter if I don’t recognize you, I will always be the one to find you.”

“But it has been too long. Too much time has passed without you.”

“Why? Did you get tired of waiting?” you asked, leaning affectionately in his hands. You feigned a sulky face. “Has your love faltered after waiting too long?”

“No,” he denied, a relieved smile finally showing on his lips. “I never stopped looking for you.”

“And I never stopped waiting for a chance to come and find you again,” you replied softly. “I've seen you, through the ages. Always so close, yet just out of reach.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you. Wonwoo’s eyes never left your face, not even for a second. If he could, he wouldn’t even blink in case you suddenly disappeared and he realized this was all just a dream. You let him stare at you as much as he wanted, enjoying his attention and feeling happy about being able to hold him again. The world around you has faded away, leaving only the two of you, bound by time and love.

Wonwoo thought back to the countless lives he had lived, the friends he had made and lost, the wars he had fought, and the empires he had seen rise and fall. Despite having everything, you had been the only one he wanted and loved, a beacon of hope and love that had kept him going. In his long life, he rarely prayed to the heavens who bestowed him the curse of immortality, but he prayed for you. He prayed they bring you back to him. If they really were up there, it seemed to Wonwoo that they had heard his earnest pleas. Or maybe not, but he still wanted to thank someone, whether it was god, fate, or the universe. Whichever it was, they had allowed him to reunite with his beloved once more.

He remembered a conversation with a philosopher in ancient Greece, who had spoken of the eternal nature of the soul. “Love transcends time,” the philosopher had said. “It is the one thing that endures, no matter the changes that come.”

Wonwoo had seen the truth of those words in the faces of lovers across the ages. He had seen it in the way a soldier clung to a locket, a token of his beloved back home. He had seen it in the eyes of a mother, cradling her newborn child. And now, he saw it in your eyes, as bright and full of love as they had been all those centuries ago.

“How is this possible?” he asked, still grappling with the reality of your presence.

“Honestly? I don't know,” you admitted. “But does it matter? We're here now, together.”

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Please don’t let this be a wicked dream that I would wake up from eventually.”

You chuckled heartily, leaning closer to kiss his forehead. “It’s not, Won. It’s me.”

“It really is. It is you, my love,” he chimed, lifting your chin to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

For the first time in centuries, he felt a sense of peace, a feeling of coming home. There was a certain sense of finality in this reunion. Wonwoo could not quite grasp what this meant, but it didn't matter—not now that you're finally sitting there with him after so long.

As the stars began to twinkle overhead, Wonwoo held your hand in his and brought you home. Finally, he had found what he had been searching for all these years. Wonwoo and you found your own timeless moment, a reunion that transcended the ages. And in that moment, you both knew that love, true love, was indeed eternal.

[fin]

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Roman Laundry Uncovered Near the Vatican in Italy

1,700-year-old laundry tubs and tiled floors were discovered by construction workers.

Construction workers in Italy recently came across the site of an ancient laundry near the Vatican, officials say.

Italy's Ministry of Culture announced the surprising findings in a press release on June 14. The discovery was made during construction efforts at Piazza Pia, a Roman square that Italian officials are "pedestrianizing."

Pictures of the site show archaeologists uncovering ancient tiled floors several feet below ground level. Tubs, which were used to clean dirty clothes, were also found at the site.

Excavators also uncovered what appear to be ceramic shards from destroyed artifacts. Officials also discovered pits, which may have once been used as baths.

In a statement, Italian officials said that the site was likely built to be an imperial residence. The housing would have overlooked the Tiber River "in a scenic way with arcades, walks and gardens," officials described.

Between the second and third centuries, the site became a fullonica – or a laundry.

According to the World History Encyclopedia, launderers in ancient Rome used human and animal urine as detergent. They often collected urine – which contains ammonia – from public restrooms.

"The urine was poured into a vat with the clothing and the fullers (or their slaves) would tread on the cloth, agitating it the way a modern-day washing machine does, to remove stains and odors," the World History Encyclopedia's website reads.

"This profession continued, operating in the same way with the same cleaning agents, for hundreds of years after the fall of the Roman Empire and up into the modern age when soap replaced urine."

Romans would bring their dirty laundry to a fullonica and pay to have it cleaned. Even though citizens generally looked down on launderers for their unhygienic washing methods, launderers were paid very well.

In a statement, Archbishop Rino Fisichella said that the recent discovery of the fullonica "brought [him] back in time."

"This part of Rome will again be made visible to all, and as a citizen I can only express a sense of deep gratitude," he said. "[The laundry room] was the meeting place of the people, the people, the women of the era."

By Andrea Vacchiano.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, fingering, sweet dirty talk, creampie, possessiveness, falling in love

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

“It’s all getting too complex, Tom.”

“Maybe. But not too much for you.”

“Yes, for me.”

“You’ve been through worse though, haven’t you?”

“Have I? I’m not sure… Nothing with higher stakes, certainly.”

“Oh, come on… You’ve moved to a foreign country and lived here on your own for years. Worked for a crazy old man with a monster in the basement —”

“That’s unfair. Ambrogio was just a bit eccentric.”

“What do you think the auctioneers will do? Even if the worst should happen and you make some grave mistake… Will they turn you into a toad? Kill you? Cast a magic spell, what, like Abracadabra?”

“Worse. They’ll laugh at me.”

“Ah.”

“A failure. Humiliated. Publicly.”

“Well, I’ll be there, and if any laugh at you I’ll Avada Kedavra them myself.”

“Saying it doesn’t kill anybody, Tom,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll bring my wand, too.”

For some reason, that’s what made her laugh. It somehow added to the quiet, her laughter in the dark. They lay beside each other on her bed, warm beneath the covers, knee to knee. What started as Tom trying to console her following her meeting with Mr. Malfoy had melted into something else.

“Oh, you had better,” she chuckled. “I am so fond of your magic wand.”

He purred when he felt her careful fingers slip around his thighs. She scratched him gently above his clothes on her way to his waistline, then slid her hand beneath to find his cock and take it in her hand. He could feel her gasp against his lips when she closed her fingers around it, thumb just above the tiny slit that beaded a little pearl of lust at the feeling of her warmth and softness. His gaze travelled from her eyes down to her lips while she slowly thrust her hand upward. The way she made the skin of his shaft shift along his cock made him groan. He swallowed back the vulnerable sounds he was tempted to make and closed his eyes, enjoying the attention, the care of her touch, and the always terrifying experience of true intimacy. Like a whisper, her fingers travelled down the full shape of his cock from the tip down the velvet body until she reached the root, then back again. From beneath the soft protective circle of skin, his tip started peeking out.

“I think my wand likes you back,” he chuckled breathlessly, head leaning back against the pillow.

Her grip tightened at the encouragement. “Would you give it to me, then?” she teased. “Just for a little bit?”

“Mmm… You wouldn’t know how to use a proper wand.”

“I would too,” she protested. “Stop laughing.”

Tom couldn’t help it. Beneath the jokes, there was something deeply sad about their playful exchange — she was just a muggle. When it didn’t gnaw at him he had to catch himself for mentioning things he should not speak about with her, innocuous topics that he would have been free to speak of with a witch… These little jokes were a way for him to make up for it.

To ask for her forgiveness without so many words he leaned forward and kissed her. She moaned against his lips and moved closer, her hand around him tightening its grip. With a shuffle, she began to pull his trousers off his hips and out of her way, and Tom moved to help her. As he was still kicking them off his feet and to the edge of the bed she held him in her hand, cupping his cock gently, feeling it harden, and with a gasp he moved to kiss her again, and again. He let his mouth linger, let her taste his every moan and sigh while he swallowed every breath of hers. With a sweet whimper, she let him go to pull her panties down beneath the sheets and then, more shakily than before, she took his cock in her soft hand once more and brought it to her mound. It was his turn to shiver and he struggled to maintain control and let her lead. Through his half-lidded gaze, he could see her blushing, breathing heavily, excited, her focus all on him.

“I want to play with you a little,” she whispered with a kittenish smile.

“If you think you can handle it…” he breathed, trying to maintain his cool.

“I think I’ve been handling it.”

He grumbled at her silly pun but purred when she rubbed his cock against herself. The soft tuft of her venus mound stuck to his wet and dripping tip, licking across it in such a teasing way he almost blushed. She used him to caress her clit, a satisfied moan bubbling in her throat when their two most sensitive parts met. He could feel her little button, so warm and hard surrounded by its hood… Tom licked away from his lips the desire to kiss it again.

“More,” he whispered, hips canting toward her in a silent plea. “More, you witch…”

“Like this?” she murmured, and he could almost taste her grin.

She rubbed him slowly, methodically almost, and brought him to her slit. Her plump lips closed around him in a kiss. Tom’s breathing grew heavy, his body on a precipice threatening to fall. He felt himself twitch and drip over her folds, the bead of lust a little offering to the beautiful body in which he found such comfort. Slowly, torturously so, she eased him deeper, canting her hips and pressing him against her where she was softest, warmest, and already dripping for him.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he muttered. His hips shifted on the bed, his whole body heating up just from her touch on that singular part of his body.

Her folds encircled him and in a cruel mimicry, she leaned forward to kiss him and drag her tongue between his lips. Tom groaned and reached to bite her but she moved away before he could, giggling. He mumbled a curse and closed his eyes, struggling against the instinct to grab her and push up into her with force.

“I want you,” he whispered, his tone dangerously close to a plea. “Want to feel you from the inside again…”

“Sometimes I think that’s the part of me you like best.”

“It’s true,” he smiled, leaning his forehead against hers while her hand kept stroking him. “Inside of you is your pretty heart, and your clever mind…”

“For such a dirty boy, you say the sweetest words,” she giggled, laying a quick peck against his cheek. “And? What else is inside of me that you like so, so much?”

Tom dipped to kiss her mouth, his hand reaching out to hold her head and pull her into a deep long melding of breath and hot flesh. Her hand almost stilled around him but he gripped it with his own and kept it moving, their fingers closing together on his cock. She covered him and he covered her and without either of them knowing whose choice it exactly was his tip reached the clenching edge of her hole. It caught on the rim and made her tremble, made her sigh into his mouth. Tom smiled and parted from her, nearly breathless. She let go of him to place her hand upon his hip and gently pressed him into her. He tightened his fist around her hair, made her gasp into his kiss as he pushed forward until the head breached her. With a moan she wrapped a leg around him, pulling herself closer until their skin stuck together.

“Tom,” she whispered, her head leaned back in his grip, neck pulled in an arc that was perfect for kissing.

He murmured with his lips along its column and his cheeks round with a smile. “You have me… Right here…”

“I know,” she whined, her fingers curling on his hip, scratching him with her dull claws. The other reached out toward him underneath the sheets, aiming blindly for his chest. “You’re always teasing. Making me suffer…”

He chuckled and thrust a little deeper, deliberately dragging it on. His tongue came out to lick her neck, tasting the sweat there and the hint of her perfume while his other hand released his cock and traced up along her body until he found her breasts.

“You love suffering,” he whispered, finger circling her nipple.

She shivered in his arms and wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper inside. Tom chuckled and obliged her and started thrusting higher, dragging his length across the bottom of her clit to make her moan. His teeth closed around her tender skin and nibbled at her breasts, painting her in blotches of red all the way down to her clavicle. His fingers played across her nipple, circling, plucking, twisting when she least expected it until it hardened in his grasp.

“You always get so wet for me,” Tom murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice. Between her plaintive moans, they could both hear the slick and sticky sounds his cock pulled out of her. “Does anyone else know what a naughty girl you are, hmm?”

“Only you do,” she smiled, her eyes closed, lips swollen, bitten bloody. It was like speaking with the dead.

“Is that so?”

His thrusts gained a slow, incessant rhythm, reaching deeper into her each time. His hand parted from her chest to hold on to her waist as he lavished her with kisses. The fingers that held her head tilted back uncoiled from her hair and slid down to support her back, to hold her bent and open to him. She moaned as his cock reached deeper into her, its length filling her from entrance to her cervix for a moment before pulling back. Her folds dragged deliciously across his length, leaving it wet and sticky before he shoved it back inside.

“You mean,” he started with a teasing tone, his lips hovering over her nipple, “that nobody else knows you,” a kiss then on the puckered tip, “like I do?”

“Nobody…” she sighed.

Tom chuckled and pulled her nub into his mouth, tugging on it in that hungry, desperate way he did, while below his thrusts turned harder, eager to reach further into her than each time before. With lewd suckles, he pulled away only to catch her nipple between his lips and nurse at it a little harshly. She yelped and stuck her nails into his skin but Tom did what he wanted.

“You’re a dirty little liar,” he purred.

“I am not.”

He found her vehemence endearing but it only made him want to poke and prod at her pride more. He twirled his tongue around her breast a few more times, surprising her with hot and heavy suckles that made her body tighten and shift in his arms, and then he turned gentle all over again. With a heave he thrust inside her once and stayed there, resting his forehead in the centre of her chest.

“Tooom,” she complained, canting her hips to beg for more.

“Shhh…”

“Please, I want it…”

“I know you do,” he whispered, grinning. “But I like feeling you like this.”

She whined but stayed still for him. The feeling of her clenching all around his cock, the thrumming of her heartbeat, the licking of her drops of wetness down his sac and the way her plush folds kissed it, choked around it… It made his flesh burn hot, his blood on fire. He pulled her even closer and wrapped his lips around her nipple then started thrusting into her harder than before. The quick motion dragged heat along her channel, made her cry out his name, nails dragging across his skin as if she clung to him on the edge of a precipice. His lips pulled her nub deeper, tongue crushing it against the roof of his mouth while his cock shoved higher, higher into her, battering against her cervix. The sheets were by now a tangled mess and the bed squeaked beneath them, but neither noticed anything other than each other. Lost in one another’s bodies, they chased pleasure together, Tom inside of her and she around his body. She clung to him as if she could have fallen and he held her close, his cock dripping precum into her, mouth slathering her breasts with kisses, a rapid pulling and pushing of flesh as if they could melt together and become one being.

“Oh fuck, please, so good —” she cried out. “I ca— I’m so close, I can’t—”

“You will,” he muttered against her skin, lips barely dropping her sweet breast out of his mouth. “Like you always do, my good girl. Cum for me.”

She whimpered at his order so confident and cold against his frantic fucking into her, and suddenly her body snapped. She curled forward, legs tightening around his, head bowing to rest against his own, and with a loud and broken cry, she felt her core convulse and clench. Tom moaned with her nipple in his mouth and pounded harder into her throughout it.

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered, peppering her skin with kisses.

“Yours,” she gasped into his messy hair, each breath pushed from her. “I’m-m y-yours…”

He purred at the sound of it and snapped his hips a little faster, more frantic and desperate as he felt his skin catch fire. She started whining, oversensitive, her softest parts abused by him, but Tom didn’t stop until he felt his pleasure rush through him. With a low cry, his arms tightened around her, his hips stuttered, and he came. He held her still, his cock shoved deep, her folds pressed against his churning sac as it twitched and pulsed with each release.

“Tom! A-aaah… T-tom, it’s…”

“I know,” he whispered, “I know, shh…”

He could feel the warmth of his seed as it travelled through his shaft, felt it pooling deep inside her, then down along his length as it seeped out. With his lips against her breast, tongue cradling her nipple, Tom sighed in delectation. Even after taking her so many times, he couldn't understand why this was so satisfying… Filling her, going as deep into her body as he could, and swallowing the sweet taste of her skin.

Tom parted from her chest still panting and gently petted her back as she recovered. Her legs were limp, her arms relaxed around him, even her head was laying lazily against the pillow as she gave out little gasps and moans. The length of her spine was sweaty and cold after the duvet fell from them, but she never seemed to notice.

“Alright?” he asked with a small smile, gazing down at her sated, sleepy face. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Mhmm…” she nodded, licking her lips. Below, he felt her clench around him one last time.

Tom growled and stayed buried inside her, greedy for her body still. Moving gently, his hand curled from her back down to her tummy, and he left it there for a few moments while he muttered the contraceptive charm.

“There there,” he cooed, with a kiss to her flushed cheek. “Sleep now…”

She was already sleeping and knew he’d be with her in her dreams as well.

[milkywaydrabbles]

Flufftober 35 with Alucard? Maybe a chubby reader, everyone likes a soft pillow :3

A/N: This was nice to write, I appreciate this type of ask ;A; I try to keep it neutral when describing reader normally (outside of the fact they're AFAB and fem!bodied) but I love reading/writing about a chubby girlie!! I hope you enjoy it!

"You're my new pillow" x Alucard

It didn’t take long for you and Alucard to become an item. He really couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for longer than two minutes whenever you were around (and that already was pushing it. Trevor would know, he actively counted so he can prove a point.) He tried to stay ‘mysterious’ and ‘alluring’ – but that was hard to do when all he wanted to do was talk to you about anything and everything that came to mind. Whatever would occupy you enough to not leave, to stay with him. It was embarrassing–Or so he would have thought if he wasn’t too enamored with looking at you and your soft figure. It was a breath of fresh air, he thinks, seeing your curves soft and round, fats of your hips squishing from the edges of your pants. He wonders if you realize you would be revered as a goddess in ancient Rome and Greece–he hopes you do. He’d even dare say that the goddesses don’t hold a candle to you, round face with cheeks that squish up when you smile at him so sweetly, chubby fingers that fiddle with the edge of your skirt when you’re picking dirt off it after dragging too close to the muck. His hands itched to simply hoist you up himself so you didn’t have to walk around the mud. Whatever to make your life easier.

Trevor and Sypha were starting to feel bad for him–it was so obvious that he had fallen so deeply in love with you over the last few weeks and yet wouldn’t do anything about it (something about being a gentleman, whatever.) So without his knowledge, Sypha started having ‘girl time’ with you, trying to push you into asking him, even if just out to dinner. Literally anything to get you alone with him. You were terrified really, but decided to take the jump and ask Alucard out on a date, just a simple dinner at your place–you promised you cooked well (and you made well on that promise! He thought it was delicious!)

Alucard asked for your hand in courtship that night.

And here you both are, however many years later in the castle you’ve come to know as your home, cuddling on the love seat in the study that you begged him to bring in, you wanted to press yourself up close to him as he read (of course the big sap did exactly that). And Alucard still looked at you with the same adoration as he did the first time he laid eyes on you–with hearts in his eyes, hands squeezing the chub of your hips and roaming your soft belly–he wouldn’t have you any other way. He decided he wanted to get more comfortable after feeling your soft and warm skin–

“Adrian, what are you doing?” You couldn’t help but giggle, hands moving away from your lap to give the grown man more space (his legs were hanging off the loveseat) before running your chubby fingers through his blonde curls. The dhampir simply smiled, fangs poking out the sides of his mouth as he closed his eyes. “You’re more comfortable than the seat��so I’ve decided you’re my new pillow.” You laughed again, rolling your eyes playfully at your loving husband. There were days that you couldn’t look at yourself, wishing you’d be able to lose the extra fluff that you had–thinking that Alucard deserved someone more...fit. Skinnier. Prettier. But he always made such an effort so that you’d understand he’d never leave you for anyone else, that he loved you so much for who you are, and that the extra fat was just more for him to love. He reminded you every day in different ways of that. And you figured that right now, might be one of those ways. You did love seeing him so comfortable in your lap... “Hmm..” You hummed, looking over to the crackling fire in the hearth scratching at his scalp. “You seem a bit too long for my lap, dear.” He cracked an eye to look at you, knowing you were already poking fun. And he loved the apples of your cheeks rounding up on your face with your smile.

“But I’d rather be nowhere else, my love.”

[intergalactic-garbage]

okay now imagine you're michael kahale, son of venus. imagine your dear friend and superior, octavian, whom you've spent countless patrols with, and whom you've strategized with in the war games, who's prevented the centurions from banishing you (by bringing up a loophole in ancient law), who you helped with cleaning apollo's temple many an evening, your dear friend octavian is not the boy you knew.

the spark in his eye isn't the same one you remember from his lectures about roman law. his skin is translucent, almost disappearing, as if a gust of wind that's too strong would just dissipate it like a layer of fog.

octavian, who you've trusted with things you haven't told anyone, not even your father back home. not that octavian gives off the vibes of the most trustworthy person in camp, far from it, but the way he looks at you when he thinks you don't notice... you feel like he won't tell. even if it were strategic.

and then again.... you do your laundry with his, because it's "less work", and he does your taxes for you, because he "understands it better", but when you've battled your fellow campers or the few monsters that made it to camp borders while you were patrolling together... the quiet moments of sitting on the steps of temple hill, resting against each other.. he must've known.

that it was more than that.

that you would've done that for him even if it weren't convenient.

but that's not him anymore. whatever you might've once thought was a boy who helped you clean your wounds, even though he hardly inherited any of his ancestor's medicinal talent, was gone. this was just a shell left by the hermit crab. and you thought the fiery spark in his eye would've eventually calmed, at least a bit, at least to a degree where he didn't make others cross. enough to serve but not to consume.

when you jokingly called him icarus, you didn't know the burning up skin of the boy you once cared for... you once.... you didn't know he'd command a civil war to be launched. and you watch him helplessly as he loses any resemblance to the blue-eyed fiesty little ferret.

and when it comes down to it, when it really comes down to it, you hold your hand back from reaching to stop the manubalista.

the savior of rome.

[literallyjusttoa]

My top 7 Apollo exes from Ancient Greece

DISCLAIMER: Though I have done a lot of research of mythology for this, it is based off of the riordanverse version of Apollo. I won't be acknowledging any awful implications in versions of these myths, not because I don't think they're important, but because it simply isn't a part of riordanverse Apollo's characterization in the books. Also I'm not going to mention Copollo. I love Copollo like the rest of you, but sadly that is a Rick Riordan exclusive, and also technically Commodus is an ex from Ancient Rome, not Ancient Greece :3

Ok with that out of the way lets talk obscure and non-obscure Apollo relationships

7. Apollo & Thyia

This one clocks in at number 7 because I love the idea behind it, but it is the most bare bones relationship myth wise. All we really know is Thyia is a priestess of Dionysus and she and Apollo maybe had a kid once. But like, the idea of Apollo dating his brother's priest? Hilarious, A+ stuff. Also, Thyia isn't just one of Dionysus' priests, she is THE priest of Dionysus. She runs his temple in central greece, is thought to have offered the first sacrifice to him, and might have been the first Maenad? Either way this relationship must have been insane. Also she's a nymph so she's definitely still kicking out there, would love for these two to meet again.

6. Apollo & Hyacinthus

Ok ok I know what y'all are thinking. Number 6?? This is like Apollo's number 1 most tragic relationship of all time!!! And yes as an angst lover I do enjoy the pain this relationship brings our boy, but I just feel like there's not many places to go with this relationship besides what we already have. Like Apollo and Hyacinthus were kind of the perfect couple. Which, like, great for them, but it doesn't give me much space to add anything? I guess, great ship, no notes.

5. Apollo & Hypermnestra (& Oikles)

Ok, half the reason this is here is because her name is Hypermnestra. Slay. But also this is a great place to bring up my favorite little headcanon. In a lot of Apollo's relationships, there will be a child, and myths will have different versions with different fathers. Some say it's Apollo, while other's say it's whoever he dated's husband. In this case, myths disagree on whether Amphiaraus was Apollo's son or the son of Hypermnestra's husband, king Oikles (Oikles??? I love these names). The implication here is infidelity, but I disagree. No, I think every time there's confusion over who parentage it's because Apollo was dating both the woman he's said to be with and her husband, and therefore no one knows who ended up, y'know, fathering the child. Anyways Apollo dated both Hypermnestra and Oikles and you can't convince me otherwise.

4. Apollo & Branchus

I like this relationship because in my mind, I always thought it was Apollo's first. In one version of their myth, it is said that Apollo met Branchus after leaving Delos as a dolphin, which I always thought implied this was soon after he established Delphi, which was really early on. Idk something about a young Apollo accidentally revealing his godliness to this boy he really likes is just so sweet to me. And he makes Branchus into a prophet, which is so cool! These two are cutie-patooties is what I'm saying.

3. Apollo & Kyparissos

C'mon, the man died of grief because his deer died. Throughout ToA we learn that deep down Apollo is a mushy ball of emotions and compassion, and that convinced me that these two spent 75% of their relationship crying over baby animals and pretty people. I love the idea of Apollo dating someone who's honestly just as much of a loser as he is. And while it is sad that Kyparissos is another lover Apollo had to turn into a plant, I have to emphasize again that he died of heartbreak, because his pet deer died.

2. Apollo & Cyrene

Listen, these two are boss bitches and you cannot convince me otherwise. In the same way I like Kyparissos bc I feel like he and Apollo are so similar, I like Cyrene bc I feel like, in a lot of ways, these two are very different. Like, don't get me wrong, Apollo can be strong and wild when he wants to be, but Cyrene wrestles lions. I like to think the time these two spent together really helped each of them grow in their own way, which makes for a really fun and interesting relationship. Also, just like Thyia, Cyrene is sometimes referred to as a nymph, so she could still be out there!

1. Apollo & Admetus

The more I think about these two, the more I love them. Admetus meeting Apollo at his lowest and helping him through it. Apollo falling head over heels as a result and doing everything in his power to repay the man. The two of them still holding such strong affection for each other even decades after the time they had together, to the point that Apollo would mess with fate to extend Admetus' life. Apollo's life is full of turmoil, and this period of it was probably the worst, but despite that, his relationship with Admetus seems so steady. The other gods are said to be embarrassed of Apollo's love of Admetus, and I think it's because Apollo loved him in a way that went directly against the values of the gods. Apollo and Admetus' relationship was defined by service and care, filled with selfless intent and genuine love. While many gods give their lovers gifts and special favors, the idea of actually going into servitude for someone you love is as ungodly as you can get. Apollo spent time with Admetus, and he wasn't possessive of him, helping him to find a wife after their time together was through. I think this relationship is a great example of how Apollo, even in his lowest moments, is a genuine and caring person, and how that often separates him from the rest of his family. Also these two are just cute and they both love cows and they're cows in love.

[themoonplantwrites]

So I want to talk about some of the implied elements of the culture that exists in New Rome and Camp Jupiter for a second.

So one of the things we are introduced to about Camp Jupiter and New Rome pretty quickly in The Son of Neptune is that there is a pretty influential anti-Greek/Hellenic bias. There’s more extreme examples, like Octavian, but then there’s the more, I guess average version too. Like I think we all can agree that Frank is pretty accepting of the Greeks and Camp Half-blood and everything, and yet when he is guiding Percy around Camp Jupiter explaining everything to him, even Frank still refers to the Romans as an “improved” version of the Greeks. Like there is just this kinda vibe of “the Greeks suck, especially when compared to us” that exists in the modern Roman culture of Camp Jupiter and New Rome.

One of the other things we are introduced to pretty quickly is that they only learn Latin at Camp Jupiter. Like there is never any implication that Camp Jupiter teaches the Romans any other language than Latin. Like obviously many of the kids know other languages depending on where they come from before coming to Camp, but they only learn Latin at Camp Jupiter.

And I bring these two things up because a lot of Ancient Roman texts were written in Greek. Because in Ancient Rome, knowing Greek as a sign that you were educated. So some Roman writers wrote in Ancient Greek because they only wanted educated folks to read them. So there’s all these texts written by Ancient Romans in Ancient Greek at are either very culturally important (like Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations) or have mythological importance (I’m going through a lot of mythological fragments written in Greek right now and some of them are from Roman sources). And it is heavily implied that no one at Camp Jupiter and New Rome can read them. At least, they can’t read them unless they are translated.

And that’s like, really messed up. Like this implies that at some point between ancient times and when Percy shows up at Camp Jupiter, the Romans’ anti-Greek/Hellenic bias got so strong that they would rather cut themselves off from their own culture and texts than teach their children Ancient Greek so that they could read them.

Now let’s make this sadder. Jason spent six months at Camp Half-blood. He probably picked up some Greek there. It really wouldn’t surprise me if Chiron gave him a copy of Meditation’s with the original Greek text at some point. Because even if there are parts of Camp Half-blood that Jason likes and that work better for him, he deeply cares about New Rome and Camp Jupiter and wants the best for the people there. They are his people, this is the culture he grew up in and he cares about them.

So I can just see Jason planning on introducing teaching Ancient Greek at Camp Jupiter so that they can have access to their ancient texts in their original form again. And either he never got around to introducing this measure to the Senate because he died before he could or he did introduce it and was further shunned for no longer being Roman enough, and that’s part of why we see him living at a mortal boarding school in Trials of Apollo, because he’s “too Greek” and no longer all that welcomed in Camp Jupiter and New Rome. And either option is just really sad.

[justforbooks]

The Dead of Winter by Sarah Clegg

From the devilish Krampus legend to a spot of disembowelment, the author takes us on a scary romp through Europe’s most disturbing festive folklore

Shaggy figures with snarling masks and metre-long horns, scenes of wild drunkenness, random assaults on strangers, witches winding your intestines out on a stick, a giant “Yule Cat” who will eat you if you’ve failed to put on new clothes for the day – no, it’s not your annual family get-together, at least I hope not. It’s a compendium of European seasonal lore from the dark side, as explored in this excellent short book by historian and folklorist Sarah Clegg. She combines a trove of good stories with a serious critique of earlier mythographers’ ideas about them, and also takes us on adventures ranging from pre-dawn graveyard walks to the terrors of Salzburg’s pre-Christmas “Krampus night”, named for the monstrous masked figures who prowl its streets on 5 December.

Clegg approaches Christmas by a broad avenue, so we get chapters on Venice’s carnival, Saturnalia festivals in ancient Rome, the witchy shenanigans of Epiphany Eve (also known as Twelfth Night), and the wassails of January, in which good health is wished to apple trees by waving horses’ skulls at them. What all these celebrations share is a mood of maniacal excess and social exuberance. Practices include “guising”, or putting on animal disguises; “mumming”, or enacting plays; and “knocking” – going around banging on doors, asking for treats, and even dragging out unwilling residents to join the merriment. The mayhem can spill over into violence, especially in the town of Matrei in Austria, where the Krampus-like “Klaubauf” figures barge into houses and fight in the streets, to the extent that local authorities advise tourists to stay away and the hospital’s emergency department prepares for an influx of injured people. Even Clegg does not venture to Matrei, but the Krampus night she attends in Salzburg is only slightly less extreme. As she strolls amid the usual market scenes of fairy lights and glühwein stands, she is set upon by a Krampus who whacks her with two sticks. It’s all good festive fun – except that she still has the bruises and welts far into January.

Krampus is traditionally an assistant to Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, and even the white-bearded chuckling one himself can be less pleasant than we might think. His punitive side now survives mainly in the idea that he will bring no gifts if you’ve been naughty. That’s nothing compared with the punishments inflicted by other characters in the winter-festival tradition. In northern Europe, Saint Lucy is usually visualised as a gentle, white-clad maiden with a feast day on 13 December. But she can turn from sweetness to savagery in an instant if she catches you going to work instead of celebrating on that day, or if you have forgotten to put out snacks for her and her friends. She is the one who likes winching out your intestines, but for variety she sometimes also seizes children, removes their internal organs, stuffs them with straw, and sews them up again.

In the 19th century, a shift took place towards more polite Christmas behaviour, especially in Victorian Britain. Santa Claus became portly and took to riding around with reindeer. The feasting became less about chaotic public drinking sessions and more about a family dinner presided over by the master of the house: it affirmed the hierarchy rather than upending it. The topsy-turvy elements of the season were transferred to other celebrations such as carnivals and pantomimes, and door-to-door knocking and treating became more associated with Halloween. In England today, the tradition of raucous Christmas home intrusions survives only in the (slightly) less scary form of doorstep carol singers.

Where the wilder rituals remain, they have become more self-consciously folkloric. Clegg introduces us to the wassailers of Chepstow, with their horses’ skulls on poles, and the Marshfield Mummers of Gloucestershire, who dress up like giant ragged mops and put on a play. These events are well-attended, suggesting a revival of interest; Krampus runs have even become popular in parts of the US. Clegg suggests that this might reflect an increasing disenchantment with the tame, Victorian-style Christmas, especially now that it’s so commercialised. The frenzies of last-minute gift shopping or trying to get a train or plane ticket home can’t compete with the frenzy of running around with an animal head.

If so, these mixed feelings about the 19th-century family Christmas were there from the start. Clegg notes that the century that created that kind of Christmas also created a new kind of historian, keen to find dark and ghastly “pagan” rituals lurking behind the politer ones. In 1890, James Frazer’s The Golden Bough sought a key to all mythologies in a supposed long-lost midwinter rite, during which a king was killed so as to be reborn as a new king in spring. The idea was exciting, and the book became a bestseller. The problem, says Clegg, is that there was no good reason to think any such rite ever existed. The book was “a collection of wild, unsubstantiated statements”, built upon a titillating fantasy of “primitive” fertility rituals.

Frazer has been demolished many times before, but Clegg sees his ideas living on in our tendency, even now, to assume that modern practices are rooted in a timeless hinterland of mysterious, pagan antiquity. This is misleading in several ways, she argues. First, we know too little about what really went on in the undocumented past. Second, it casts the people of long-ago Europe as passive transmitters of tradition, rather than as active agents who reimagined and adapted their celebrations through time. “Never mistake folklore for something ancient and unvarying,” she writes. Like most of what humans do, it is “creative and dynamic”.

Also, the notion of solemn and ancient mysteries ignores the idea of having fun. When the fifth-century Bishop of Ravenna, Peter Chrysologus, inquired into local festivities, people assured him that it was all “just for fun”. He thought they were putting him off the scent of something more sinister. For Clegg, they were probably telling the truth. If people, given a day off work and a good excuse, choose to race around dressed as animals, drink a lot and bash each other with sticks, perhaps they do it because it’s a holiday and it’s a laugh.

I’m not surprised Clegg is so attuned to the possibility of fun as a major cultural force, because she has a strong sense of it herself. Her book is both thought-provoking and filled with amusing asides and quips. Like Gibbon, but with more brevity, she puts many of her best jokes in footnotes. We need all the fun we can get, because, as she reminds us in one of her own more serious moments at the end of the book, “beyond the glow of firelight, the shadows are waiting”.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[viablemess]

I researched Polites history / myths so you don't have to

I wrote an overview of what I can find about Polites in the Odyssey, other source material, etc.

I'm hoping this is helpful for folks who are curious, looking for inspiration for fanworks, new and returning Epic fans alike. This was intentionally done very casually so all mistakes are my own. I’m also not a mythology/history/Greek scholar in any capacity, so my sincerest apologies for any catastrophes I committed. Did I copy paste some Google scholar work cited without fixing the errors? Yes. Am I okay with that for a Tumblr post? Absolutely. Lmk if you need help finding any referenced texts :)

To preview what I will be covering—first I’ll go over mentions in the Odyssey and how they vary across translations. Then I’ll get into some other content that folks have written either about the Odyssey / the Greek language in more academic circles, or other works that are less formal (they’ve published and I think they’re fun, and they relatively are similar in content to the Odyssey). Next, I’ll add in some more “out there” published works that are more loosely inspired. Finally, I’ll do a deep dive into two specific concepts that I have seen (werewolves, ghost story, taken from an acadenic article about vampires) which relate to Polites.

Before we get started, a few disclaimers: Polites is a type of butterfly, so there’s that. There is also a Polites called Polites of Troy. He is King Priam and Queen Hecuba’s legitimate son and Hector’s brother. So, there is a Polites who is related to Hector, and is likely one of the “kill the brothers of Hector” that Neo is tasked with in Epic. So, when you’re looking up Polites info, if you’re new to the realms of Greek literature (like me) those are some weeds to dig through. The deity Iris does at one point speak through Polites (Hector’s brother) as a side story.

Now, transitioning to the Odyssey…

So in the Odyssey Polites is briefly mentioned at best; some sources say he is "The dearest friend of Odysseus" others say "the dearest to me of my crew" etc. The translations vary. Also, he lead the group into Circe's palace, and he eventually talked Odysseus into leaving Circe's Island. This would mean that in comparison to Epic, Polites lived longer in the myth figure. So, it is ambiguous when he died based on the Odyssey alone.

That said, Polites feels like an ambiguous person based on the Odyssey as source material. He cares about Odysseus (closest friend) and wants him to return home to his family and people (gets him off Circe's Island). That's about all we got.

And now for the other materials:

Odysseus by Geraldine McCaughrean is fascinating. I've not read the whole thing but again my goal here is to connect source materials for inspiration for the sunshine character. Polites gets much more screen time here than in the Odyssey. He is still odulysseus' best friend, and he commands some of the fleet at the time. He still shows respect for Odysseus calling him "captain, my lord" But also "master" in some instances, perhaps hinting that he is/was a slave? He and Odysseus are the only ones who know about scylla, which creates a new dynamic and is the one to tie Odysseus to a poll and try to calm him down during the sirens, so he does not jump overboard. Polites does, however, drown to his death in this version having gotten tangled in ropes and swept overboard.

In Goerne, N. Gender Roles in Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome: Odyssey and Aeneid in Comparison. the author mentions that Polites did fall victim to Circe's song specifically and walked into her hall, Eurylocous was the one who was able to return to Odysseus because he hung back.

In Moorman, C. (2014). Kings and Captains: Variations on a Heroic Theme. University Press of Kentucky. Polites is acknowledged as Odysseus' favorite in contrast to Eurylocous who serves as Odysseus' foil.

Cole, D. R. (1976). 'ASTY'AND'POLIS':" CITY" IN EARLY GREEK. Stanford University. Brings up the good point that POLIS as a word is representative of a city, as is the word ASTY. Polis only shows up in Polites' name, asty shows up more frequently including but not limited to Astyanax. Other scholars have mentioned how this is a geopolitical tension of what makes a city, but I'm not sure if I'm reading those scholars correctly and welcome other opinions. This is by no means my area.

I'm chomping at the bit to find a copy but Polites is frequently mention in The Odyssey: Missing Presumed Dead by Simon Armitage. The pages I can find on Google are slim but I think Circe mistakes Polites for the captain? Or Polites is referred to as captain because he has a position of leadership within the fleet.

TRIGGER WARNING TO SEXUAL ASSAULT BELOW. Based on Daniel Ogden, The werewolf in the ancient world. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Pp. 288. ISBN 9780198854319. Daniel Ogden's book argues that Polites is one of the original depictions of a werewolf in Greek literature, more specifically, the ghost of a werewolf. Pls note that I am getting this material based on a review written by Scott Bruce of Fordham University, “Chapter 5 argues at length that the wolfskin-wearing ghost of Polites, a crewman of Odysseus, should be considered a werewolf.” this also refers to the Hero of Temesa by Pausanias of Magnesia, if you want to Google that story. I believe they are the same. I also got material from the article Ogden, D. (2022). Did the Classical World Know of Vampires?. Preternature, 11(2), 199-224. The story goes that in Temesa Polites got drunk and raped a local woman and as a result was stoned to death (other stories depict a different crew member raping a woman and being stoned to death). Then Polites comes back and haunts Temesa as a demon/ghost, and an oracle says if the townspeople sacrifice a virgin to him once a year he won't kill them. Then, Euthymus of Locri fell in love with the woman intended to be sacrificed and chased Polites into the sea, ending the curse. Other readings if the same story say that Polites eats the victim, not just murders and or SAs them. Some readings also mention him wearing a wolfskin, which could be an early nod to him doing these activities under the influence of being a werewolf.

If I find more sources I will be back, but for now that's all folks.

[youareunbearable]

Not to be a Hetalia freak on main but im teaching about WW2 again so you all have to suffer with me as this old obsession puts me in a choke hold

I personally just think it would be So Fun to write a story about how Canada (Matthew) changes over the years.

To start off, I think North America is a lot closer with her nations than other Ancients, like Europa who hasn't really been seen since Grandpa Rome fell. North America, like her twin to the South, spends her time amongst her Nations, spending a summer traveling with her nomadic ones like the Anishinaabe (her three children who live together under the Council of Three Fires) or spending the winter with her nations down south in their sprawling cities carved into her rockbed.

She knows every one of her nations, speaks all their languages, knows all their histories, she celebrates their highs and mourns their lows, she loves them all and grieves when they war with each other and sings her joy to the sky when they make peace

One day, she travels up north. She spends time with her daughters, the Nations of the Beothuk and the Thule people, and on her coastline, she spies something curious. There, watching the waves make the horizon dance as clouds drift by, is a child unlike one she has seen before.

Beothuk gives a frightful hiss, and Thule clutches at her mother's arm. The child is as pale as death, but is not one of the blessed creatures, with snow white colouring and eyes that shine like the sunset of a warm summer's eve. No, this child's skin is the colour of pale sand, its long hair in a tumble of waves, as if a braid was just removed, is the colour of pale corn silk, and its eyes, when it turns to look at the trio, dances with the brilliance of the purple seen in the Northern Lights.

North America knows this child instantly, he is Hers. With a gentle and calming hand on each daughter's arm, she brings them forward with a happy smile on her lips. "Little one," she calls as they approach, "I know you. You are a child of my lands, but your features are one of my almost forgotten sister. Tell me, child of Europa and my own heart, what is your name? Where are your people?"

The little child, a boy no older than 3, waddles up to his mother. He reaches his hands up and she gladly takes him to her breast. He rests his head there, eyes closed in bliss as he listens to her heart beat. His sisters begin to calm as they watch the babe. He's not so frightening after that first glance, this pale little sibling of theirs.

When he opens his eyes again, they shine with that twinkle that all nations have, one that pulls their kind together, makes them recognize each other despite their human form. In the language that his sister Beothuk uses, but with a strange accent that makes her nose scrunch at the difference, the child speaks.

"My name is Vinland, and my people are coming." With that, he snuggles into his mothers embrace, but turns to watch the waves again, where in the horizon, some of the clouds get closer.

--------

Big brother Iceland always growled that it wasn't fair that Mamma found him first. He would clutch little Vinland to his chest and grumble that he was His little brother first, and that Mamma's influence was too much. Vinland didn't see what the big deal was, he spent a lot of time with Big Brother Iceland, and Big Brother Norway even though Big Brother Iceland also didn't like that, saying that Vinland was His little brother, not Norway's. Vinland personally thought he had a lot of Iceland's influence, more than Mamma's. He shared his colouring, with their matching pale hair and skin, even if Vinlands was a lot longer and he refused to let Big Brother Iceland cut it. Vinland's people also had the same housing style as Iceland's and Norway's, and the same customs. Vinland even shared their language and when he spoke to Mamma or his sisters he had their Norse accent.

But Big Brother Norway just shook his head when Vinland pointed this out. "She found you first. You will always belong to her more than us. Her heartbeat was the first you heard, and so that rhythm is the one your heart beats to. No matter what, no matter who's influence you may be under," and here Norway played with a piece of Vinland's ice blonde hair, and pinched his fair cheeks, "that heartbeat is what you will always go back to in the end."

Vinland frowned, his little toddler face sad as he tries to piece together what he was told.

"I'll always have Mamma's heart as my heart, but I'm still yours and Iceland's. She may have been the first to find me, but I Saw you first. When my eyes opened, the first thing I saw, the first thing I knew, was your ships coming towards me." One of little Vinland hands reached up to cover one of his big twinkling violet eyes, the other hand reaching up to do the same to one of Norway's. "You gave me life, and the proof of that will stay forever, no matter what."

Iceland gave a huge groan as he suddenly scooped up the little colony and gave a muffled scream as he squeezed the boy. "Too precious!! Illegal!! Im keeping you forever I don't care what North America says!!! I'll fight an Ancient to keep you by my side!!!"

----

While Iceland and Norway didn't end up having to fight an Ancient, they did have to fight Vinland's sisters. A fight they lost.

It was chaos, tensions had been building and a bull being set loose didn't help matters, and before Vinland knew it, he was curled into a ball sobbing as the pain of mortal deaths burned under his skin. Iceland had tried to grab him, to bring him with him and Norway on their retreat, but he was cut off by Thule, who snarled and screamed for the children of Europa to leave her Mother's land. Beothuk had scooped him up, cooing and hushing his whimpers as they fled the chaos, the deaths, not stopping even as Iceland screamed his name, cursing out at Norway, at Thule, at Beothuk for keeping his little brother way from him.

This was the last time Vinland saw the Nordic countries for a long, long, time.

------

With no colony of people, he was a nation adrift. Iceland's people kept him alive by their stories, and there was the occasional fisherman that came ashore, but none stayed for long.

Vinland felt himself weaken, like he might fade away if he blinked for too long. His Mamma frowned when she came to visit again, and just like last time she brought the little Nation to her breast, rested his ear to her heartbeat, and walked south. She carried him down to his brother, the Mi'kmaq Nation, who was lonely from the loss of his own little brothers, the Anishinaabe Nations who felt stifled and traveled westward down the Big River, a 100 years prior. Here, Vinland was cared for and entertained. While he still felt weak and faint, and would get weaker and fainter as less and less of Iceland and Norway's people kept him alive in their memories, he was loved. Mi'kmaq was kind, treated him well, and would take him all over his territory to meet his people and visit the other Nations in the area, their siblings. Nothing really would help him get better. Mamma had told Mi'kmaq this as she handed him over to his older brother. Vinland was one of her children yes, but he was also a child of Europas' descendants. He could not survive or thrive without them both. For the next few hundreds of years this is how he lived, half alive.

Until one day, as Vinland was resting on the shore of the mouth of the Big River, he suddenly felt stronger than he had in long time. His eyes snapped eastward, and there, faint and distant but there, were ships being pulled by the clouds themselves. Mi'kmaq frowned at the sight, but Vinland's smile split his face in two.

--------

It wasn't Big Brother Iceland or Big Brother Norway, but a different child of Europa. His name was France, and his hair was a darker blonde, like an oak tree in fall, a mixing of bright yellow and brown and a little red depending on how the sun hit it. His eyes weren't purple, like Vinland's or Iceland's or Norway's, but a blue that sparkled like the sea under the sun's brightest rays. His face had hair growing on it, not in a full bush like Iceland or Norway's people, but thin and almost pointy at the ends.

He had the same power that Norway had, he felt strong, not as strong as Mamma, and a different strong than Mi'kmaq. Where his older brother felt strong and steady as the current, this new nation felt as strong as a buck at its prime. Ready to lock antlers to show its strength, but would soon fade with the passing seasons. That didn't matter, however, because France fell in love with Vinland at first sight. He didn't care that Mamma found him first, or that he lived with his brothers and sisters. As soon as France saw him he wept and knelt before him, and though he was shocked that Vinland spoke old Norse, he asked if the little Nation wanted to be his Colony.

Mi'kmaq was hesitant, made France jump through all these hoops to prove that he would take care of his little brother, and not just leave him behind at the first taste of conflict like Iceland and Norway did. He also made France promise that he was just taking Vinland as a colony, not himself or their other siblings, and that France would treat them all with respect.

France, who only had eyes for the little nation, and also had a healthy fear of the knowledge that an Ancient was walking these shores and would be visiting in time, was more than happy to swear to that.

The European nation promised, they even signed a big treaty that ended in a feast and gift giving, but in the end, Vinland, no, Canada, got a new Big Brother.

"If he doesn't treat you right, we'll be here for you, little Brother." Mi'kmaq promised, giving the little Nation a kiss on his golden hair. After the treaty was signed, Canada began to change a little. His eyes stayed the same violet shade, and his heart still beat in time with his Mamma and siblings, but his hair darkened to the same dirty blonde as France's, his skin became a little more tan as if he was used to a stronger sun then what was felt up north. But more importantly, Canada began to feel more solid, more real than he had in a very long time.

Life with France was good while it lasted.

‐--------

Life with England, was different.

To begin with, England hated Canada's siblings, and hated his Mamma. To England, Canada's only siblings were Newfoundland, the American Colony States, and more than a dozen other colonies under England'svast Empire. England, and his people, tried to scrub away any influence of Mamma's or his Siblings had on him.

Fortunately, England didn't spend as much time with Canada as he did with his other Colonies, and left Canada behind to stay with his older brothers- Scotland and Ireland. These nations loved to tell little Canada all about how snobby and boorish England was. In their own way, they showed Canada the love that he was missing, and took him back to the eastern coastlines where he grew up and thrived. He even got to visit his older brother Mi'kmaq sometimes, even if the older nation always snarled and huffed about how poorly England was treating Mamma and the others. About how England had no respect for a signed and agreed upon treaty.

When England came back for a visit, he shrieked when he saw that Canada's hair had a ginger shine to it, and that there was a spattering of very pale freckles across his nose. Ireland and Scotland just sneered as he screamed at them.

"Thats what you get" they would mock, "when you leave your little brother to be raised by others. Just cause you own him doesn't mean he'll be like you. Or like you." They laughed at this, and would always smile whenever they caught word of the tensions between Canada's French population and the English one, or whenever their people, or Canada's siblings' people, caused a fuss.

England threatened to make boarding schools that would ensure that Canada became a fine Englishman if he kept having bad influences corrupt him.

(He did end up making those boarding schools, and Canada did end up being forced to attend. Canada never did forgive England for that, nor for influencing his government decades later into keeping those schools, or making them mandatory for his Siblings' people. Canada still had those scars over his heart, still felt his heart weakly flutter sometimes from the long lasting internal damage. No apology would ever make his heart beat normally again)

Canada expanded, he grew stronger and stronger, larger and larger. He fought in wars, in rebellions, he went over seas twice to fight for France, for England against their foes and won. He came out of those conflicts as a known power, as a global power. At one point, he boasted the title of having the third largest navy, and his siblings would just laugh and tease and jeer at him that of course he did, he was born of Norseman and settled by explorers, and his siblings' people used his rivers and lakes as their own personal freeways.

Soon, Canada was the tallest out of all his siblings. Mi'kmaq had to look up at him, Haudenosaunee would make him sit when she spoke to him or else she would wave her lacrosse stick in his face. Even America had to look up at him, peer at him over his glasses as he rambled about whatever crossed his mind. Soon Canada was even allowed to sit in the land where his Mamma first found him, feeling that earth under his fingers once again become a part of him. All around him was a coastline, with rolling hills that hid an ancient settlement, his old being, under its soil.

He closed his eyes, feeling the warm sea breeze brush by his face. Vinland, it seems to whisper to him in a language almost forgotten. He could almost remember how his long gone sisters Beothuk and Thule sounded as they called to him. He had almost forgotten about them.

"Canada," his Mamma called to him from behind. Her son turned around, violet eyes twinkling as he got up, stretching his long sun kissed limbs, pale freckles dotting his scrunched up nose. When he relaxed, he smiled and went to her. No matter how tall he had gotten, he was still able to snuggle up to his Mamma, rest his head to her chest and feel that heartbeat that sounded in time to his own, as weak as it fluttered sometime, but getting stronger and stronger. Her warm, steady hands came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers burrowing in his strawberry blonde hair.

"Oh my child, how far you've come, and how far you will go still." She placed a kiss to his hair. "My darling little Canada."