#and also men i cannot draw a boi for the life of me so

[absurdthirst]

False Starts {Marcus Acacius x F!Plus Sized!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.1k

Warnings: Fat shaming, spoiled/selfish behavior, contentious siblings, insults, arranged marriages, yearning, star crossed love, pregnancy, child birth, death in childbirth, mentions of blood, death of a child, grief, drunkenness, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving), betrayal, domestic violence, threats of harm, escape, murder

Comments: A chance meeting causes you to meet the love of your life, Marcus Acacius. The gods against you at every turn it seems, you have so many false starts in your life together.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You remember the moment you met Marcus Acacius. Your older sister was carrying a basket full of olives that you'd picked from the trees. She was complaining that your father hadn't given enough for her dowry and she was lacking prospects for an important and influential husband. You sighed, knowing your sister - the beauty, the one who men trip over themselves for - is not lacking prospects. You, however, are less desirable...plumper. At least that's what your sister constantly says. She was too busy whining that she missed the raised stone on the street, falling forward, and the olives rolled everywhere when the basket went flying. That's when he appeared. His large hand stretched out to help her and she made a show of how she'd rolled her ankle. Marcus was a gentleman and carried her home in his arms while you trailed behind with the empty basket, admiring the broadness of his shoulders. His aquiline nose and his deep brown eyes. Your heart was his from that moment but you weren't the one he wanted. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home safely." Your father smiles as he shakes Marcus's hand after introducing himself and you bite your lip, admiring his strong arms.

"You are - Marcus. Wow. You've grown. The army has been good to you. You're home now?" Your father asks and Marcus nods, a confused look on his face. "I shall speak to your father." He smiles and you grip the basket, wondering what he might need to discuss. Marcus nods and turns towards you, his dark eyes meeting yours and you swear your heart stops beating. Your sister steps in front of you, a silly smile on her face and Marcus draws his gaze to her, "I best be returning home. Have a good afternoon." He says, bowing his head. Your sister giggles, "thank you, my hero. Goodbye." She says breathlessly and Marcus makes his way through your courtyard. You watch him until he disappears and your sister grins, "that's the man I want to marry." She declares and your father chuckles, "let me speak to his father and I will see what we can do." Your throat feels dry and you can't speak, knowing your sister will get what she wants. She always does.

****

“I don’t desire her.” Marcus shakes his head as he stares at his father in horror. One meeting, one good deed and he has found out that his fate is being decided for him despite his years in the Roman army. “Her father is influential.” His father reminds him. “What she lacks in dowry, she will make up for with connections.” That doesn’t matter to Marcus, he’s a soldier. “What about her sister?” He demands, having been taken with the younger sister, the one whose eyes seem to stare into his soul and touch it. Her beauty more to his appetites. “I want her, not her sister.”

“The big one? Don’t be ridiculous, my boy. A man of your status needs a beautiful wife. Not someone who clearly cannot control their gluttony. You need someone next to you who will be appropriate for a general of Rome. You are on track for the position and you need a woman worthy of that. One day, you’ll be a senator.” His father declares, already mapping out the future for his only child. “And if I refuse?” Marcus challenges and his father turns to look at him, “then you’ll be on your own. No home. No coin. I’ll disown you.”

He doesn’t make much as a soldier, not enough to have any kind of life like he had imagined. He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “She is vain and silly. She will not be the one to make me happy.” He tries to argue but his father will not hear of it. “You will marry the older girl.” He declares and Marcus sighs. He has no choice, without his father’s approval, he would lose his position in the army and he can’t risk that.

Your sister tells you the news by squealing it so loud that it echoes off the marbled walls of your home, “I am to marry Marcus!” She declares and your eyes widen, “Acacius?” You ask and she nods, “next week. Before he leaves for another battle.” She grins and you force yourself to smile, “that’s - wow. Congratulations, sister.” You offer, knowing you have no claim over the man. He’s been in your thoughts since the moment you met him but he isn’t yours. Now, he is your sister’s intended.

Once the betrothal is set, Marcus comes over to visit every day. His father tells him that he should get to know his bride to be, but he is most eager to see you every day. Your wit and humor touches him and he loves your soft, sweet smile.

You watch as Marcus sips the cup of wine, your sister giggling over every word he says and resting her hand on his thigh without anyone seeing. You hold your own cup, taking a gulp, and you hate that you are here as their chaperone. You hate to see your sister get what she wants when she hungers for money and power. She knows Marcus is in line to become a general one day and she wants to be there to share in his glory. You take a gulp of the wine and reach for the pitcher at the same time as Marcus, his fingers brushing yours, and you pull yours back like lightning has struck you.

“Forgive me.” Marcus murmurs, picking up the pitcher of wine and motioning towards you. He will refill it for you. “Do not apologize to her.” His intended snorts and tosses her head in a move that she must believe is very becoming but comes across like a petulant child. “She should stand to drink less.” She smirks. “And eat less too.” Marcus frowns, not liking the way you are being talked about and he moves closer to fill your cup before you snatch it away. “It is hot outside.” He tells her. “She should drink.”

You shake your head, “I am no longer thirsty. I am fine. Thank you.” You say, hating the disgusted look on your sister’s face as she stares at you before she looks at Marcus, a soft smile on her face as she reaches up to caress his arm. Marcus stares at you for another moment then he sighs and sets the pitcher down. “I would like some, Maritus.” Your sister coos and Marcus sighs, “we are not yet married, Ceres.” He says and she huffs, “not yet.” You grip your cup and Ceres rolls her eyes, “I am going to find the cheese we bought from the market.” She says and stands up, making her way out of the room. “Are you prepared for the wedding?” You ask Marcus after a very awkward moment that you stared at the table.

“As much as I can be.” He doesn’t sigh, but he wants to. “I saw you in the garden this morning.” He admits, smiling when you look up in shock. “I was running to stay fit for our next campaign.” He might have run along the garden walls so he could see you, having taken notice of how often you tend the plants in your father’s estate.

Your throat closes as surprise makes your heart thump and you lick your lips. “I like to grow vegetables and flowers.” You confess and Marcus smiles, “what’s your favorite?” You are surprised by the question and you tap your fingers against the cup, “my favorite flowers are lilies and I love grapes. Easy to grow here.” You hum, “when do you deploy?” You ask and he sighs, “two days after the wedding.” Your eyebrows raise, “so soon. You won’t be able to enjoy married life.”

“I guess not.” He shrugs slightly, not really minding that. It’s not like he is a virgin, but he’s not been looking forward to fucking Ceres. She’s too self absorbed. “The emperor’s needs come before everything. Even a marriage.”

You nod, knowing that the emperor comes first, especially for the army. “That’s a shame.” You hum, knowing you aren’t upset that Marcus won’t be with your sister for long once they are married. “Ceres will be lonely without you there but she will be able to run your household.”

“My father will be happy.” The villa that had been a gift to Marcus as a wedding present wasn’t small, but it wasn’t as grand as some in the region. It was perfect for a newly wedding couple. “That will be good.” He murmurs. “And I was hoping…I was thinking maybe you’d like to stay in the villa with Ceres when I am gone. She will be all alone and I want her to have company.” He says and you look up at him again, eyes wide, “you want me to- to keep her company?” You ask and he nods, “I- wow. That’s very generous of you.” You say as Ceres comes back with cheese and grapes in a bowl.

“What are you talking about?” Ceres demands, unhappy that Marcus is far more social with you than he is with her. She is going to be his wife. Although she brushes off the annoyance by thinking that he might just be too shy to talk to her because of her beauty. Marcus turns to her and wishes again that he had not helped her that day. “I was telling your sister that I wish for her to stay with you in our home when I leave for my next campaign.”

Ceres beams, excited to be a wife and running a household for a man that will become very important in Rome. “That sounds perfect, amor.” She coos and leans in to kiss his cheek. You avert your eyes, knowing you’re going to see more affection between them once they are married. 

**** 

“You may kiss your bride.” The priest declares as everyone gathers in the front room of your villa. The space has been decorated with silks and flowers, fruit bowls on display with copious amounts of wine. You look down at the marble beneath your feet as Ceres throws her arms around Marcus to kiss him, unconcerned for the family members in the room. “Congratulations.” You tell them once they have signed the marriage contract and your parents have spoken to them.

“Thank you.” Marcus smiles at you, thinking that you look beautiful in the silky, flowy dress that you had chosen for today and the flowers that are tucked into your hair makes you look serene. Again, he wishes that you were the one that he had been allowed to marry, instead of Ceres. Her simpering and batting her lashes at him throughout the morning had annoyed him.

Ceres wraps her arm around his waist, “my handsome husband.” She coos and caresses his cheek with her other hand, “maybe when you’re staying with us, you can work on eating less and then maybe you’ll find a husband.” She says and you inhale sharply, “perhaps.” You choke out, feeling that suffocating sensation in your chest when your sister drags her eyes along your form, knowing she’s assessing every flaw.

“You should be nicer to your sister.” Marcus chides softly, frowning at his new wife. “She does not need to change.” Ceres scoffs and rolls her eyes but Marcus doesn’t relent. “I would not allow a soldier under me to talk about someone else that way.” He tells her.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not a soldier, I’m your wife, and I’ll be under you in a different way tonight.” She giggles and you sigh, “I’m going to get some air.” You make your way through the villa to stand outside, wrapping your arms around yourself, and you look up at the stars with tears in your eyes. Ceres has gotten what she wanted. Just like it has always been.

Marcus huffs and drops his hand from Ceres’ waist. “I’m going to get a drink.” He murmurs, unsure why two women raised in the same household could be so different.

**** 

You look up at the villa that will be your new home until Marcus returns from battle, and sigh. Ceres will be torture to live with but the freedom you’ll gain being away from your parents has you willing to endure her venom. She grins when she sees you, married life clearly suiting her as she comes over to hug you. “Welcome sister. Isn’t this marvelous?” She gestures to the villa, “of course once Marcus is promoted, we will be moving to. A bigger home.” She says like it’s inevitable and perhaps it is but you hate how she always wants more. “Where’s Marcus?” You ask and she takes your arm, “he’s packing his bags. He will be departing shortly. He slept in this morning. We had a rigorous night of lovemaking and I think I wore him out.” She giggles and you frown, trying to block out the thought of her and Marcus in bed together. “He was very enthusiastic. In fact he finished inside me-” She grins and you are grateful that the man himself appears and stops her from continuing her story. Marcus says your name as your eyes meet his and your heart flutters in your chest. “Good morning, Marcus.” You smile at him, “you ready for your departure?”

“I am.” Marcus nods as he is struck by how pretty you are. It had been difficult to take Ceres to bed and he had thought of you while he had been inside her. Your sweetness, your softness was what he wanted. Not the vain and selfish ways of your sister. She did not care about anyone but herself and that was obvious by her being unwilling to learn how to pleasure him.

“I am sure you will miss your wife during your journey. I will make sure she is taken care of.” You promise him, wanting him to know that someone with sense is left in charge of his household. Ceres will spend his coin like there’s no tomorrow. He nods, “I appreciate that.” Ceres scoffs, “I don’t need anyone to look after me but I appreciate your care, sister.” She scoffs and reaches for Marcus. “I am leaving now.” He announces and she grabs his face to drag him towards her, her lips pressing against his. You avert your eyes to give them a moment but you don’t notice Marcus doesn’t close his eyes, he watches you. “I shall miss you dearly, amor.” Ceres coos, caressing his cheek.

You watch him go, your heart aching, and you decide to rush out to him as he’s about to step into the carriage. “May the gods bring you home safe and healthy. We shall miss you.” You tell him even though it’s only you who will miss him. Despite it being a short time that you’ve known him, he’s buried in your heart and you’ll carry him with you always. He nods, his dark eyes burning into yours, and he stares at you for a moment before he gets into the carriage. You watch it as it disappears down the cobbled street before you make your way back inside. “What was that about?” Ceres asks with a scoff, “I wanted to tell him that I’d ensure your happiness and safety during his absence.” You lie and she scoffs again, “like you’d make me happy. Go fetch me some wine. That would make me happy.” You nod and follow her order, knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Marcus returns to a well run home. 

**** 

“Oh I have wonderful news!” Ceres grins as she comes into your bedroom, her robes swaying around her feet. “Oh?” You ask, looking up from your scroll. “I am with child.” She declares and your jaw drops. “You’re - wow. Con- congratulations, sister.” You tell her and she spins around, “I shall send word to Marcus to inform him of the good news. Hopefully that will guarantee his safe return home with the news of his son being born.” You don’t argue and say she doesn’t know if it’s a boy yet but you hum, “I’m sure he will be ecstatic.”

Marcus sighs as he reads the message. He had tried not to spill inside Ceres, but he had not been quick enough to pull out in time. Now she is expecting his child. The news should be joyous, but he is dreading returning home and pretending to be happy. His father has sent word that his wife is not very prudent with his coin, spending lavishly. He wonders if you are helping her spend, or if your time has been spent in the villa’s gardens like it had been when you were at your father’s home. “Major.” His attention is taken by the soldier entering his tent to remind him that it is time and he nods. “I am coming.” He looks down at the message again and leaves it on his desk. He cannot worry about that now, the last day of the war has just begun.

Your sister is near to giving birth and she has made your life hell. Sending you all over town to fetch the things she craves, spending coin like it will disappear despite you warning her to be more conservative with her husband’s money. She has no concern about that. “He will make more.” She said flippantly and you couldn’t argue. You’ve spent your days in the garden, growing vegetables and flowers. The summer sun has led to the garden flourishing and you are glad to have contributed to making the villa a home for Marcus to return to. You are in the gardens when you hear the carriage pull up outside, trunks being carried, and you scramble onto your feet. Your robes are dirty with soil but you rush through the home, your sandals flopping against the marble as you run towards the front door where Marcus stands, returned from war. “You’re back.” You declare breathlessly, a wide grin on your face as you stare at him.

You are a sight for sore eyes and he smiles back at you, pulling you in for a tight hug. There had been close calls and new scars he now carries on his body. “You have been well?” He asks quietly in your ear before he pulls back. “You are more beautiful now than when I left.” His smile slips into a frown. “Has your father made a match for you?”

You shake your head, “no. He thought it was best for me to remain with Ceres while she is pregnant. I trust you heard the news?” You ask and he nods, “yes. Ceres sent word.” He says but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “She’s due any day.” You inform him, “and she’s anxious for your return.”

“Then it is good I made it back before she gave birth.” Marcus says woodenly. He doesn’t feel connected to this baby or his wife, but he watches you closely.

As if on cue, Ceres’s scream echoes in the villa and your eyes widen as you rush to find her. She’s hunched over the chair in her bedroom, heaving in a breath and water on the floor. Your eyes widen, “you’re in labor.” You rush over to her and turn to Marcus. “Find the midwife. She needs them.” You order and rub Ceres back as you try to get her on the bed. “Marcus? You’re back.” She gasps.

“I’m here.” He promises, eyes widening in surprise at how large his wife has grown with the baby. “Do you need anything?” He asks quietly, unsure of what she could possibly require but feeling compelled to ask.

“Just go fetch the midwife. Ask Antonia to find her.” You demand, helping your sister onto the bed and she cries out in pain. “It’s okay.” You promise, “it will be okay.” You are panicking a little and you watch Marcus leave to go fetch the housemaid before you let your sister squeeze your hand.

Marcus rushes off to find Antonia, although he’s not sure which one she is. He’s not spent much time in this house and he’s sure that someone else was in charge when he had left. Pointed in the right direction, he demands the midwife be sent for. “My wife is in labor.”

You fetch some water for your sister, allowing her to drink and to wipe her sweaty forehead as she grits her teeth through another pain. Marcus comes back in, feeling lost and unsure as he watches you pat Ceres’s forehead with a damp cloth. “The midwife will be here soon.” He promises and Ceres pants, batting your hand away. His eyes meet yours as you stand up and place the cloth back in the bowl, softening, and you don’t notice as you focus on your sister who says your name, “go. I want to speak with my husband.” You nod, making your way out of the room to give them privacy.

Marcus sits down and picks up the cloth to wipe her forehead. “Are you in a lot of pain?” He asks, concerned. He does not have a lot of experience with childbirth, none actually. The camp followers would deal with the bastards born in their own area, the mothers recovering in peace while still traveling along with the army.

She bats his hand away, “don’t touch me.” She hisses, “you’ve been away this entire time, leaving me with her.” She spits your name and Marcus frowns, “your sister…she seems to have looked after you.” He observes and Ceres shakes her head, “she’s been hovering around me. Getting me whatever I desire but she’s - the way you look at her.” She hisses through another contraction, “like she’s the moon and the stars. Like she’s - shit - like she’s Venus.”

“I haven’t been here to look at her.” He reminds you, but she shakes her head and shoots him a hateful glare. “The day we married, you were looking at her like she was the one you wanted to marry. The day you left, you smiled at her and barely kissed me goodbye.” Marcus looks away, feeling guilty because he knows that is true. “You are carrying my child.” He murmurs. “You are my wife, not your sister.”

“You’ve never looked at me like you look at her. Even on our wedding night, I thought I heard you moan her name but figured it was my imagination. I am the beautiful one. I am the one you should want. She’s nothing. Once the baby is born, she is to be sent away and you are never to talk to her, let alone look at her again.” Ceres demands, gripping her belly.

Marcus scoffs at how disgusting that she is talking about you. “You will not have any say in what she does.” Marcus reminds her. “Your sister isn’t married to me, you are. You got your way.”

“But I wanted all of you. I am giving birth to our child. You are mine. I want all of you, Marcus.” She pleads, “I want the General I was promised.” She demands and hisses as another contraction hits her, making her chest heave.

She is suffering and Marcus doesn’t want her upset while she is giving birth, even as difficult as she is. “You have me.” Marcus promises, reaching out and smoothing her hair away from her face. “I am here. Right beside you.” She doesn’t push him away this time and he takes that as a good sign. “You must relax. The midwife will be here soon.”

She grips his hand just as you enter the room with the midwife. “There now dear, I’m here. Let’s see what’s going on. Your little one is on their way.” She smiles as she sets her things down, “do we want the father here?” She asks Ceres, her eyebrows raised, and your sister nods as she grips Marcus’s hand. “Go fetch me cloths and warm water.” She orders you and you nod, rushing off to get what she wants.

Marcus doesn’t watch you leave the room, feeling Ceres’s eyes on him. Instead, he turns to watch her. Bringing the cloth up to bathe her head again. He doesn’t love her, but he owes her his loyalty. She is having his child. “Be strong.” He urges her softly, the same thing he would tell injured soldiers on the battlefield.

It seems like hours that Ceres is in labor. Her cries echoing through the villa and you stay away, having seen the look on her face when you entered the room. You hear her cries and you look out at the high sky, wondering how long she’s going to be laboring for.

“You must walk.” The midwife shakes her head and frowns as Ceres pants, leaning over the bed. “The babe is stubborn and will not come out.” Her worry is starting to grow, but she has not said anything so far. The girl is young and strong, she will be fine if she would just heed her advice. “Let me help you.” Marcus offers, taking hold of her waist.

Ceres cries out when she tries to move, her legs shaking as she stands up and when she does, she feels blood rush between her legs. Her hand slides under her gown and her eyes widen when she pulls her hand out and it’s covered in blood. “Oh gods.” She chokes, “I feel- I need to push.” She says, feeling the pressure between her legs and she wants to push.

“Shit.” Marcus scoops his wife up and carries her over to the chair that is used to bring children into the world. “Help her!” He demands, looking to the midwife for help.

The midwife looks pale as she comes over to Ceres. “You must push. On the count of three. Inhale deeply and push, dear.” She orders, rubbing her back as Ceres reaches for Marcus’s hand, squeezing as she starts to push.

“Push Ceres.” Marcus commands, holding her hand and the sudden dread washing over him nearly makes him sick. He can tell that the midwife is nervous, that she is unsure of what will happen. “Push our child into the world, wife.” He squeezes her hand gently.

She pants, squeezing his hand, and she pushes. Tries to push as hard as possible but the baby isn’t coming. “You need to push harder.” She urges and Ceres shakes her head, “I’m so tired. I can’t.” Marcus leans closer, “you have to.” She cries as she pushes, her scream echoing off the walls as she pushes until the babe slides free from her body. The cry doesn’t come and the midwife gathers the babe in her arms, patting their back to clear their airways and get them to cry.

"My baby." Ceres gasps, nearly slumping over on the seat until Marcus is holding her upright. Her eyes are rolling back in her head and it seems like the blood is still pouring out of her. "Ceres! Ceres! Stay awake!" He shouts, seeing her nearly slipping into unconsciousness.

She doesn’t respond and he lays her down on the bed, shaking her as she bleeds onto the sheets. “Wake up.” He demands, gripping her shoulders but she doesn’t respond. 

“You had a son, Major Acacius.” The midwife says, wrapping the unresponsive baby in the cloths just as you return to the room with hot water. Your eyes widen at the blood covering the marble floor, your sister on the bed, and the baby in the midwife’s arms that is not crying. “No. No. No.” You cry, rushing over to the bed to find your sister with a blank stare, glazed over. “Ceres. Please.” You beg, caressing her cheek. She may have not been the best sister but she’s still your blood.

Marcus almost refuses to believe this is happening. “The baby-“ he asks blankly and the midwife shakes her head. “Dead.” She murmurs softly, moving to place the small bundle beside Ceres and check her. It doesn’t matter now, she’s gone. The wife he has never cared for has died. Died knowing that he hadn’t loved her, that he had wanted someone else. The gods are cursing him for his selfishness.

You sob for the loss of your sister and the baby she carried. The midwife closes her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest while you cry, stroking her cheek. She may have been cruel but she was your blood. “Marcus.” You choke, reaching for his bloodied hand. “She’s - oh gods.”

Guilt claws at his throat, but he doesn’t pull away. The little bundle that holds the body of his son cradled against his mother’s body and he clenches his jaw to keep from weeping. Not because he loved Ceres or the child she carried, but because he had killed her. “Go- tell her father.” He chokes out to the midwife.

The midwife nods, rushing from the room to find your father and you brush the damp hair from Cere’s forehead with your other hand. You feel guilty for being so jealous of her and you look up at Marcus, “I’m so sorry.”

Marcus stares at the body of his wife, his child. “I- they are gone.” He can’t believe it. “She- I just got home. She was here.” He is trying to process it, but he’s having a hard time. The guilt of his actions weighing down on him.

You squeeze his hand, “I’m so sorry.” You whisper, knowing that he must’ve loved her and wanted her. If you could take her place, you would, so she could be the wife and mother she wanted to be. The midwife stands aside for several moments as you cry and Marcus stares in shock. “We will need to take the bodies soon. I’ll fetch for the undertaker.” She says, rushing out the room and she takes a moment. She’s seen many women die during childbirth but most men are devastated to lose their wives. Marcus Acacius seems indifferent.

“Was she- was she happy while I was gone at least?” Marcus asks, turning to you and his heart breaks to see the devastation in your eyes. The truth is, he didn’t know his wife. What he did know was shallow and spoiled so he had not had too favorable of an opinion of her. She still did not deserve to die. He can only hope that her months carrying the babe that ended her life weren’t miserable.

You nod, “she was. She was happy spending your coin and showing off her home, talking about her handsome new husband. She was talking about how wonderful life was going to be when you eventually became a senator after becoming general. She had hope for a glorious life.” You say bitterly, knowing she didn’t sit out and enjoy the sunshine. She was too busy worrying about what other people thought of her. “She was happy in the way she can be.” You add, shifting from the bed.

“At least she had some happiness.” He closes his eyes and sighs. This was not the way that he wanted to come back home. “I need a drink.” He admits hoarsely, but he still opens his eyes to stare at the bodies. “But I do not want to leave them alone. A boy?” He chokes out when he realizes what the midwife had told him. Ceres had given him a boy, a child. He moves over to the bed and touches the small bundle. “I had hoped that she would not get pregnant those two days we spent together.” He admits. “But the gods had other plans.”

“I can get you a drink.” You promise, shifting off the bed and you nearly slip in the pool of blood. “Take your time. Be with your family.” You walk around to rub his back, “you are not to blame, Marcus. The gods have their plans. As mysterious as they may be to us. She is in Elysian Fields now with your boy. She’s at peace.” You try to find comfort in that, knowing that your sister was not a nice person but you hope she’s at peace.

He feels like a fraud, but he nods and turns to watch as you slip out of the room. Turning back to Ceres, he sighs and wonders why he is not upset that she has died. He feels guilty, because it is his fault, he got her pregnant. But he will not miss her. “You should have married someone else.” He tells her body quietly. “Someone who would have treated you like you wanted. Who would have been here for you.”

**** 

Ceres was laid to rest with the child who was named Fabius on a cooler day, the sun shining in the sky, and Marcus was numb. He hardly spoke and you figured that was down to his guilt of not being there for his wife. Your father demanded you return home but you begged for him to let you stay with Marcus. “His villa needs to be maintained until he can find another wife. I would like to honor Ceres by maintaining the home she loved so dearly. At least until I have a prospect for marriage.” You tell your father who narrows his eyes but nods, allowing you to remain with Marcus who has been visiting the baths frequently, drinking wine, and staying away from you. Maybe it’s because you remind him of Ceres in a way. You don’t take offense and you are working in his garden when you look up to find him standing there watching you. “Marcus.” You gasp, shifting to stand with dirt on your robes, “you’re home.”

You have been such a quiet strength. Steady and sure. Beautiful and blooming everyday. More and more wine is needed to combat the guilt that curdles in his stomach, the need that makes his loins ache every time he sees you. “It should have been you.” He tells you thickly, the wine heavy on his tongue and addling his brain. He means that you should have been his wife, that you should be in his bed but it comes out accusatory.

Your eyes widen, your stomach twisting, and you flex your fingers, “me? You wanted - if I could’ve taken her place so you’d have your wife and son, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat.” You promise with a choke, “she didn’t deserve that. Even if she was…I wish I was dead instead of her.” You declare, knowing he must look at you with resentment that you’re in his house and she isn’t.

“No!” Marcus frowns fiercely and grabs your arms, although he could never treat you roughly. He drags you closer to him, the wine on his breath washing over you. “You should have been mine. Not her.” He confesses right before he lunges forward and smashes his lips against yours with need and desire making him act foolishly under the inhibitions wine gives him.

You give in for a moment, leaning into his touch, and your hands grip his tunic, until you gasp and push him away. Your lips tingle and you shake your head, “you’re drunk and we - Ceres. We can’t do this.” You lower your hands from his tunic and step back, “I’m sorry.” You rush out before you run from the courtyard, your heart pounding.

Marcus calls out your name, feeling the loss of your warmth against him and feeling like he is about to collapse on the spot. You don’t want him and he has to live with that. Stumbling towards the villa, he decides to drink more to forget what your lips feel like under his.

**** 

You’d tossed and turned all night, not getting any sleep as you replayed the feel of Marcus’s lips on yours over and over again. They felt so perfect and the guilt rolls in your stomach again, making you nauseous. Ceres would kill you for kissing her husband. But Ceres isn’t here and Marcus is struggling. You dress and decide to find the man. He’s in the courtyard, fruit cut up on a plate for him along with cheese and meats and you approach him cautiously. “Marcus.” You murmur his name and he sighs, turning to look at you, “good morning.” You take a seat opposite him, picking up some berries. “About yesterday-” You begin but he cuts you off. “I’m sorry. I overstepped and I had too much to drink.” He explains and you reach for his hand, “it’s okay. I know you miss Ceres.” You squeeze his hand and he shakes his head, “you cannot miss someone you never truly knew.” He explains and you frown when he continues. “I feel guilty. I caused her death.” He says and you shake your head, “you didn’t cause her death. The gods wanted to take her. There’s nothing you could’ve done.” You promise, squeezing his hand again, “did you - yesterday you said it should’ve been me. I should’ve been yours. Did you- I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

He sighs, wishing that he had never said anything. He looks down at your hand in his and he can’t help but rub his thumb over your knuckles. “When your father approached mine about a marriage between Ceres and I, I told him that I wanted you.” He admits, glancing up at your eyes and then looking down at your joined hands. “I never wanted your sister.”

Your eyes widen, “me? But Ceres was the beauty. She reminded me of that every single day.” You scoff softly, knowing that you should be struck for speaking ill of your dead sister but her being gone doesn’t change the truth. “I wanted you. I - I tried to not be jealous but I was. She didn’t deserve you and I- I didn’t either but I wanted you. I want you.” You add, “it’s so wrong but I want you, Marcus. I love you.”

“I never loved her.” He admits in shame. “I love you.” He frowns. “I married her because my father threatened to disown me if I didn’t.” He swallows. “I want you.”

His words wash over you like sunshine and the guilt swirls in your belly but you can’t help yourself. You lean in to cup his cheek with your other hand, caressing it before you lean closer to softly kiss his lips.

His food is forgotten as Marcus drags you down into his lap. Your bigger size doesn’t bother him, in fact, he prefers the fact that his hands don’t fit around your thighs or waist. Deepening the kiss with a groan as he starts to harden underneath you.

You moan into his mouth, sliding your hand into his dark locks and you straddle him. His tongue pushes into your mouth and you are bold, sliding your tongue against his.

He tightens his grip on your body and pulls you closer, feeling more alive than he has since before his wedding day. His hands sliding over your back and down to your ass to grope it.

You grind down onto him, knowing you shouldn’t be doing this but it’s Marcus, the man you’ve loved for months and you want him. You want to be selfish after so long of putting other people first, like your sister.

His hands slip under your dress and he squeezes your thighs. Grabbing you greedily and gorging himself on your lush body. He breaks away from your lips and starts to kiss down your jaw, wanting all of you.

You gasp as he nips at your jaw, his hands sliding around to squeeze your bare ass and his calloused hands make your heart pound in your chest. “Marcus. I haven’t - I’ve never- but I want you. I want to give you all of me.”

You are untouched. Marcus pulls back and stares at you in wonder. “Are you sure?” He asks. “There is no taking it back.”

You nod, caressing his chest over his tunic, “it’s yours. No matter what happens. I’m yours, Marcus. I always have been. That’s why I wanted to stay here and help Ceres. Even if you weren’t mine, I wanted to be yours.” You confess, kissing your jaw.

Marcus is strong. He has pushed catapults and wagons that have been stuck in mud. He guides your legs around his waist and picks you up from his lap, chuckling when you gasp and cling to him. “I have you.” He promises. “You are perfect for me.”

You are shocked at the way he picks you up but you’d be lying if it doesn’t make your stomach clench in arousal at how strong he is. He carries you through the villa and you kiss along his neck, “my room.” You order, not wanting him to take you in the bed he shared with Ceres. He grunts in agreement and soon you are in your bedroom. He doesn’t put you down, he spins and presses you against the wall, his lips against yours within seconds and you gasp his name into his mouth.

Marcus grinds against you, pressing you into the cool wall and twitching against your core through the thin layer of his tunic. He could merely pull himself out from under the fabric and push inside you, but you deserve more than that. He drags down the top of your dress and kisses down your throat before he takes a nipple in his mouth to feast on your sensitive bud.

Your gasp echoes off the marble walls as he bites down on your nipple, your fingers tangling in his hair and your thighs tightening their grip around him. “Marcus!” You cry out, back arching to push more of your breast into his hungry mouth.

He loves your innocent cry, spurring him on and his headache is banished by the arousal that is coursing through his body. Sucking on the stiff peak and then laving it with his tongue before he is turning his attention to the other breast. Loving how sweet you taste.

Your hands caress his back as he takes what he wants from you and your legs shake when he sets you on the ground. “What-?” You gasp but he’s kneeling and shoving your robes up, exposing you to the arm before his face is buried between your thighs. You cry out and subconsciously lift your leg up onto his shoulder to grant him more room as he slides his tongue through your folds.

He never pleasured Ceres like this, never wanted to. But he had obsessed about the way you would feel and taste. His encounters with the camp whores were all women that looked like you and he could pretend he was with you. He had let one teach him how to pleasure her with you in mind even though he would never have imagined actually getting to touch you.

Your eyes flutter closed and you tangle your fingers in his hair as he slides his tongue into your cunt. You’re dripping wet with desire for him and you moan his name when he slides his tongue up and sucks on your clit. It’s intoxicating, like too much wine, and your stomach twists with arousal as he tastes you.

Marcus groans, completely obsessed with the way your cunt leaks for him. Flowing like a river and dripping onto his chin. He holds onto your hips and pushes his tongue deeper inside you.

You moan at the way he seems ravenous for you. His fingers digging into your flesh makes you whine and you rock your hips down to grind against his chin. “Fuck.” You curse, unable to stop yourself as you are devoured by him. “Oh gods. I- my stomach.” You moan, the sensation unfamiliar.

He growls into your folds, wanting to see you come apart for him, wanting to experience it. He doubles down on his efforts to make you cum, feeling your legs shake as you try to stay upright.

The whine that escapes your lips is almost inhuman and you gasp when he sucks on your clit again. It’s a sensation that has your chest heaving and you tug on his hair until finally, the high hits you. Your thighs shake against his head and you gush against his tongue while you cry out his name, head thrown back to hit the wall as pleasure overwhelms you.

Sweet as honey. Marcus laps at you frantically as you coat his tongue in your arousal. Working you through it and wanting every drop that he can get.

You slump over him, unable to help yourself as he works you until you are gasping for breath. “Marcus.” You whine, lowering your shaky leg and you shift to kneel, pushing his body back so you can press your lips to his, sliding your tongue into his mouth to sample yourself from him.

Marcus groans, letting you explore his mouth and taste yourself. His cock is throbbing but he isn’t rushing this. He doesn’t want it to end. “Bed.” He pants out when you pull away.”

You reluctantly stand up, taking his hand to guide him to the bed and before you do, you reach for the hem of his tunic. Your eyes meet his and he nods as you lift it over his head, exposing his body to your eager gaze. "Marcus." You moan, your hand immediately wrapping around his hard cock.

Marcus shivers, knees trembling at your inexperienced touch. “You are so beautiful.” He growls, watching you as you explore his cock. It might be the first time you’ve ever seen a man, let alone touched one.

You are entranced by him, the first time you've ever seen a man naked like this beyond the time you accidentally stumbled into the men's baths. You pump him, admiring the ridges and veins of his length. Thick in your grip, you look at him until he leans in to kiss along your throat, his hand reaching for the pin that keeps your dress together.

“I will be gentle.” He promises as he unpins your dress and lets it fall to the floor. Leaving you bare and he groans when he sees your nude body bare before him. “Fuck,” he hisses, twitching in your palm and leaking a heavy dribble of pre-cum from the purple head of his cock.

You swallow harshly, nervous that he doesn't like what he sees. You release his cock to cover your breasts, your arm crossing your stomach as you cross your legs. "I- I am not - I am not like Venus." You confess, knowing that your sister was much thinner and less curvy.

“You are better than all the goddesses.” Marcus breathes out, eyes drinking in your perfect form and he reaches for you. Pulling your arms away from your body. “Perfect. Beautiful. Luscious.” He pants slightly. “I have never seen anything more stunning than you.”

You inhale sharply at his words, your heart pounding and you offer him a breathless smile. “Marcus. I need you.” You plead, shifting to lay down on the bed and you drag him with you as you settle on the sheets.

This is the wedding night he had imagined. The woman he had wanted in his bed. Marcus presses his lips to every single part of your body that you had covered in embarrassment. Making sure that you understand how much he loves your body. “I love you.” He groans, settling between your thighs.

You caress his arms up to his shoulders and around his back as he grips his cock. Your nails dig into his flesh as he starts to push into you, “I love you.” You gasp, throwing your head back at the intrusion and you hiss at how he stretches you.

Marcus had taken Ceres with a sharp determination. Eager to get the act over with, but now he takes his time. The slow roll of his hips seems to take forever as he presses his lips to your exposed throat. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” He hisses in pleasure. “So right.”

He stretches you out and seems to pull you apart as he pushes deeper until he’s pressed as deep as he can go. The sting of him pressing through your innocence was minor and you tilt your head to press your lips to his again as you adjust to his girth. “Marcus.” You plead against his chin, “take me. I’m yours.” You vow, wanting to feel him.

“Mine.” He growls, nodding as he starts to pull his hips back to move. “You are so perfect.” He hisses, loving how soft you are. How you cushion his body and take the smooth thrust so easily.

You feel surrounded by him and you lift your hips to wrap your legs around him, your heels pressing into his thighs. “Gods, this - you feel so good.” You moan, having heard about the pleasures of the flesh but you’ve never experienced it before. It’s overwhelming and incredible.

Marcus bites down on your neck, nibbling and sucking as he starts to set a steady rhythm as he rocks his hips. Working his cock in and out of your hot cunt. “You are amazing, better than I imagined.”

You moan when he thrusts deep and your hands slide up into his hair, dragging his face to yours so you can kiss him. Your tongue slides against his, gaining confidence as he moves inside you. “I’ve imagined you far too many times. Felt so guilty.” You admit, “but you’re mine now.”

Marcus closes his eyes, moaning at your confession. He imagines you in this bed, touching yourself as you whimper his name. Grabbing one of your thighs, he pushes it back towards your chest, thrusting even deeper as his hips slap against yours. “Always yours.” He groans, twitching deep when you clench around him. “Fuck.”

His words make your heart lurch and you kiss every piece of skin you can reach. You whimper and rock your hips up to meet his, “Marcus. You - gods. You feel like you’re in my throat.” You confess breathlessly, “it’s so good. Fuck. I- I love yo- oh!.” You moan when he hits something inside you that makes your walls flutter and his chuckle puffs against your chin. He focuses on that angle and each thrust takes your breath away. “Oh gods. I’m going to - Marcus! Marcus!” You cry before your mouth opens in a silent scream as he sends you over the edge in a tidal wave that soaks his cock.

His teeth snap together, barely holding onto his control as he fucks you through the first orgasm you’ve had on a man’s cock. You are so incredibly wet, the noises coming from him rocking into you sound so loud. “So good.” He pants. “So perfect.” He feels his own orgasm rocketing closer, but he braces his hands on the bed, wanting to pull free before he cums so he doesn’t plant a baby inside you.

You moan his name, wanting to see him fall apart above you, and you caress his chest, “want to watch your pleasure.” You tell him with a moan and he grunts as he thrusts into you a few more times before he’s pulling free of your cunt, a grunt escaping his lips as his cock jerks with streams of seed that splatter your folds and nestle in the curls between your thighs. You reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him to work him through it.

Marcus whines out your name, feeling that bliss that comes from sex, but it’s so much more. Rocking his hips into your hand and watching you touch him. “Fuck baby, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You promise him and he pants when you release his softening cock, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek so you can drag him towards you to kiss your lips. “I’ve always loved you since that day you carried Ceres home.” You promise, “I want to be yours, in every way.”

"I want that too." Marcus admits, although he feels guilty. "I hate that your sister died because of me, but I never loved her. I wanted you, from the very beginning. It is why I would always talk to you when you were chaperoning us."

You sigh, “I miss her.” You admit as he flops down beside you and pulls you into his side. You fling your leg over his, your hand caressing his chest. “I know.” He murmurs, knowing his guilt over losing his wife and child threatens to send him over the edge but you’ve kept him on stable ground. “Let us see what tomorrow brings. For now, I want to savor our time together.” You murmur, kissing his chest.

“I will talk to your father tomorrow.” Marcus tells you, his fingers stroking up and down your curves as he plans. He wants you to stay here, to be his wife. Especially now that he has touched you, gotten to have you. Once would never be enough. “He might wish for us to wait but I want him to know that I am honorable.”

You smile, shifting to look at him, “you want me to be your wife?” Marcus rolls his eyes and huffs playfully, “I love you. I just made love to you. I don’t want to stop making love to you. It’s the natural progression.” He says and you grin, letting him roll you over so his body is covering yours. “Your uxor.” You murmur, tracing his nose, and he kisses your fingertips when they brush his lips. “Mine.” He murmurs, leaning over to press his lips to yours.

The next day, Marcus has to drag himself from your bed. Only able to do so because of the promise of having you permanently. Going to speak to your father is troubling, he doesn’t look happy to see him and Marcus is nervous about the meeting. 

Your father looked up when Marcus was brought into the courtyard. The scrolls spread on the table before him and he doesn’t stand as the Major enters his home. “Acacius.” He greets him without his title, letting his distaste be known. “What do you want?” He asks and Marcus stands a little straighter. “I want to ask to marry your daughter.” He adds your name and your father’s eyes widen. “You want - she’s been staying with you to manage your household in your absence and I allowed her to remain there and you have the audacity to ask for the hand of my remaining daughter after you all but killed my other one?” He hisses, his eyes flashing, “do you wish to finish the job?”

The pang of guilt that fills Marcus crushes his heart, but he shakes his head. "Your daughter died in childbirth." He reminds your father. "Ceres wanted to be a mother and a wife. She was thrilled when she found out that she was carrying." He knows that he cannot blame himself in public for their deaths, not if he wants you. "I wish to the gods that their fate was different, but it was not."

“You have some gall, Acacius. Does my daughter know about your intentions?” He asks and Marcus nods, “she wishes to be my uxor.” He says and your father curls his lip, “foolish girl. Wanting to marry the first man that looks her way. If only she’d focus on eating less then maybe she’d find a man of higher status.” He hisses, “tell me…have you taken her?” He inquires, wanting to know if you are damaged goods.

Marcus frowns at the way that he speaks about you. He was good enough for Ceres but now he's not good enough for you? "I love her." Marcus admits. "She was the daughter I wanted from the very beginning. I knew that she was the one that made my heart beat."

Your father taps his fingers against the table, biting his lip until he looks at Marcus. “I will allow you to marry my daughter if you answer my question…have you taken her innocence?”

Marcus frowns slightly but he nods. "She was in my bed last night." He admits, thinking about how you had looked there. "I wish for her to be my uxor, and I will make sure that you do not lose another daughter to the birthing chair." He promises, knowing that you carrying his child will cause him to seek out the best midwives to care for you.

He hisses at hearing the confirmation of what he expected was the truth. "You have taken what wasn't yours to take but it is too late now. You will marry her." He demands, "and you will honor my daughter. I will not have her shamed. You will marry her in two weeks time, when your mourning period is complete and she will not be shamed for marrying you so soon after her sister died." He decides, "do you agree to these terms?

“I agree.” Marcus nods eagerly. “Ceres' memory will live on through your remaining daughter. She loved her sister and we will make sure that we live a life she would be proud of.”

Your father hums, standing up, and he steps towards Marcus with his hand out. "Do not let me down, Acacius." He demands and Marcus nods, "never. I will love and protect her." He promises and your father shakes his hand, his grip tight and almost painful but Marcus doesn't flinch. When Marcus returns, you are in the garden and quickly stand when he approaches you. "What did he say?" You ask, eager to hear good news. Marcus smiles, reaching for your hands, "he said yes." You squeal and cup Marcus's cheeks, leaning in to kiss him.

“I must go check in with the generals.” Marcus reminds you when you both finally come up for air several moments later. “We can celebrate when I return.” He must inform them that he will be marrying again. He doesn’t need to seek permission, but he has to let them know in case of his death.

You grin, excited to marry the man you love, and you peck his lips again as he steps back. He doesn’t get a chance to walk out the door when two soldiers appear on the doorstep. You frown, looking towards Marcus who looks confused. “What is going on?” He asks and the soldier hands him a scroll. You stand behind Marcus as he reads and finally, he turns to face you. “I am needed in battle. Tonight. I am ordered to leave with immediate effect.” Your eyes widen slightly and you shake your head in shock, “but we - how long will you be gone?” You ask and Marcus hands the scroll back to the soldier and walks back towards you. “I don’t know.” He says honestly and cups your cheeks, “I could be away a month. Or a year.” He admits, knowing that the battles can last months. “It’s a direct order from the emperor. I cannot deny it.” He says as he rests his forehead against yours. Tears sting in your eyes, knowing he’s being taken from you again. “I’ll be okay. I’ll maintain the villa and await your return so I can be your uxor.” You offer him a watery smile, trying to be strong.

“Stay here.” He nods in agreement. “You will be my wife as soon as I return and you have done well maintaining our home.” He praises, leaning in and cupping your cheek. “I love you.” He murmurs your name and presses his lips to yours.

You nod, a tight smile on your face, “I love you too.” You murmur, watching as he lets go of you and makes his way to the entrance, following the guards out of his home and leaving you standing there. Your dreams of him being your husband are delayed, but not shattered.

**** 

It’s been three years since Marcus has seen Rome. Three years since he had kissed you and walked away, hopeful to come home and marry you. He hasn’t heard from you, despite the messengers he had sent to his villa. He hadn’t even been allowed to go home before coming to visit the Emperor. He had been promoted to general while he was gone and he wearily wonders if the emperor would immediately send him off on another campaign or if he could finally fulfill his promise to you.

The fanfare is excessive and you are preparing yourself as you know who is making their way up the steps to greet the emperors. Your golden wreath and silk robes show your status and you are to be empress soon. Married to Geta in the coming weeks. The emperor had wanted a ceremony fit for the “greatest emperor Rome has ever had” and as such, the ceremony is still being planned. You stand tall, watching as the man you still love makes his way up the stairs until he comes into view. He looks older, more jaded, and you inhale sharply when you see him. His eyes are fixed on the emperors and your heart thumps in your chest, stopping when those dark eyes meet yours.

His eyes widen when he sees you. Still as beautiful as you were the day he left, maybe more so. Surprised to find you here and he almost moves towards you, ready to kiss you and gather you in his arms, but there is something in your eyes that makes him hesitate. A warning. He shifts back to Geta, and then towards you, trying to understand what is going on.

“Ah, General. Welcome home. Rome thanks you for your success. The emperors thank you for your success. Our future empress thanks you for your success.” He adds and smirks as he looks over to you. You move towards him and behind you is a little girl. She clings to your robes and Marcus’s eyes widen as you take her hand and walk towards Geta, taking his hand.

His world shifts and he stops breathing. The little girl is no more than a small toddler, a baby. He swallows harshly as he stares at the little girl and then back to you. Your eyes shift guiltily and he knows. The little girl is his. His heart pounds in his chest, but Geta is waiting and he nods. “It was my pleasure.” He croaks out. “For Rome.” There are many questions swimming in his head, but he doesn’t dare to ask them now.

"Perhaps the General would like to rest now. He's had a long journey to Rome and he is staying for the week of celebrations. He must require rest and wine." You murmur to Geta who is busy waving to the crowd. "You are quite right, my love. General, please rest. You'll be escorted to the rooms we have assigned you." Geta says and Caracalla smacks Marcus on the back, "go find a whore and celebrate our great victory." He grins and Marcus bows his head. He looks at you and you try to tell him with his eyes that you will find him and explain. There's so much to explain.

Being escorted through the halls of the large palace, Marcus tries to understand what happened. The child is his. He is certain, but why would the emperor marry a woman with a bastard? His stomach clenches in regret for not marrying you right away. He should have, that way you would not have been shamed while carrying his child. He wonders what your father had said, walking into the room he was given and sighing softly as the door closes behind him.

It takes a while for you to settle Ceres in her bed for her nap. The palace maids have offered to assist but you refuse, wanting to settle your daughter yourself. Once she's asleep, you make your way through the halls, knowing where Marcus is being housed, and you are wary as you look around before you knock on his door.

Marcus stares at the door for a moment, his pacing paused before he strides over to the door to open it. Seeing you, he steps back and opens the door wider in invitation rather than dragging you against him into the room like he wants to. He growls your name. “What the hell is going on?”

"I can explain." You rush out, sensing and then seeing his anger. "After you left...I found out I was with child and my father...he was furious. Refused to let me get word to you and ordered me to go to Rome to stay with his sister. I had the baby. A girl - and she - she's so much like you, Marcus." You offer him a soft smile. "I wanted to return to your home and wait for you with our child but - I didn't know - my father was arranging for me to marry the emperor. Geta had seen me when I was walking through the market and he - he inquired with my father about me. I have no clue why but he ordered me to the palace and proposed. I told him I was betrothed to you, even confessed about our daughter, but he didn't care. He has told everyone that the child is my sister's and you are the father. That I am caring for my niece. She isn't a threat to him, and he wishes for me to birth a boy for his successor. He cares little for the fact that I am no longer innocent, but I refused to marry him, then he - he threatened Ceres , he threatened our daughter, and I - I had to agree." You choke, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rush to explain everything that has happened since the morning he left his home.

Marcus clenches his jaw, his hands curled into fists. You wouldn’t lie to him, it’s not the type of person you are. “You- you gave birth alone?” He demands, feeling nearly sick since your sister had died in childbirth. You must have been terrified. Shaking your head, you reach out and touch his arm. “My aunt and the midwives were with me.” You explain. “She is beautiful. Wonderful.” You smile and his anger crumbles, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “I am so sorry I was not here, amor.” He swallows harshly, knowing that you cannot be his now. All his dreams have been crushed.

You sob, wrapping your arms around his neck. You have felt so alone since the time he left. You've fought for your daughter and your life and you are exhausted. His arms wrap around you and you finally feel like you're home. "I don't want to marry Geta. I love you. It's always been you, but Ceres - I would give my life to save hers."

Marcus can’t kiss you, you would both be killed for betraying the emperor. “You did the right thing.” He promises, running his hands up and down your sides. He had hoped you would be safe in his home, but apparently not. “The villa?” He asks.

“Your father is managing it. He - he spoke with my father and they decided to send me away and I think your father hoped to find you another wife when the time came.” You reveal, your hand finding his chest, wishing you could feel his heart but it’s covered by the armor.

He snorts and shakes his head. “I listened to his choice the first time.” He tells you. “He has no say in who I marry now.” He wishes that were you; but now you have Geta.

You have tears streaming down your cheeks, “this is so unfair.” You choke and slide your hand up to his cheek again. “I want to be yours but he has promised me that Ceres will want for nothing. He has promised a dowry beyond anything I could offer so she can be married to a good man.”

Marcus shakes his head, knowing that you might have thought he was dead. Or he could die, the gods know how he had almost been killed many times. “You did nothing wrong.” He promises you, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours. “We are just….star crossed.” He sighs as he pulls back. “You will be the empress of Rome. I am just one of her generals.”

“I don’t want to be empress. I want to be yours.” You choke, surging forward to hover your lips against his but he doesn’t close the gap. You sob and shift away from him, “I will- I need to go back to Ceres.”

Marcus lets you pull away, not pulling you back against him. He swallows harshly as you turn towards the door before he softly says your name. Watching as you freeze and turn back towards him. “I never stopped loving you.” He promises. “I’m sorry I took too long to come home.”

You nod, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “me too. Perhaps we will be together in another life.” You murmur and open the door, stepping out before anyone notices and you make your way back to your room, your heart breaking with each step away from Marcus. 

**** 

You sip your wine, lost in your thoughts as the emperors argue in front of you. Ceres is with her nanny and you would rather be with her than sitting watching two grown men argue about what piece of land to conquer next. Marcus is sitting opposite you, the map of the empire laid out before you on the table and you aren’t thinking when you set your cup down and it tips, spilling wine over the map. “You need to pay more attention, you useless whore. That map will take months to recreate.” Geta strides over to you, his hand raised and he doesn’t think as he strikes you, his palm slapping your cheek. The sting makes your head fuzzy but this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

Marcus clenches his fist in anger, barely restraining himself from lunging at the emperor. He knows that he would be struck down by the guards around the room if he tried to attack the man for hitting you. “Blood often obscures our maps on the battlefield, emperor.” He tells them. “I can get our scribe to fix it.” He sends the men a tight smile. “You can claim it came from your latest victory.”

You don’t rub your cheek, knowing that will be seen as a weakness so you sit still, blinking to stop the tears pooling in your eyes. “Very well. I appreciate the offer, General. Now, what are your thoughts of venturing more into Africa to continue our conquests?” Geta asks. You look over at Marcus who has his jaw clenched and you refill your empty cup, needing something to drink. Geta has often told you about how attractive he finds you. You are like a goddess according to him but he never makes you feel worshiped. He’s hit you several times when you don’t please him and you endure it, knowing you have no choice, and you cannot allow him to inflict his hand on your daughter. “I’m sorry, Caesar.” You bow your head and he hums, caressing your sore cheek. “You must learn, dear one. I need a loyal and obedient empress.” He reminds you and leans in to softly kiss your lips while you try not to flinch.

Marcus clears his throat. “Africa will be a challenge against our army.” Marcus admits as he points towards the coast. “There are many fortified cities and they will have many defenses against invasions from the sea.” He can’t concentrate on you, knowing it would be dangerous to show the emperors that he has feelings for you. “We do not want a war that your children will still be fighting when they come to the throne.”

Caracalla growls and shakes his head, “who cares if we are fighting for 100 years? It is our duty to make Rome great and that includes adding to our empire.” Geta tuts, “now brother. We must control our urges. Less we destroy Rome in the process. Perhaps the General can suggest another area we can fight for?” He looks over at Marcus with his head tilted.

Marcus clenches his jaw and sighs. “Here.” He points to a cluster of Isles on the map. “There would be a good stronghold for Rome.” He decides. “We could position our troops and leave a permanent garrison.”

Geta nods, “that would be ideal. Create a naval base there.” He is intrigued, “brother?” He asks looking at Caracalla who is poking between you and Marcus with a funny look on his face. “It would be most advantageous.” He agrees after a moment.

Marcus nods. “We will need to send scouting ships first.” He informs them. “Send back detailed reports. See if they can land a small party to survey the best places to land.”

You watch the emperors absorb his words and you sigh, wishing your cup was refilled. “See it is done. I want to move as fast as possible.” Geta orders and he strides over to you. “I’m sorry, my love. Forgive my hand.” He coos, gripping your chin and he leans in to kiss you. You try not to recoil as his lips press against yours.

Marcus has to look away. His eyes dropping back to the map as he pretends that he’s unaffected by the sight of you kissing someone else. He wonders if you’ve been in Geta’s bed, although that’s not fair to you. He had left without marrying you. Hoping to be home quickly and he hadn’t. He had left you alone to give birth to his daughter.

You smile at Geta after he pulls away, “emperor.” You murmur and he grins, “my empress. Soon.” He promises and you nod, watching Geta move towards the stained map. “Speak to the others. Get this into action.” He tells Marcus who nods, “of course.”

Marcus bows his head respectfully to both of the emperors and then to you. His eyes meet yours briefly before he spins on his heel and marches out of the room. Eager to get away from the emperor before he does something to make him suspicious.

**** 

You are in the gardens with Ceres when you see Marcus walking through the vegetables you’ve been growing since you arrived at the palace. It calms you and allows you to think about anything other than your fate. Ceres runs around, giggling as she enjoys the fresh air and you freeze when Marcus spots you. His eyes immediately went to Ceres.

His daughter. Marcus watches the young girl, wishing that he could scoop her up, introduce himself to her as her father, but he can’t. He says your name when he finally looks away from her towards you. “It seems you still enjoy the gardens.”

You smile, brushing your dirty hands on your dress as you stand, “it’s peaceful. It feels like home.” You admit, “and I like the escape from the emperors.” You confess, glancing around. “Ceres. Come here.” You call your daughter over and she rushes over, giggling as she plucks a flower. “Ceres.” You pick her up and she looks at you, “this is your father. Your pater.” You say and she looks at Marcus, “pater?” She tilts her head and you brace yourself for Marcus’s response.

Marcus looks around in surprise, but the guards are too far away to hear the conversation. He murmurs your name in caution but you tilt your head. “People believe she is my sister’s daughter.” You remind him and he nods, stepping forward and kneeling down in front of the young girl. “Pater.” He confirms solemnly, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I was away for a long time, but I am home now.”

Ceres grins, excited to meet her father. You’ve always told her about him, told her stories of how brave he is, and she doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “Pater.” She says excitedly and leans back to kiss his cheek.

Marcus holds her tight, closing his eyes so he doesn’t cry at the simple acceptance the baby in his arms provides. He swallows and when he opens his eyes again, he finds you with tears of your own. “How old are you Ceres?” He manages, his voice rough with emotion.

Ceres pulls back to look at him, confused at the question and you chuckle, “she’s two.” You stroke her back as Marcus holds her and you see the emotion in his eyes. “Everyone thinks she is yours. Everyone thinks she was conceived during wedlock. She’s safe and she’s provided for. That’s all I want is for her to have everything I can give her.” You explain, “you can be her father in public.”

“But she calls you her mother?” He asks, wanting to understand the dynamics of your situation. “Yes, but that is because I am all she knows.” You explain and he agrees that it is a good explanation. “Do you- I don’t want to take her from you.” Marcus murmurs softly.

“You won’t. You’re her father. She needs her father in her life.” You say, “no one expects you to stay away. As far as everyone is concerned, she is not a bastard and she is my niece. It’s safer this way.” You assure him with a smile, “I want you to be in her life. In our life.”

“I wish I had married you before I left.” Marcus murmurs quietly, Ceres distracted by the emblem on his cuffs and not paying attention to the adults' conversation. “Your father wanted me to wait until the mourning period was over.”

You scoff, “he wanted you gone. As soon as you left, he was trying to get me in the emperor’s sights. Ceres was more likely to win his affection in my opinion but apparently he prefers women with more curves. Until I found out I was with child and my father sent me away.” You confess, “he never planned to allow me to marry you. He spoke with his contacts to ensure you were sent to war.”

Marcus hisses in anger, knowing now why other men had been rotated home and he never got the chance until he had been promoted to general. “I am sorry.” He murmurs softly. “I would-“ he bites his lip, knowing such comments are treasonous. “I wish things were different.” He admits softly. “If anything, I wish you were happy with your life.”

You swallow harshly, feeling the tears sting in your eyes, “we didn’t - we weren’t meant to be. If Ceres has an incredible life, then I’ll be happy.” You confess, “it’s all for her.” You smile at your daughter.

Ceres has ended up curled against his chest when she loses interest in playing with his clothes. Smiling back at her mama and slowly starting to close her eyes. Apparently Marcus is comfortable and she feels safe enough to go to sleep. “Would you marry him if you had any other choice?” He asks quietly, glancing around.

You glance around and look back at him, “I don’t want to marry him. I wouldn’t if I had another choice but I need to protect Ceres and I have no funds. If I didn’t marry him, I’d have nothing and my father will not help provide for Ceres. I’d have no home. No coin. I’d be all alone.” You confess, “and that scares me.”

“You wouldn’t be alone.” Marcus promises immediately. “She is my daughter and she will have everything I possess.” He licks his lips and looks at you softly. “Just like you will. I - I will care for you and provide for you if you choose not to marry him.”

Tears escape your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, “I have no choice. You know he’d rather kill me than let me go. No one says no to the emperor.” You whisper, “I still love you, Marcus. I never stopped. I’d marry you this second if I could.”

Marcus sighs softly and nods. “I know. If it were possible, I would say that we leave.” He wishes that the fates were different, but they aren’t. “Has Geta-“ he breaks off, unsure if he wants to know.

You shake your head, “no. No. He wants - he wants everyone to believe that I’m pure so there’s no question about his heir. Even if it were in private. Thank the gods.” You sigh, “and Ceres is well cared for.” You add, knowing that there’s nothing you can do. You’re resigned to your fate and tortured by the man you love standing in front of you.

Marcus feels guilty and he wraps his arms around his daughter. “I will always love you.” He promises, “I never stopped in all the time we have spent apart.”

Your heart breaks and you nod, “we were never meant to be.” You smile sadly as the guards approach and Marcus keeps his hold on Ceres. They say your name and you stand a little straighter, “the emperor is requesting your presence. Without the child.” He adds and you frown, “I will need to return her to her room then I will join the emperor.” You say and they nod, walking off. You sigh and look to Marcus, “Ceres, say goodbye to your father. We must go.” You order and she pouts, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Bye bye.” She says and you take her hand after Marcus releases her with a “bye, puella.” He smiles and you guide her through the gardens, looking over your shoulder at him as he stands there watching you leave

Marcus sighs as you walk out of sight. He still has not been able to leave the palace, but he has sent word to his father. Wanting the estate to be prepared for his arrival after so long away from home. The elder man had not sent any message back, so he was uncertain if it had even arrived.

**** 

You stumble down the hall, your robes ripped and blood dripping from your nose as you blindly reach for the door that leads to the rooms where Marcus is staying. It’s been two weeks since he arrived and he’s spent a lot of time in the gardens with Cere, bonding with her, and you’ve allowed him the time. You’re confused about why he’s still here when the emperors want to send him out for more conquests but he’s here and you want him to enjoy his time with his daughter. Geta had called you to his rooms and you’d been curious. He’s kept himself busy with his whores and orgies and you have been happy that he hasn’t approached you even though your wedding day is quickly approaching. You bang on the door of Marcus’s room, your head fuzzy, and you feel sick.

Marcus frowns when he hears the frantic banging on the door, moving over from where Ceres is napping to fling it open. His eyes widen and he lunges forward to catch you before you collapse in a heap in front of his door. Exclaiming your name, he glances down the hall and listens for any sign of attack. “What happened?” He demands, pulling you inside and barring the door just in case there is some kind of uprising. The city has been uneasy and there has been a growing discontent amongst the people due to Geta and Caracalla’s endless spending on the war machine of Rome.

You cling to him, shaking in his arms, “Geta. He- oh gods, Marcus. He wanted me to- I said no and he-” Marcus holds you, “breathe. You need to breathe for me.” He demands and you inhale shakily. “Geta wanted to fuck me before the wedding and I couldn’t - I said no so he - he grabbed me and I fought. He hit me and slapped me and called me - called me a whore. Said he couldn’t - that I gave it up for you but not the emperor. I thought he was going to kill me but I managed to get away.” You rush out, your lungs stinging with the need to breathe.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses and shakes his head in anger. “I’ll kill him.” He growls but you grab his arm. “Don’t- you will be killed.” You gasp, and he knows you are right, he would be struck down by Geta’s personal guard. “We will leave.” Marcus tells you instead, grabbing a cloth from the table to wet with water from the pitcher he had for Ceres. He wipes the blood off your face gently. “Now. We will take our daughter and leave Rome right now.”

You have to get away. Geta has hit you more times than you’d care to admit to Marcus and you couldn’t survive a marriage to him. Especially if he could go as far as to try and force himself on you. You are exhausted from fighting but you know you don’t have a lot of time. “We need to leave as soon as it’s dark. They will come for me again. He will want to apologize. That’s what he’s done before.” You confess and Marcus growls, “he’s tried to-?” You cut him off, “not - he just hit me when I did something wrong or I put Ceres before his needs.” You confess, “we need to go. Tonight.”

Marcus grits his teeth together, trying hard to keep from squeezing your arms in his own fit of anger. “Can you pack anything or would you rather leave it all behind?” He asks and you shake your head. “I could not get anything out of the palace without someone seeing.” Marcus rocks his jaw. “I will order a carriage to take my belongings to the villa tonight.” He decides. “You and Ceres will hide in the trunks. Dress her in multiple layers, yourself too.” He explains. “Only what you can wear on your body. My trunks will be handled with care by the men.”

You nod, knowing you need to take Ceres away from this place. All the coins in the world cannot make you stay in this place with the monsters who lead the empire. You can't help yourself as you surge forward to press your lips to Marcus's, adrenaline rushing through you.

He worries that you will hurt yourself, your face sore from Geta’s attack. “Amor.” He pulls back and searches your beautiful, swollen face. “We don’t have to do anything, I will get you away from here.” He promises.

You nod, feeling rejected but later when you think about it, you’ll appreciate his clear mind when you were all over the place. “I know. I- I love you.” You caress his cheek and look over at Ceres. “She looks so much like you when she sleeps.” You smile, wincing at the way your face aches.

“Have some wine.” Marcus urges, guiding you over to a chair and then rushing over to pour you a cup. “I love you, sweetheart. I will make sure that you escape this place.” He promises as he brings the cup to you. “You and our daughter. We can go to my villa and then I will make plans for us to leave Rome

You take the wine and down it, hands shaking and you know you can't take anymore from Geta. You look at Marcus after glancing at Ceres. "Get us out of here." You demand and he nods, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You grip his forearm and lean against him, breathing him in.

He doesn't want to leave you, but he has to make arrangements. He needs to speak to the few officers that he trusts. Making plans to make sure that you get out of the city to his villa safely. Once you are there, he will still have to move quickly, but he will leave Rome behind with you and Ceres. Making a life together after so much time apart.

**** 

You wait for the knock at your door, Marcus told you the plan after you’d left his rooms with Ceres in your arms. It’s dark and you wrap the cloak around you and Ceres as you gather what you can carry on you and make your way to the door. A man stands there and you narrow your eyes at him, “he said the word was ‘lilies’ .” You nod, knowing that Marcus used your favorite flower as a code word, and you follow the man through the halls and out into the shadowed alleys of the palace.

Octavius is nervous as he guides you out of a side courtyard door that is suspiciously unguarded. His faith in his general is unwavering, but he knows that you are Geta’s intended empress. The door swings open silently to reveal the wagon loaded down with trunks on the other side of the thick wall. “Hurry.” He moves to the back and opens the largest truck to reveal that it is empty besides a thick fur for comfort.

You eye the trunk, nervous but you need to do this to save yourself and save Ceres. You get into the trunk and reach for Ceres. The guard places Ceres in the trunk and closes the lid. “Mama.” She whimpers and you stroke her hair, “it’s okay, my darling.” You coo, kissing her hair.

Every soldier loyal to him surrounds the wagon. Marcus himself is cloaked so he will not be recognized by the guards as they start to slowly travel down the narrow alleyway, away from the palace. His hand grips his sword under his cloak, ready to pull it from the sheath if one of the centuries moves wrong.

You are anxious, heart pounding as the wagon rolls you and Ceres from the palace. The noises make your stomach twist and you’re so nervous to escape. You trust Marcus but you don’t trust the palace, the guards. “It’s okay.” You murmur to Ceres, “it’s okay.”

It takes nearly two hours to slowly travel to his villa and Marcus frowns when he sees the overgrown tangle of vines and dead vegetation. It looks like the home has been abandoned since he had left to go to war. "Damnit." He hisses when the wagon pulls to a stop and he hops down. "Clear the house, find wood for a fire." he instructs his men before he strides to the back of the wagon and starts to open the trunk.

You look up, blinking at the brightness of the lanterns, and you inhale deeply, praying you’re safe. “It’s okay.” Marcus promises and you shake Ceres, waking her up. “Wake up, amor. We are home.” You murmur, rubbing her back as she wakes up and looks up at Marcus. “Pater.” She mutters, reaching for him.

Reaching down into the trunk, he easily lifts her out and then sets her against his shoulder. "Let's get mama out." He murmurs, offering you his hand as you sit up. "The villa is abandoned." He tells you quietly. "We might be safe here for a day or so, but I will need to find us a ship leaving port tomorrow."

You get out of the trunk, hand shaking in fear that the emperors have found you. “They will know I am gone by now.” You choke out, “we must leave as soon as possible. Ceres needs to be safe. You know they will kill her.” You tell him, aware of how insane they are. “We must protect her.” You reach out to caress the cheek of your daughter.

“We will stay tonight and then leave tomorrow.”‘Marcus promises, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “The men are gathering wood for a fire and we will make sure you two have a warm bed.”

You caress his chest, leaning into him and breathing him in. You feel safe for now and it doesn’t take long for you to settle Ceres in bed by the fire. You stroke her cheek as she sleeps, watching over her, and you look up when Marcus walks into the room. “My men are stationed at the entrances and I have someone watching the horizon for any intruders.” He says and you nod, looking back down at Ceres. “All this effort for me.” You sigh, “she would’ve been protected by the emperor and I- I would’ve been fed to the dogs after I gave him what he wanted.”

“You don’t know she would have been protected.” Marcus shakes his head. “Geta is spoiled and vicious, a dangerous combination.” He throws some more wood on the fire. “I would risk all of Rome for you, our daughter.” He tells you. “I would fight to the death in the colosseum for you.”

You shake your head, “hopefully it doesn’t come to that.” Your heart clenches at the thought of Marcus fighting for his life because of you. You stand up, leaving Ceres to sleep and you cover her up. “You need to rest.” You tell Marcus, noticing how exhausted he looks.

“You should sleep too.” Marcus comments, knowing he won’t sleep well tonight. He will be up and down, checking in with the guards. “Come.” He offers you his hand. “Come to the gardens with me.”

You take his hand, letting him guide you to the gardens and you squeeze his hand when you are surrounded by the walls of the courtyard. “My poor plants.” You sigh, “and vegetables. I worked so hard on that garden.”

“I know.” He murmurs, rubbing your arm. “Wherever we settle, I will make sure that you have a garden you can enjoy.” He promises. “The entire courtyard will be for your enjoyment.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around him and you tilt your head towards his, “thank you. For everything. You saved us and I- I love you so much.” You lean closer to kiss his jaw, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Marcus promises. “I prayed for you every day.” He doesn’t tell you how disappointed he was when he never heard anything from you; but he knows why now.

“And I you.” You promise, cupping his cheek, bringing his dark gaze to you. “I love you, Marcus. I always have. Since that moment you helped Ceres.” You tell him and his eyes soften, “I wanted it to be you. From the start.” You sigh and nod, leaning in to press your lips to his, “we will have each other. No matter what it takes.” You whisper against his lips until you tilt your mouth to deepen the kiss.

This time Marcus doesn’t pull back from you. He opens up, allowing you to take charge of the kiss, to control what happens now. So much of your life has been dictated and he wants you to feel like you are in control. Groaning into your mouth when you slide your tongue against his.

You slide your hands around to grip his neck, pulling him even closer and you moan as you slide your tongue into his mouth, loving how he surrenders control to you.

Marcus closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss and his hands slide down to your ass and he palms it gently. He loves your body, always has and even though you have been apart for so long, he wants you.

You moan into his mouth, feeling him harden against your hip and you slide your hands down to caress his chest, “I want you, amor. I need you.” You pant against his jaw, pressing a kiss to the stubble that’s formed there. “Please take me. I’m yours.”

"Here?" Marcus asks, but you are reaching down and squeezing his cock through his tunic and he groans into your neck as he presses his face into your pulse, inhaling your sweet scent. You would love having sex in the gardens, as much as you loved spending time here. "The wall," he growls, moving you towards it. The short wall would be perfect to prop you up against and make you cum.

You let him walk you backwards and when he grabs your thighs, he lifts you up onto the short wall. You’re already wet for him and you reach for the hem of his tunic, pulling it up so you can wrap your fingers around his hard length. “Marcus please.” You beg, needing him.

He knows you have not had any man but him between your thighs and he groans when you start to pump his cock. “Uxor.” He moans, knowing that while it might not be official in any legal capacity, you have always been his wife in his heart. From the very beginning. “I’ll give you what you need.” He promises. “Do you want me to fill you?” He asks softly.

You whine, “yes. Want to feel all of you. I don’t care.” You tell him with a moan as he shuffles closer. “Please, Maritus.” You demand and spread your legs wider for him. He hisses when he shuffles closer to slide the head of his cock through your folds.

He should work you open on his fingers, but he’s too eager for you to care. Gripping your hip as he starts to slowly push into you. “Fuck.” He pants your name, pressing his lips against yours as he breaks you open. He knows his soldiers won’t disturb him unless it’s important, so he can take his time with you.

You whimper, letting him work you open with each rock of his hips and you are moaning his name, pressing your lips to his chin as he takes his time, making you pant as he stretches you out for only the second time ever.

One he is fully buried inside you, he closes his eyes. “I love you.” Moaning softly, he tries his hardest to hold still while you get used to him, your walls fluttering around him so beautifully. “Fuck.”

You caress his shoulders over his tunic, admiring the way he looks in the moonlight as he starts to move inside you. “That’s it, Maritus. Take me. I’m yours.” You promise again, wrapping your legs around him.

He loves that you are calling him your husband, holding onto your hips as he sets a pace that is slow and steady. Taking his time to fill you and then pull back. Wanting to feel everything as he reacquaints himself with the way you feel around his cock.

Your head lulls back and he leans forward to kiss along your neck. “I love you.” You promise breathlessly, “I always have. Always.” You vow and he bites down on your chin, wanting to claim you completely and you gasp, walls fluttering around his cock.

Marcus growls out your name, feeling possessive over you. You’ve had his child, you’ve given him your innocence. You are his. He’s not leaving you or letting you go this time. He will fight to the death for you and Ceres.

You are breathless as he rocks into you, making you gasp his name, and you cling to him. The wall digs into your flesh but you don’t care. You want him to ruin you, to take what's his and he does. He rocks into you, hard but slow, and you whimper his name again. “Gods, that feels - right there.” You choke, clenching around him.

“Right there?” He huffs, smirking at the awe on your moon lit face. He rolls his hips again, wanting you to come apart for him. “Thought about you for three fucking years.” He confesses. “Imagined coming back to you every day, finding you in my tent.”

“I wish I was there. I would’ve made sure you had something to fight for. To make you feel good.” You promise with a gasp when he starts to thrust into you a little harder. “I would’ve been yours every single night.” You vow, “I am now. Yours. Completely. Always.”

“You are mine.” He grunts. “You, our daughter. You are going to be beside me for the rest of our lives.” He grits his teeth and lifts your legs onto his hips as he fucks into you.

You moan his name as he rocks into you, getting you closer and closer to your peak. “Yes. Gods, Marcus. I- fuck. I am going to- I need - your fingers. Please.” You beg, moaning and your thighs shaking but you need more to send you over the edge.

Marcus hisses at how close you are, releasing one of your thighs. Snaking his hand down between your bodies and pressing his thumb against your bundle of nerves. Pressing his lips to yours to absorb your moan as he starts to rub. “Cum for me, uxor.”

You can’t deny him even if you tried. You clamp down on his cock within seconds and cry out his name. You soak him and your chest heaves, finally returned with the man you love. You caress his chest, “fill me up. I don’t care.”

Marcus hisses in pleasure, your words sending him over the edge. He pumps deep twice more before burying his cock. Throbbing inside you as he paints your walls with his seed. He could get you pregnant again, but he doesn’t care, he would love that. Once you are safe, he wants more kids with you, and wants to be present for your time carrying them.

You moan his name, loving the way he fills you up without care and you know he will keep you and Ceres safe. No matter what. “I love you.” You pant and caress his chest over his tunic, “we will be safe tomorrow.” You promise despite not knowing what tomorrow holds. You spend several moments kissing and caressing while he softens inside you until he pulls out and tells you you need to rest. “Rest with me.” You order, noticing the darkness under his eyes.

“After a check in with my men.” He promises. He knows he will wake every hour to check in, but he will give you what you want and lay down with you. “Love you.”

You smile, caressing his cheek and he takes your hand to press a soft kiss to your palm. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep with him wrapped around you and he strokes your side as he watches you until he pulls himself away to speak with his men. Tomorrow, you’ll escape from the clutches of the emperors.

**** 

Marcus woke several times during the night but after the guards had traded off, he had stayed asleep. He had given strict orders to wake him if something happened, but he had curled around you until just before the sun broke the sky and one his men rushed into the villa. “General! We have a rider approaching!”

Marcus is swift to get out of bed, grabbing his chest plate and sword after tying his sandals to see what the rider has to say. It’s likely an order of execution from the emperors for everyone here. You gasp, waking up and you rush to get Ceres, wanting to protect her while you hear the news from the rider.

Coming out to the gates, Marcus frowns when he sees a lone rider, a dispatch messenger. His only job is to ride to the prominent villas with important news, although only one other man in Rome had known he was going to be here. The man he had left behind to send word about the order to execute Marcus for kidnapping the future empress. He must have been sent here by Octavious after he had parted ways once you were in the trunk. “News!” The messenger cries before he even pulls his horse to a stop. “Emperor’s Geta and Caracalla have been killed!”

You are holding a moaning Ceres, angry at being woken up, when you hear the news. Your eyes widen as you look over at Marcus. You don’t respond, too in shock, and you shake your head. “They are dead. The senate - they heard you had escaped and quickly moved to form a coup. They stabbed the emperors when they gathered to discuss your execution.” The messenger declares and Marcus frowns, “and where is your proof?” He asks and the man holds out a coin. It’s covered in blood but you know it. Geta had it on a string around his neck. A charm his father gave him when he was a boy. “He’s dead.” You choke in relief, “we are free.”

Marcus nods, turning and crushing you against him. “I will have to return to Rome.” He tells you quietly. “Stay with my men.” He still doesn’t trust it not to be some kind of trap; but he doesn’t want to worry you. “I will be back tonight.” He promises.

You cling to him, “Marcus. What if it’s a trap?” You ask, knowing that the emperors are evil and you wouldn’t put anything past them. “I know, but I have to make sure. We need to know for certain.” He says and you cup his cheek, “come back to us.” You demand, pressing your lips to his.

“I will.” Marcus presses his lips to yours again and again. “You are my uxor.” He tells you quietly before he looks to the men who follow him, gathered around him silently without you noticing. “Protect the general’s family with your lives.” He orders them.

Ceres reaches for her father and he pulls her close for a second, kissing her cheek. “Be good, my girl.” He murmurs and she pouts, “pater.” She wants him to stay but you know he has to go. He will never settle without knowing for certain that you are safe. “It’s okay, amor.” You murmur to her, “pater will be home soon.”

“Help her restore the villa.” He instructs his men, hanging you a large bag of coins. “I will be back as quickly as I can.” He promises again before stealing one last breathtaking kiss.

You watch him go, your heart clenching in fear that this is a trap and he’s going to be killed. You hug Ceres tight, the bag of coins in your other hand, and you look at his men. “Well, gentleman, let’s get started. We have a lot to do to make this place suitable for the general’s return.”

**** 

Three days later, a rider approaches, the guards tense and gripping their swords as they wait. Until they recognize the general, calling out for the gates to be opened, to greet Marcus as he comes galloping into the courtyard calling for you and Ceres as he jumps off his horse.

You are in the garden with Ceres, showing her how to plant some flowers and you look up when you hear his voice. “Pater!” Ceres shouts and runs towards the gate where Marcus is and you are relieved.

He’s relieved to see his daughter come careening towards him. Bending down to one knee so he can scoop her up with a grunt. “Little one!” He hugs her close and kisses her cheek. “Have you been good?”

Ceres nods, hugging her father tight with her arms wrapped around his neck. You walk over, your heart thumping in relief, and you rush towards him, wrapping your arms around him and Ceres and you press your lips to his.

“I’m home, uxor.” Marcus promises you with a soft smile. “The emperors are dead.” He had made sure of it and stayed for the coming changes to Rome. “You and I are to return to the city to be married. And I have been promised that we will not be sent off to war for at least a year.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him, “we are to be married?” You ask and he nods, “the senate have approved it. I have claimed Ceres. We can be at peace.” He vows and you choke, “finally.”

“Finally.” Marcus smiles at you and leans in to press his lips to yours. “We will be together. And I will make sure that you never have to worry about your future again.”

**** 

You smile at Marcus as you look out across the fields, the baby boy at your breast as you cradle him while Marcus shows Ceres how to plant a seed for vegetables. You’re married and at peace. What you’ve always longed for. Marcus may have rescued your sister that day in the market, but he’s saved your life and you’ll always love him for that.

[mellosdrawings]

I'm feeling like rambling about AI on main, ignore me if it's not your cup of tea.

So a while ago, I did check out those art prompts AI, because when I pester about something, I like to know what I'm rambling about. I like to do a minimum of research and, if possible, try the thing out before making my opinion. For AI art, my opinion was already pretty solid, but I still wanted to check it out.

I found a free prompt stuff online, asked it a super easy prompt, and asked for a handful of different images. Just to see.

The prompt was [character tripping]. Really. Super easy, right? I wanted the thing to have as much liberty as possible.

It's not just that though. I chose this prompt because it is something I did in art school. Our teacher would give us simple prompts, and we would have to draw doodles in 5 minutes or less. Imagine a class of 15 exhausted art students full of caffeine being told to draw someone tripping.

The 15 art students' results? Little boys tripping over tree roots, teenage girls falling while rollskating, business men tripping on their papers and burning themselves with coffee, old ladies cracking a hip, comical falls backwards with a leg up, realistic falls forward with pained expressions, etc etc.

See, our fast doodles weren't any better than AI anatomically speaking. We were missing hands and our faces were distorted and a foot was bigger than another, things that are also common with AI. But the DIVERSITY. I remember being flabbergasted by it. We all had the same prompt, but none of us drew the same thing. I remember drawing the good old banana peel slip from the old comics I read when I was a kid. My best friend drew a kid falling in mud.

We did several prompts like that as training, and I always loved to see what everybody was doing, because it was always so different.

Now, here was the AI result: 5 anime girls in a running position at an angle, making shocked pikachu faces. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. The angle and the running poses were the only things that changed, and even then just slightly.

The AI only did 5 times the same stuff. Art style changed a bit from one to the other, but always the same vibe, always the same composition, and always that godsdamned shocked pikachu face. It was very underwhelming.

I don't care about perfect anatomy and lighting. But I care about creativity. I love seeing things that I would never have thought to do myself. And the AI didn't provide that at all. Coz AI has no creativity whatsoever. If you don't further your prompt to be very specific, it will just reheat the same bland stuff again and again. It's just boring.

I have a lot of grievances about AI. Art theft, environmental blunder, artists being paid even less than they already were (as if people and companies suggesting to pay us in visibility wasn't bad enough). But even on an emotional level there's nothing. Yes, it's great to see one's character/idea brought to life when one cannot draw. But it'll be the blandest stuff ever. That's just a shame.

[daydreamsinrosie]

Competition: Draco Malfoy x HP’s sister! Reader headcanon, Part 1.

Hi everyone, I hope you enjoy this off the wall impulsive thought that I had to write out! Let me know if you would like a part 2 😊.

Themes: Harry is a distant brother, Draco bullying the reader a little, feeling isolated/unwanted, tension!!! (Not sexual).

Being the twin sister of the boy who lived doesn’t live up to the supposed title. In fact it means nothing when you were raised separately and behave simply as strangers towards each other.

Never mind being placed in a different house, finding yourself growing up in the walls of Ravenclaw tower with books and a couple of companions as friends.

However, one way you stand out is your intelligence. Smart is an understatement when you’re regularly competing for the top grades and have your praises sang by Professor McGonnagall, drawing the ire of Hermione and half of Gryffindor House.

“Exceptional. Some of you would be wise to follow Miss Y/N’s lead”. The statement wasn’t enough to hide Snape’s disdain of having to be nice for once, resulting in a small laugh from you and then you getting detention reorganising the potions stores for supposed “immaturity”.

Despite the accolades, you can say you fall under the radar and mainly prefer this. Five years in and you know your place at Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy however, doesn’t.

Draco isn’t sure what kicked in during third year, but all of a sudden you became the subject of his greatest desire and the bane of his existence simultaneously.

Of course, he can’t admit that.

He can’t admit that the flush on your cheeks when you answer questions slightly nervously in class gives him a feeling of pride that he can’t explain.

Or that seeing you dance with a Hufflepuff keeper at the Yule Ball led him to almost throwing his drink on any Slytherin who dared tease him about it.

And he definitely can’t admit that watching you play quidditch as Ravenclaw’s star chaser heats his entire body up and he now struggles to look away from you whenever you were near each other.

So how has he gone about showing any feelings towards you all these years? Bullying, namely.

“Professor Snape! Y/N over here has brother dearest’s penchant for attention seeking, just look at what she’s tried to do with her Sleeping Draught!”

In reality, you had just followed the instructions but had attempted to also brew a remedy to repel any sluggishness from the potion.

“Five points from Ravenclaw for sheer cheek, you should know better than to think fame would work on me.”

Or the countless times he’s jinxed your legs in the hallways to where you simply cannot walk without tripping over yourself or someone else.

Or most painfully, the times he’s used Harry’s obvious disinterest in you as a talking point.

“At least brother Potter knows better than to associate with a teachers pet who eats lunch alone. You’re telling me even the ghosts don’t find you good enough company?”

You can say that you’ve been strong enough to handle most of this, but seeing a look in Harry’s eyes where he’s essentially admitting to agreeing with Malfoy was enough to bring you to tears several times.

Right now it’s the start of fifth year.

Draco’s prefect badge is glossy and reflects brightly on his green robes, and he’s ready to solidify his authority whilst waiting in the prefect’s carriage with Pansy gripping his arm for dear life.

What he doesn’t anticipate is seeing you walk through a few moments later, with a blue and bronze badge mirroring his and a small proud smile on your lips as you sit separately from the other prefects.

Truth is, it’s terrifying to be surrounded by people you know that don’t like you, but fake it till you make it right?

Not so easy to do when you get mainly the same patrolling times to Draco and he ruthlessly persues underclass men.

“Detention to you for liking the Weasley’s, and detention to you because a Hufflepuff staying in the greenhouse past curfew sounds lame.”

“Malfoy, they’re only first years.”

“Want me to give you detention for undermining your authority as prefect, Potter?”

You genuinely didn’t have a response to something so stupid, but sheer embarrassment doesn’t stop you from facing Malfoy directly and simply saying “I dare you.”

And from that evening forward, Draco does what he can to push you into confronting him as often as possible, only to turn the tables and create tension that neither of you can easily rid of.

Some evenings whilst checking classrooms, Draco has you pushed against a table wanting to see you push against him and see a familiar pink blush crawl across your cheeks.

Other evenings it’s flirting with you, only to turn it around and attempt to remind you (and possibly himself) that it means nothing and that he’d rather swallow bubotuber puss than be attracted to you.

And suddenly it’s later in term, post Ravenclaw and Slytherin match in which you contributed to the house’s 100 point lead before the snitch was caught, and now tasked with locating any rogue students switching between common rooms at late-night parties.

Despite assumptions otherwise, Ravenclaw and Slytherin students get along fairly well. Maybe a little too well because Filch and Umbridge seem to have problems with “endless snogging.”

It’s a phrase so daft it gets a laugh out of you and Draco, and suddenly he senses an opportunity.

“I wonder what they would think of the two prefects who also play quidditch snogging in the corridor.”

Thankfully you recognise it as bait.

“If only one of the prefects wasn’t an insufferable toad, that could work.”

“A Toad?”

“Worse than a ferret, I presume.”

And now you’re pushed against a wall with barely any air between you both with a glint in Draco’s eyes and his arms on either side of your head.

You’re not sure if it’s the forced proximity from being so close across this first term, but you recognise just how sharp his jaw has gotten.

And you also recognise how easily he can keep you close to him, his lips only an inch away.

Maybe having someone to snog isn’t such a bad thing really.

“I can promise you, you will regret those words.”

“Really? And how are you supposed to do that, Malfoy.”

Draco doesn’t know it’s the confidence in your voice or the look of determination, but he can’t help himself and before he can argue with himself his lips are on yours.

He’s rough, holding your face in his hands and making sure your lips follow his as you instantly melt.

Time doesn’t exist in the minutes between you two as you both focus on nothing but each other, moving your hands to feel the strength of his arms and wanting nothing more than bringing Draco closer to you.

A second passes and his lips briefly leaves yours, whispering “jump”.

You don’t need to be told twice, and now your legs are wrapped around his waist and his lips meet yours again.

Neither of you want to admit it, but you’re both dreading the moment this is going to end.

[twola]

Two words: messy blowjob.

Teehee, let’s go. 

Also, s/o to @revolversandlace, who mentioned writing a possible 1k+ scene literally describing a blowjob, so obviously, I had to give it a try myself. 😉

Convalescence

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Feelings are realized as you nurse Arthur back to health after his run-in with the O’Driscolls. Actions, however, are a bit limited during his convalescence.

Everything hurts. From the searing pain in his shoulder to the overall ache of his muscles, this definitely ranks as one of the most painful experiences of his life.

Regards sent to Colm O’Driscoll, of course.

He opens his eyes and a shadowed figure slowly comes into focus, a small, feminine frame seated on a stool next to his cot.

It’s you, but your normally tressed hair hangs limply in a ponytail, your eyes bloodshot and puffy, and it was obvious that you’ve been crying as his vision clears up.

“Wh- why are you cryin’ there, sweetheart?” He hoarsely whispers, voice rough from disuse.

You rub at your eyes, but it is mostly in vain as you can’t stem the flow of tears tracking down your cheeks. “When y-you fell off your horse when you came back, I-I thought you were d-dyin’.”  

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Arthur frowns, “Sweet girl, I ain’t worth them tears. Save ‘em for a good man.”

“You - you’re such a fool,” You grit out, teeth clenching, “You - you are a good man. The best of them, Arthur Morgan.”

“C’mon now, darlin’. Stop your lyin’.”

“I’m not lying.” You move to sit on the side of the cot, hovering over him, “Why can’t you see what a good man you are? Why are you so blind to it?”

He remains silent. Silly girl. You haven’t seen what he can do - what he does - to other men. The blood on his hands. You’d be far less likely to be praising him, far less likely to be…

…leaning in closer to him.

A pang sears through Arthur’s chest, sharp as a whip, when he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him.

“You’re by far the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Reckon you haven’t known many men then, little miss.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and in that moment, you lean completely over him and press your lips against his, a move he’s not completely surprised by.

His good arm, unburdened with the wound on his shoulder, winds around your shoulders as you press against his chest gently, still hovering so as not to put too much weight on him.

Arthur allows it all, from the first timid press of your lips on his to the far less timid pressing of your tongue, demanding entry into his mouth. He groans in response as he lets you in, and a mewl works its way up your throat.

It's only then, with you hovering inches above his chest, lips, and tongue working against his own, that he realizes that this is quickly turning into a predicament. Of course, it is, considering the view he’s gotten down the front of your blouse.

Someone, god, hopefully not you, stripped him of his bloody union suit, which probably did need to be burned, but failed to re-dress him. He was nude as the day he was born underneath the blankets, and it became increasingly clear as he felt his blood rushing toward his groin. 

Of all the times to act like a damn teenage boy-

He cannot help the groan that wells up in him as you shift, the curve of your waist at the flare of your hip pressing against his own - pressing against his hardening member.

He internally curses when you slowly pull away. 

But your eyes are lust-blown, a red blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Darl-”

“Let me take care of you.” You say, slowly sitting up and reaching for the edge of the blanket with your small, thin fingers. 

He wants to tell you to stop, that you don’t have to do this, that you don’t have to do anything, that he’s been smitten with you since you rode in half-starved and doe-eyed on the back of Davey’s horse all those months ago. 

But silent he remains as you slowly draw the blanket down his body. Your nose crinkles as your lips turn downwards as inch by inch of his chest is revealed to you - bruises and lash marks and signs of the torture he received at Colm’s hand.

“Oh, Arthur.” You sigh sadly, eyes watering over again.

“ ‘m gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little uglier than usual.” He tries to lighten the mood with self-depreciation, but the deepening of your frown tells him that’s not working. You blink the tears collecting away and continue to pull the blanket downward, revealing his navel and the trail of dark, wiry hair leading downwards.

He sucks in a breath as the collecting fabric brushes against his ramrod-hard cock.

Finally, finally, your hand slowly pulls the blanket over his hips, first over the curls at the bottom of his pelvis, to expose his cock, leaking from the tip and laying heavily over his thigh. 

You look back at him, and he’s wide-eyed, biting his lower lip, looking down at you hovering over his hips. You can see his chest expanding with his breathing, speeding up as he stares at you. 

You lean down and Arthur’s good arm swings over his head to block his vision, because if he sees this, he’s sure to make embarrassing noises loud enough for the whole damn camp to hear.

He feels your small hand wrap around his cock, and he bites his lip not to make a sound as you gently pull it upright.

But he is not able to stifle the noise he makes when his cock is enveloped in something wet and warm - his arm flies upward and he cranes his head to watch you take him into your mouth. An embarrassingly needy whine escapes his mouth, but that’s better than the shout he wants to let out as you suck gently at the head, your tongue pressing against the weeping slit of his cock.

“Jesus Christ.”

You let go of the head of his cock with a pop, and he bucks up slightly, as if to follow your warmth as you look up at him.

“You alright? Need me to stop?” You ask, one hand still wrapped around his length.

“Oh, darlin’, please, please don’t ask me that.” His forearm slides across his eyes again as his other hand.

“So you want me to keep goin’?”

“Jesus fuck, of course.” He replies incredulously, flabbergasted that you could doubt this felt amazing.

You smile for a moment before turning back to his length, enveloping him once again in the velvet warmth of your mouth. His head hits the pillow as he loudly sucks in a breath.

You slowly, deliberately, work your way down his length, bobbing up and down, sucking on his skin gently as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

It feels like years you’re doing this, inch by inch of velvety skin warmed by your wet cavern. 

Finally, you gag slightly as your nose touches the chestnut curls at the base of his cock, saliva dripping down from your lips and slowly running down toward his heavy, full testicles, and he has to actively clench the sides of the cot to stop himself from bucking upward. 

“Oh, oh god, woman.” He mutters as you slide back up, fingers once again grasping the base of his length as you suck in a breath, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, your lips and chin shimmering with your spittle. His cock shines against the oil lamp’s yellowed light, absolutely dripping wet from your mouth.

You lean back down again, but instead of taking his length into your mouth, you run your tongue down its side, all the way down where you nuzzle against the globes at the base of his cock, gently sucking one into your mouth. He whines, whines, this gunslinger, this outlaw, this hardened mountain of muscle beneath you. All being torn apart as you suckle on him.

After several moments, you pull back, and he’s panting, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat developing over his clavicles, and the bandages wrapped tightly across his pectorals and shoulder.

Your thumb presses gently on the underside of his cock, and he closes his eyes and lets out a low, long moan. You smile, rubbing at his hip affectionately.

“Christ alive, woman, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ain’t done yet, Arthur.”

And with that, you resume, leaning down and retaking him, sucking harder than you have before, leaving him squirming beneath you. 

You suck, and bob, you squeeze his balls and rub at his thighs. Lord almighty, he must have died at Colm’s hand - this had to be heaven.

The burning in his gut reaches a fever pitch, and he knows he’s not long to last.

He tries to sit up, but can’t with his shoulder bound, and finds that he just has to make enough noise to tell you to get off of him.

“Darl- darlin’, I’m gonna come- you- you need to move-”

His sentence goes unfinished as you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and slowly, deliberately, slide all the way down, saliva dribbling out of your mouth again as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat.

Arthur’s eyes go as wide as saucers, and he audibly swallows before his head hits the pillow once again. You slide up and down, sucking, tongue working around his length, the gentle suction of your mouth causing him to whimper.

He grunts, hands clenched around the wooden sides of the cot, hips moving despite his attempts not to. He is completely at your mercy - each lick and suck of his cock sends him further down that road of unabashed pleasure.

“Sweet- oh god, oh - fuck - I’m -” Arthur cannot finish his sentence before he trails off into a groan, his hips bucking up as you press down, and he shoots his spend down your throat, you pull back, gagging slightly, and as you sit up, Arthur can barely believe his eyes as he watches a dribble of his white, milky spend drip from the corner of your mouth. Christ, it makes him want to come again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat, and pull the blanket up to Arthur���s chest once again, where he just looks at you, stupefied.

You cock an eyebrow at him as you slide up the side of the cot, sitting next to his chest. “You alright? That wasn-” You frown, “God, I hope that wasn’t bad.”

Arthur’s good hand grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you down, where he presses his mouth to yours desperately, not caring at all that he can taste the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. You draw away after a moment, and Arthur tucks a strand of your hair that escaped its braid behind your ear.

“Woman, you’re the only one takin’ care of me from now on.”

[sexy-sapphic-sorcerer]

1: Magic is a Metaphor < 2: Morgana is a Lesbian < 3: Merlin is Gay < 4: Arthur is Bi

Do you remember when you were bullied in middle school? Because if you're reading this, I think it's fair to assume that you were. And your parents would say to you, 'that boy is just being mean to you because he likes you'. That's what this is.

Arthur is just so repressed. He has really bad daddy issues, and he doesn't know how to express his emotions, and he's really uncomfortable with physical intimacy, especially with other men, especially with Merlin. And this isn't me trying to psychoanalyse away his heterosexuality. It is a very evident part of his character.

And another big part of his character is that he has inherited all of these bigoted ideas about magic from his father that he has to work to overcome. Because, of course, Arthur himself is born of magic, but his dad is so ashamed of it that he hides the true circumstances of his birth from Arthur. Honestly, I don't know exactly how that would fit into this whole metaphor. I do have a half-formed theory that it could be interpreted as an allegory for intersex identity, I know that a lot of people headcanon Arthur as trans, so idk there could be something there. But regardless, it is only through his relationship with Merlin that he is able to overcome this magicphobia, because he realises: how could it be wrong when everything about Merlin is so right. And I just feel like there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

Of course, I have to mention this iconic quote from the audio commentary of the final episode: when the executive producer refers to Arthur taking off his royal seal to give back to Guinevere as passing over "the last vestige of his heterosexu- oh sorry, I mean his marriage." So, they knew exactly what they were doing.

I also thought I would just draw your attention to the fact that at one point Arthur says, "I only care about my men, they're more than friends, more than brothers." Now, I think we can all agree that out of context, that is a very gay thing to say, and yet somehow the context is even gayer, because Arthur is pretending to be talking about the Knights of the Round Table, but he's actually talking about Merlin, how Merlin is the only person he cares about, more than a friend. And then Merlin responds, "I understand. I wish I didn't, but I do." It's barely subtext at that point. This of course, brings me to my final argument:

Arthur risked his life to save Merlin at least eight times. It could be more than that, I genuinely lost count. And you have to keep in mind that Arthur is the King of Camelot and he doesn't have any heirs. It is quite important that he stays alive. And yet anytime that Merlin is in the slightest bit of danger, he will just drop everything to protect him.

And it's really only in those moments where he's faced with the thought of losing Merlin that he shows him genuine emotion. Such as in this scene (which was cut out of 4x02 purely because it was too gay) where Arthur is planning to sacrifice himself to protect Merlin, again, and he gives Merlin his mother's sigil, the only thing he has left of his dead mum and he wants Merlin to have it as something to remember him by. Also, apparently in medieval times giving someone your family crest was basically a marriage proposal, so that's pretty gay.

You know what else is pretty gay? Telepathically communicating with Merlin and then immediately leaving Gwen in the middle of an active war. This is literally the last time that Arthur and Gwen ever see each other. Poor Gwen.

In conclusion, Merlin is the story of gay sorcerers and bisexual knights getting into love triangles. Everyone in this show is queer and you cannot tell me otherwise.

[respectthepetty]

I'm not over it!

Ishida openly stating that he wanted to do something more than just hug Mitsuya, but he didn't want to take advantage of the situation has been replaying in my head all day.

Ishida admitted his family is affectionate, so the fact that he has held himself back from touching Mitsuya, from comforting Mitsuya, from holding Mitsuya for so long until the exact moment he no longer could has been replaying in my head all day.

And it's because Ishida asked Mitsuya if he saw him as an adorable boy or as a man because he needs Mitsuya to see him as a man, so Mitsuya's immediate defense is to reject Ishida by calling him a kid.

Then he brings up Ishida's dating history.

Mitsuya is saying this with a hint of sorrow, but all of this is actually very cruel!

He knows Ishida likes him. Ishida has made that clear. He knows Ishida likes him even in a very physical sense. Ishida just made that clear. So for Mitsuya to immediately tell Ishida he is a "good kid" who he implies is just going through a phase is hurtful, AND HE KEEPS GOING!

Mitsuya offers up solid reasons for them not to go further: society's views on their age difference. Yet Mitsuya does not frame it that way. He starts with "if I had a son like you." He is, once again, establishing Ishida is a child, and even more insulting, he is making Ishida *his* child, which quickly diminishes any other type of relationship existing between them.

Mitsuya isn't just rejecting Ishida, he is pushing him away by drawing a deep line based on Ishida's insecurity. They can never work because Mitsuya is an old man, and Ishida is a child.

The only time Mitsuya's fully looks Ishida in his face throughout this entire scene is when he tells Ishida he cannot come there anymore.

He holds himself for the rest of his delivery as his arms act as a stand-in for Ishida's hug, but they can't replace the warmth that Ishida gives. And Mitsuya's know that.

Mitsuya called Ishida. Mitsuya wanted Ishida to be there. Mitsuya didn't want Ishida to leave. But now faced with Ishida's physical desire for him, Mitsuya lashes out. It doesn't feel that way at first. It comes across that Mitsuya is thinking of Ishida and his future, but Mitsuya is afraid. His desire for Ishida to be in his life scares him. This is Mitsuya's problem.

This whole episode has been about Frito, but it isn't about Frito. Not really.

Mitsuya has stated he was reckless with other men's hearts, and Mitsuya got Frito as a distraction after his heart was broken. As much as his last relationship hurt him, Mitsuya never experienced love until he got Frito. At least not at this level. He stated that he could live happily for the rest of his life in that house with Frito and nothing else.

But, again, this isn't really about Frito. Ishida was a distraction like all the editors and guests who come to Mitsuya's house. He makes them food, and they leave, but somehow, Ishida was different.

And now Mitsuya wants Ishida around. He worries about him. He thinks about him. He needs him. And that is too much for Mitsuya because what would he do if he lost Ishida? If his last breakup was bad even with all the turmoil, imagine how bad this soft and kind love would hurt? If he feels this way now, how would he feel after a few months or even years? What would he do if he lost Ishida after giving him his heart?

So he doesn't. He turns his back to Ishida. He throws subtle insults. He stops it before it starts.

And the camera lingers.

I truly thought Ishida would walk back in because the camera made me believe he would.

But he didn't.

Mitsuya dismissed him, and like a good kid, Ishida did as he was told.

Which is why for the first time in a long time, I need to see a Japanese BL boy run toward his heart. Ishida respects Mitsuya which is why he left, but Ishida also proved Mitsuya right. Ishida will do as he is told. If Ishida's family disapproves, he will do as he is told. If society tells Ishida this isn't right, he will do as he is told. Ishida continued baseball even when he knew he no longer loved it because his family had put so much into his dream. Ishida is a good kid who always thinks of others before he thinks about himself. He even told Mitsuya to go to Paris if that would make him happy when it would have destroyed Ishida.

So it's time for Ishida to be a man and follow his heart. He began this journey by transferring into the sports editor position. He hugged Mitsuya even when Mitsuya told him to stop. And now he needs to run after Mitsuya even though Mitsuya is pushing him away.

Noguchi, climbing through windows and over walls and sneaking through doors, makes sense now.

Shige said Mitsuya was always like this, useless in romance. Mitsuya puts up walls that men have to climb. He closes doors that men have to open. And he shuts off his heart.

So Ishida needs to be a man and stay even when he is told to go instead of an obedient child who leaves.

Ishida needs to keep going even when he is told to give up.

Frito made Mitsuya into the adult he is today by teaching him how to care for others, but Ishida is going to make Mitsuya understand what it means to be cared for.

Ishida will be a great partner because he will be the man who runs home to the guy he loves.

But, first, he has to stop being such a damn good kid.

[irafuwas]

Sebek and Silver - More alike than meets the eye

I know much has been said already on how Silver and Sebek diametrically oppose each other – from their handedness to their hobbies, and from their personalities to their poses in certain cards – but something I feel we also need to focus on is the one unifying point in their story arcs. Namely, their journeys to discover just who they are.

*This post contains light spoilers for cards and story content that have not been released on the EN server yet*

Sebek is infamous for his one-track mind. He dedicates himself to his studies, his extracurricular activities, and his training, all for Malleus’s sake – partly to earn commendation from the men he so respects, and partly to bring honor to his liege’s name. His endeavors are admirable, in that he is diligent, persevering, and earnest, yet rarely does he divulge any of his genuine, private ambitions.

Consider, in fact, that the very reason he sought to enroll at NRC was only to serve as Malleus’s guard, rather than for his own academic aspirations.

Though we’ve yet to learn just why he so fervently worships Malleus, perhaps we can trace this desire for his liege’s recognition back to a broader need to be affirmed of his worth. If you recall his despair at manifesting his magic so late, and how much it bothered him - hurt him, even - when Silver departed for NRC and left him behind, the great extent to which he values magical prowess is clear to see. And if we further consider how he so longs to separate himself from his human heritage – from his magicless heritage, could it be that, even more than the glory of knighthood, he simply yearns to find a part of himself that he – and all those around him – can be proud of, can find worth in?

For what is he without his magic? He, a mere half-blood, born amongst a peoples whose bodies thrum with a power more sacred, more ancient than the air within our lungs and the ground beneath our feet? I feel Sebek is so driven, so severe in his efforts to claim the right to stand by his liege’s side, just so that he one day might finally be able look himself in the mirror and say, “here, here is at least some part of me I don’t have to be ashamed of, that I don’t have to hate.”

And Silver, that sweet boy, how unerring, how remarkable is his selflessness, how his inexhaustible compassion belies the scant 17 years he’s spent awake on this earth! But when one pours out so much of oneself for others as he has done, when all that one does is for the sake of someone else, how often one loses sight of one’s own identity. Indeed, if I were to draw for you a map of the inside of Silver’s heart of hearts, if I were to plot for you his every dream, measure and record every aspect of his being, I scarcely doubt there’d be a single point you couldn’t trace back to his desire to make his father happy.

To that end, consider how we learned in Silver’s latest birthday vignette that Lilia began training him from an incredibly young age – when he had only just become conscious of his surroundings. A child that young cannot make such a monumental decision for himself - the decision must be made for the child. And so, we do not truly know if Silver’s dreams of knighthood are the result of his own personal meditations, or if his father, in his infinite folly, thrust them upon him, burdening the young child with an aspiration that would go on to consume nearly every facet of his life.

With the both of them being so unsure in their own identities, it's why I find it so poignant - and so apropos – that Sebek is the one to rouse Silver from his moments of self-doubt, time and time again. When Silver questioned his capabilities as a leader, when he wished desperately that he could change, that he could be more like his classmates, and when he, in his darkest hour, doubted even the sanctity of his father’s love for him – each and every time it was Sebek who liberated him from his great desolation.

It has to be Sebek - for who better to accompany Silver on his journey towards self discovery than one who must walk down the same path as he? Who better than his best friend, his brother, his reflection – his veritable light in the darkness of his own heart?

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

U.A. High School Field Trip Around Japan: Day 1 Translations

To celebrate My Hero Academia reaching one hundred million copies worldwide, Shonen Jump is releasing special illustrations in the newspapers of Japan's 47 prefectures, calling it "U.A. High School Field Trip Around Japan." It's being rolled out daily across one-week.

The schedule is:

April 4th, Day 1: Hokkaidō & Tōhōku regions

April 5th, Day 2: Kantō region

April 6th, Day 3: Chūbu region

April 7th, Day 4: Kansai region

April 8th, Day 5: Chūgoku & Shikoku regions

April 9th, Day 6: Kyūshū & Okinawa regions

April 10th, Day 7: Nationwide release

You can see the illustrations on their website here, where they are released digitally the day after their newspaper release, so Day 1 and Day 2 are available right now.

The illustrations depict charming scenes between Class 1-A about something related to each prefecture's culture or history, so I thought it would be really fun to translate them and share a little bit about Japan.

Here we go!

Note: As I mentioned, the illustrations are available on the official site, but they are all rather small, which makes them hard to read, so in this post I have included photographs from fans which I used for my translations. Every photo was available publicly on twitter and I have credited the posters, but please be respectful and don't draw undue attention to these fans. If anyone contacts me wishing for their photo to be removed, I will do so.

Hokkaidō Region

Hokkaidō

Photo credit: twitter user URix0307

Iida: "Heroes! Be ambitious!!' Aizawa: "I'm leaving you behind."

Iida is standing in front of the statue of William S. Clark at Hitsujigaoka Observation Hill, a scenic spot in Sapporo. Clark worked with the Japanese government to found Sapporo Agricultural College (now Hokkaidō University) in 1876; he is a very famous figure in the history of the region. The statue is inscribed with a quote attributed to him as he left Japan: "Boys, be ambitious!"

Tōhōku Region

Aomori

Photo credit: twitter user redaotkrsn

Dark Shadow: "Fumikage!! I GOT ONE!!" Tokoyami: "The allure of forbidden fruit which tastes so sweet..." Dark Shadow: "One simply cannot resist!" Asui: "Tokoyami-chan sure likes apples, huh?"

Agriculture is huge in Aomori, and specifically they are famous for their apples, contributing about 60% of Japan's entire apple production. Raw apples, jams, juices, desserts, etc., they are everywhere in Aomori, and fyi, they are all absolutely delicious. The sweetest, richest, freshest apples I've ever had in my life were the ones I had here! Dark Shadow is right, one simply cannot resist!!!

Iwate

Photo credit: twitter user bakkk_17

Todoroki: "I can have as many bowls as I want, right?" Endeavor: "SHOUTOOOOO!!!" Kouda: "Todoroki-kun!! Your dad said he wants to eat with you, too!!" Todoroki: "Check, please."

Todoroki is eating wanko soba, a specialty from Iwate where it's basically an all-you-can-eat. The soba is served in many small bowls, and you slurp them up and immediately get served more. The verb he uses, ikeru, is one people also use for "holding your liquor well," which I personally found hilarious. "Oh yeah, I can hold my noodles."

Miyagi

Photo credit: twitter user Abino_Haru_Maki

Ashido: "Teacher, what's wrong? You keep lollygagging about!" Aizawa: "Kittykittykitty..." Shouji: "Anybody suspicious around? Nothing has come up in my search for enemies." Iida: "We're leaving you behind, teacher."

Miyagi is famous for being home to Tashirojima, the so-called "Cat Island" where cats outnumber people. Iida gets revenge!!

Akita

Photo credit: twitter user kado0730

Hagakure: "Namahage faces are so scary!!" Kaminari: "Looks just like Bakugou, don't it." Bakugou: "THERE'S NO RESEMBLANCE AT ALL, I'LL SEND YOU FLYING!!" Sero: "He's a rotten kid who looks just like a Namahage!"

Namahage are frightening folkloric figures from Akita's New Year's festival. Men wear big demon masks and straw coats and wield a (fake) weapon; they march through the streets or knock on doors to scold misbehaving children, asking if there are any "warui ko," (naughty/rotten/bad kids), which is what Sero calls Bakugou.

Yamagata

Photo credit: twitter user ha_n_a_0

Yaoyorozu: "Oh, tranquility! Penetrating the very rock, a cicada’s voice." Kaminari: "Jirou! How about you put your earphones on that rock?" Jirou: "Are you stupid?"

Yaoyorozu is reciting a famous poem by Basho Matsuo written when he visited the Buddhist temple, Risshaku-ji (also called Yamadera, meaning "mountain temple"). This translation is by Helen Craig McCullough. Risshaku-ji, a National Historic site, is home to a number of beautiful buildings and statues built into the mountainside; temple history claims a lineage back to the 9th century. The trail up to the temple consists of 1,015 steps; I visited in winter, which made it quite the precarious climb!

Fukushima

Photo credit: twitter user kingyo0927

Kirishima: "This right here is what I should be aiming for!!" Aoyama: "A fateful encounter~!" Bakugou: "When I said 'just being able to keep standing through anything makes you crazy strong,' this ain't what I meant!!"

Kirishima is looking at rows of okiagari koboshi, which are traditional papier-mâché dolls popular in Fukushima's western Aizu region. They are weighted so that no matter what you do to them, they pop right back up to standing!

That's all for Day 1! I'm still translating Day 2 and collecting Day 3's as they roll in, so please look forward to those. :D

[tikiki05]

"Fun" (actually fucked up as fuck) fact that someone pointed out to me a while ago: Miles Morales is currently the only Black superhero in a romantic relationship with another Black character in mainstream comics.

How many Black love interests has Peter Parker/Spider-man had? Zero. Steve Rogers/Captain America? Zero. Wolverine? One - Storm from X-men. Tony Stark/Iron-Man? Zero. Marvel/DC has their white characters all mainly date other white people, but almost always has Black characters with non-black love interests.

T'Challa/Black Panther is one Black character who mainly dates Black women. I'm pretty sure the only reason why is because making the king of Wakanda not date Black women would be too suspect. His most well-known and longest relationship was with Storm who he was married to for second, but they're no longer together for some random reason and T'Challa has been single since, so it's literally only Miles/Spider-man and Tiana/Starling left…das it.

It's fucked that even ONE Black couple in a serious relationship is one to many for Ghostflower stans. They want the rare Black girl character being loved up on to be booted out to make way for yet another white one because if there's one thing media doesn't have enough of it's white girl and white women protagonists being centered or fawned over. Sure.

Obviously, interracial relationships are fine. But Marvel/DC definitely seems to have an aversion to portraying Black men and Black women together in love. There were racists who hated Storm and T'Challa together too by the way, I think it might be because a popular superhero Black couple could lead to more undeniably Black popular superhero children, and they do no want that.

So now another "fun" fact, the non-black writer for the comic Spider-man Reign 2, Kaare Andrews, is also the main artist for it. Spider-man Reign 2 is not Miles' main comicbook, his main comicbook is currently written by Cody Ziglar, who is doing a pretty brilliant job writing Miles. The plot for Spider-man Reign 2 is not worth summarizing in detail, it's a very horribly written au focusing on a dystopian world with an old Peter. Miles for some reason, was dragged into this mess as a guest star. In the latest issue, Kaare Andrews made the creative decision to strongly imply visually that Miles and Gwen were in a relationship - Gwen isn't mentioned by name - and had a child together, and then he proceeded to draw that child as *white* as possible. If you're wondering what kind of writer Kaare Andrews is, in the original Spider-man Reign comics that he created and wrote he had M.J. die of cancer by making Peter have radioactive sperm that M.J. was exposed to whenever they had sex. That last sentence is not made up or an exaggeration.

Hooooo boy this is a lot of loaded information, thanks for sending it in!

The conversation of diversity is always so frustrating with people who just don’t want to see it. Like as a white person, are you not bored only seeing white people in your media??? Don’t you want your media to reflect real life??? Which is really really diverse??? Rhetorical question, I know, because as I have said before, racists cannot think critically about the media consume.

It’s such a shame, because it’s not like its ghostflower shippers fault at the lack of diverse romance, all they do is like the ship that the ATSV writers fed to them. Except of course for the overtly racist ghostflower shippers, who throw a hissyfit at the idea of anyone but especially anyone POC being shipped with Miles. You just hate to see it :(

As for the last part, I do think I recall hearing about the radioactive sperm thing before at some point, what is bro on 😭 marvel should let me be a writer fr (i would be so bad at it i can barely write action and villains to save my life, but my characters are so cool and diverse and deep and itd be really really really funny i promise /j /lh /silly)

Sorry I didn’t have quite as much to say on this ask like I typically do, always love hearing thoughts from anons and sharing them with my followers though! Thanks bunches for sending this one in! I hope you have a nice little sweet treat today, whatever you’re most into👍

[castlebyersafterdark]

if Byler was in Titanic, who would be Jack and who would be Rose and how would the sex go?

Ohhhhh my lovely anon, how dare you dangle this in front of me?! The way I adore Titanic and think they would be PERFECT for this AU oh gosh, I cannot write it, I swore to myself I would never indulge this trope in a formal fanfiction. It's so overdone and yet... and yet. They are kind of perfect for it, yeah?

Maybe in the far off future. Near... far... whereeverrrrr you are, you're here in my heart and my wips list goes on and onnnn. Yall cannot do this to me, giving me more on my plate hahaha. NO! Not writing it. Thinking about it a lot though...

Initial thoughts:

Mike is Rose, Will is Jack. Troubled rich kid with a cold family, the weight of an expected life path on his shoulders. Will, the third class passenger with big dreams and modest means. And an artist, of course!

I like a role reversal from the film, where Mike saves Will from a situation somehow. Maybe Mike was still running from a suffocating dinner and he planned on doing something drastic but he found Will cornered somewhere and he shifts his entire plan and saves him from some bullies or creeps, whoever. So that's the meeting, that's how they hit it off. Instant connection.

Paralleling the "you said yes" origins by Mike saying he doesn't want to be alone and asking Will to keep him company after the little rescue. Resounding yes. Hit it off from there.

Mike could have some sort of expectation of being married off to "Jane" if you want to keep that parallel here. But she's not on the ship, she's waiting off in the states.

I like to think they have a more adventurous time together. Mike's parents he's traveling with as more distant, apathetic to his presence, less controlling than the Rose situation, so it's the boys instantly hitting it off as a suddenly inseparable friendship. And whirlwind romance wrapped into that, too. As much adventure packed into a few days on the ship as possible.

Love the idea of Will and Mike breaking into the ship's swimming pool (which the ship totally had) after hours for a sexy little swim together. They go for their thrill seeking, adventure together but that's where they have their first kiss... and a little more 😉

DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR FRENCH BOYS! IMPORTANT!

I think the pool hook-up leads to Mike's rooms, where the modeling/drawing comes into play. Then they sleep together there for their night of passion. Different vibes for Byler than Jack and Rose.

If I wrote this, I'd have them get together a day earlier and not the night of the sinking, to give them one more day full of passion and falling in love. Because I see them hitting it off right away and spending more time together than Jack and Rose. Different classes still, but they're also young men, neither being a betrothed woman needing primped and polished and escorted around to obligations. A defiant Mike wouldn't have his parents chasing him around, they're exasperated by him but otherwise absently preoccupied. How very Wheeler of them. With a bit more freedom, the boys would be able to spend more time together on the ship.

Skipping the tragedy and saying that they make it!! Maybe they sneak onto a lifeboat by pilfering someone's rooms for disguises and crossdress or something. This is so anti the reality of the situation but I'm going for the ridiculous sappy melodrama because I'm a baby who can't commit to angst with them.

And Mike runs away with Will when they reach land. And they travel the states and have a long, happy life together full of adventure, living place to place, humble means but they have each other in happily ever after. Sssshhh let us have this improbability.

[ashesandhackles]

Fic recs

Other Women and of Purer Blood by @saintsenara

Summary: Narcissa is adrift, rattling around Malfoy Manor, when an equally lonely man comes into her lonely life.

Thoughts: I have been wanting a story that contextualises the sexual charge and familiarity we see between Snape and Narcissa in Spinner's End for ages (canon compliant, that is) and this story is a lovely backstory to that. It also captures Snape in transition: Snape still ironing out his northern accent, how his movements are still spider-like. He is in the process of becoming the adult Snape we see in canon: whose speeches are a performance, and how he irons out the awkwardness of his movements in adulthood.

Excerpt:

Snape looks completely wrong in the flowery bower where Dobby has set out tea. His sallow awkwardness seems to repel the summer, even though Narcissa suspects he must be baking in his layers of shabby black robes. 

He doesn’t have the fine manners of the sort of person who normally comes to tea with the Malfoys. He eats quickly, and slurps his tea, and looks at the cakes with the greedy eyes of a boy who isn’t used to treats. Lucius would be disgusted, to have a greasy half-blood at his table spraying crumbs everywhere. She imagines the expression of horrified confusion on his pointy face and giggles.

Snape immediately goes scarlet and puts down his tea-cup.

In Infinite Remorse of Soul by @perverse-idyll

Summary: Albus Dumbledore never makes the same mistake twice. Certainly not in love.

Thoughts: My very first Snumbledore, which is a frightening meditation on the very vast power dynamics between Snape and Dumbledore from the hilltop scene in Deathly Hallows and expanding the very personal reaction Dumbledore had towards the wayward young Death Eater. Perverse Idyll is among the best writers in the fandom, brimming with words and fantastic imagery that just stays with you.

Excerpt:

"My boy," Albus says almost kindly, because kindness is something that mystifies his young servant. Severus' eyes dart upwards, apprehensive, accusing, and Albus can see the darkness inside the boy clawing to reach him. Guilt calling to guilt.

The moment quivers and thins until he judges that Severus has had enough and is about to rebel. A harsh rasp draws his attention. He looks down at the bruised, blackened fingernail scraping across stone.

"My boy," he sighs. "You never fail to disgust me."

The ritual word strikes Severus down. His obstinate body shrinks, wings of hair flapping forward to shut his scowling face from view.

To Build A Home by @mblematic

Summary: 1978-1981: Sirius stumbles on something in the woods, Sirius and Remus stumble into each other, everyone stumbles into the war.

Thoughts: First War hijinks, dysfunctional Wolfstar - I was fed! I cannot rave enough about the gorgeous, subtle writing of relationships (the author really captures this raw, visceral vulnerability between two friends who are attracted to each other and how it explodes in heightened tension of war) and there is some fantastic world building and mirroring. Excerpt: Later, Sirius would remember almost everything from this night with crystal clarity except the sky, which in reality was clouded but in his memory would be open, star-studded, expansive and unknowable as the future. He’d remember, correctly, that the wolf was different than it had been at Hogwarts. He’d remember the restless, brutal, snarling fury, all of it undercut with a fear so intense it had its own meaty weight. The night took Sirius by surprise and he spent the whole long stretch of it trying to put himself back on track, trying to reacquaint himself with the wolf, and trying to convince them both that they remembered each other. At one point he found himself literally between Remus’ jaws, helpless and pliant, mewling like a supplicant. This, too, he would remember for the rest of his life. 

Second Life by Cassandra, nwhiker Summary: What happens when two men are given a second chance.

Thoughts: I finally got around to reading one of the most recommended Snirius fics out there. Beautiful, understated, deeply emotional - the authors take you on a journey with the two of them post war. It also feels....old?? As in, the kind of perspective this fic has is the perspective of someone in late 30s (which both Snape and Sirius are in this fic, post war). There is a fragile, "who else will understand what our generation went through?" running through the vein of this fic.

Excerpt:

It was like walking into a tiny garden in the tropics, and he was reminded of some of the places he'd visited while on the run after his escape from Azkaban. There were hundreds of plants, most of them unfamiliar, and a large table was filled with orchids. There was a tree, which turned out to be a frangipani, its white flowers soft and sweet. A delicate white flower with an exquisite fragrance that Snape said was bouvardia. Along one wall were plants Sirius recognised from Potions classes, wolfsbane and asphodel, wormwood and sopohorous, a shrivelfig tree, and others he'd seen but didn't know the names of.

"I'm not supposed to have them," Snape said.

Sirius turned to him. Snape was staring down an orchid, brushing planting mix from the edge of its pot.

Al Aaraaf by eldritcher

Summary: There is a place between heaven and hell.

Thoughts: An unsettling, poetic horror fic featuring a grieving Walburga Black. The whole fic is structured like a poem, with rhythm and repetition and metaphor shining through.

Excerpt:

He had her face. He had her scowl. He had her loathsome, loathing heart that mourned and loved. Hell dwelled in him, as a warm and heartful thing calved of mother.

The last of earth's make she held was son. His hands were placed in prayerful clasp over her belly.

The lamb in her was of Tartary, born of son fed and killed with milk and honey, birthed of widow's mourning.

"It is all right," Sirius said, and held her to him as if she weren't damned.

Runaway Boys by Delphi

Summary: Severus dreams of pirates, and Lily closes the nursery window. Thoughts: I'm not sure if I have recommended this fic before, but I am recommending it again, just in case. This is a wonderfully strange coming of age, a tale of puberty told in dreams/ fantasies featuring Snape and Captain Hook. Excerpt:

"Severus S—" He cuts himself off and then tentatively amends: "Prince. Severus Prince."

It's a better name, he's decided. His new friends at school know the Princes, but they've never heard of any Snapes.

"That is a fine name, Mr. Prince," the man says. "As for me, I am Captain James Hook."

A large hand extends into the branches, and after a moment, Severus carefully leans down and shakes it.

"Pleased to meet you," Severus says.

"Are those friends of yours?" the captain asks, nodding towards the neighbouring island, where the boys are now riding wild ponies bareback, jousting with each other using lances made of hollow reeds.

Severus shrugs. Of course, he thinks, the man would rather know them.

Note: Please check the pairings and tags in each of these fics and keep in mind your own triggers :)

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Ivy & Stone, Chapter Twelve: An Arrival In The Countryside

pairing: victorian au!javi gutiérrez x oc (Florence Bell)/victorian au!frankie morales x Florence

rating: M (lots and lots of pining and angst, one mild steamy moment but nothing explicit, a whole lotta these three breaking my heart)

wc: 3.2k

series masterlist

“Oh, look, my love!” called Poppy as she stood near the window beside their seats on the ship, her button nose practically pressed up against the glass. “I think that’s the harbor.”

Frankie closed the book in his lap and set it in the seat beside him before standing behind her to look out of the window, the sight of England so close stirring feelings of nostalgia and guilt in his gut.

“You’re quite right,” he said, swallowing down the worry that crept up his throat. Poppy turned to look at him, their bodies so close that one rock of the ship would have them sharing a kiss, and pressed a hand against his chest.

“Are you excited to be home?” she asked in a shaky whisper, her focus clearly on the soft bow of his lips.

“I am,” he answered truthfully. “But I must admit that I am also a bit nervous to see how things have changed, how…how my home has changed.”

“It hasn’t been that long since you’ve gone away, my love,” she smiled, lifting her eyes to meet his. “I am sure everything is just as you left it.”

“I don’t think it could ever be,” he said, though she had little idea as to what he really meant.

“Mr. Morales, do you have a moment?” Mr. Bell stepped over with a glass of whiskey in one of his hands. Poppy stepped away from both of them with a polite nod, choosing to sit beside Anna and her betrothed while the men chatted. Frankie resumed his spot at his seat while Mr. Bell sat in front of him, crossing one leg over the other. “I wanted to speak with you for a moment before our journey concludes.”

“What would you like to speak about?” Frankie asked, his thumbs anxiously brushing over the expensive material of his trousers, a luxury he could only afford thanks to the employment of the man in front of him.

“Well, as you know, I’ve heard all about the situation at the Bell House, and unlike my brother who has little sympathy in regards to matters of the heart, I am a romantic,” he smiled. “And as a romantic, I feel overwhelmed by the thought of you and my niece reuniting only for her to find that you’ve already promised yourself to another, but it isn’t my feelings on the matter that I wish to discuss. No, I’m much more concerned with your feelings.”

Frankie took in a deep breath and flashed his eyes over to Poppy who sat laughing with her hand over her mouth at a crude drawing of Anna’s, her poise and beauty a stark contrast to everyone around her. He found himself wishing that this radiance she exuded was enough to rid him of all thoughts of Florence, but no matter how hard he willed it, he could not stop his thoughts.

“I suppose I’m feeling overwhelmed as well,” Frankie said. “I…have the ability to comprehend that Poppy is the best thing for me, that this life I’m living in America is the most luxurious I’ve ever lived, but deep inside, I still feel like that orphan boy from the countryside who’s sick in love with a woman I can never have. A woman that I’m not even sure thinks of me. And all I do is think of her, day and night. She…has affected everything. If the air is warm, the clouds are gone, the sky is blue, I can almost feel myself in that garden again. I can almost feel her skin beneath my fingertips. It’s…a sickness I cannot shake or treat.”

“And your solution to rid yourself of this sickness, as you call it, is to promise your life away to a woman? A perfectly fine woman that still has time left to find a man who adores her like you do my niece?” he chuckled. “I thought you were a smarter man than that, Mr. Morales.”

“Florence is moving on with her life,” Frankie shrugged. “It’s only fair that I should move on with my own.”

“Ah, that would be true if my niece was indeed moving on as you say, but I have yet to receive an invitation to any ceremony,” he countered. “How many engagements have you known to go on for nearly half a year in these times? I can’t say I’ve ever met a couple who lasted longer than three months before wedding.”

“I believe that she loves him, and that she will marry him,” Frankie said in a hushed voice, as though he could hardly will himself to say it. “And even so, Lord and Lady Bell would never allow it—“

“Not to a poor man,” Mr. Bell smirked. “You’re no longer a poor man.”

“To Lady Elizabeth, I will always be a poor man,” Frankie argued.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Bell weighed his head to the side. “Perhaps her opinion will change once she sees what you’ve made of yourself.”

“Even so—“

“I’ve never seen a man so in love and so afraid of it being reciprocated,” Mr. Bell noted. “Let us imagine for a moment, shall we? If my dear niece were to show up at this wedding and lay eyes on you, would you run to her or from her?”

“I’d hide before she can see me,” he quipped.

“Be serious, now,” Mr. Bell scolded. “What would instinct have you do?”

“I suppose I’d stand still,” he said. “I’d give her the chance to decide whether or not she wanted to acknowledge me.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Frankie shook his head and let out a chuckle. “And then I’d ruin myself over her. A million times over if that’s what she’d ask of me.”

“And then you’d tell her of your engagement? After you’ve allowed her to ruin you?” he asked.

“If I allowed her to ruin me, there would be no engagement,” he said simply, as though there was no room for any other possibility.

“If all it takes is one look, one moment of her acknowledging your existence to leave Miss Poppy, do you really think this engagement will last the rest of the summer?”

Frankie looked at him for a moment, stunned by his question, before shaking his head in puzzlement.

“I do not know,” he said defeatedly. “I hope.”

“I certainly haven’t missed England,” Javi commented, glancing out of the window of the carriage as he sat in front of Florence, Leo at his side coloring. “At least the weather is favorable.”

Florence sighed, her behind aching from the long and bumpy ride that’s taken them a week so far. The only reprieve the trio had was in the evenings when they’d check into their respective rooms at various countryside inns, the watchful eyes of the old innkeepers forcing Javi and Florence from sneaking into each other’s rooms.

“I will go mad if I stay in this carriage another day,” she declared, laying across the padded bench dramatically. “Please tell me this is our last day of travel?”

An empathetic frown grew on Javi’s face as he turned to look at her in all her agony and boredom.

“The footman thinks it’ll take another day at the very least,” he said. “I apologize, mi vida. I wish I could simply snap a finger and have us there at your family estate.”

“Can’t we stay at your home?” she asked.

“I suppose, but—“

“I don’t care to spend a single evening under the same roof as my entire family,” she continued, sitting up.

“Anna will be distracted with her fiancé,” Leo chimed in, a hopeful lilt to his voice. “Please, Flo, stay with us.”

“Leo, it’s not as simple—“

“Is it Mr. Frankie you’re worried about?” he asked, too young to realize the extent of the valley between Florence and Frankie, not to mention the animosity between him and Javi.

“I have no thoughts or opinions on Mr. Morales,” she said full of pride, her arms crossing over her shoulders. “Besides, I doubt very seriously that mother will let him into the home after everything.”

“Well, I cannot wait to see him. I want to ask him about America, about the ship he took, about the ocean, about—“

Javi cleared his throat as jealousy crept up from his chest, pulling Florence’s gaze to his.

“Perhaps we should stop for the evening,” she suggested, reaching her hand across the space between them to touch his knee. “Where are we?”

“If I had to take a guess, I’d say we’re just south of London, but I’m not certain,” he said, resting his hand over hers and lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “I’ll ring for the footman to stop.”

“Thank you, my sweet love,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his.

“My darling!” Lord Bell called as Anna stepped out of the carriage with an uncharacteristic smile, her arms thrown over his shoulders as she welcomed him in for a hug. “How was your journey?”

“It was wonderful, father,” she beamed, letting go of him to turn around and meet her fiancé’s eyes. “I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Andrew York.”

“Hello,” Lord Thomas greeted the young man, holding his hand out for him to shake. “I heard you’re an Ivy League man.”

“I am, indeed,” Andrew smiled. “I graduated just last year and have begun working at my father’s firm.”

“Law?”

“Finance,” he clarified. “Mr. Bell introduced us.”

“Ah, yes, where is my dear younger brother?”

Joseph climbed out of the carriage after Frankie, the two of them helping Poppy out before Joseph made his way over.

“Tommy,” Joseph grinned, tugging his brother in for a tight, albeit rough, embrace. “How’s Lizzie?”

“She’s inside with Benjamin and Maribel,” Lord Thomas replied, his eyes trained on Frankie as he remained by the carriage, clearly on edge being back at the estate. “I wasn’t aware you were bringing…guests.”

“Oh, Mr. Morales? He’s proven to be quite a good friend to me,” Joseph said, pulling away from his brother to give him a warning look. “He’s my guest, Thomas. More than that, he was a fine employee to you and your family.”

“Fine is an interesting word to use,” Thomas chided before looking back at Frankie and Poppy, forcing a smile onto his face. “Mr. Morales, what a pleasure to have you back.”

“Thank you, sir,” Frankie nodded politely.

“And who is this?”

“This is my…fiance,” Frankie managed, the word feeling strange on his tongue now that he was back home. “Poppy Greenier.”

“French?” Thomas asked.

“My grandfather was a frenchman, yes,” she smiled, unaware of the tension. “Though by now, I would say we’re all very American.”

“Charming,” Thomas forced a chuckle. “Well, Mr. Morales, I’m afraid we have quite a full house. Would you mind staying in the cottage?”

“Of course not,” he answered quickly, the thought of being back in his home acting as an anchor in this turbulent sea of tension and nostalgia.

“Very good,” he nodded. “Miss Greenier, I’ll have one of our maids show you to your room. Dinner will be served within the hour.”

“Thank you dearly for your hospitality,” she choked. “Your home is the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You can thank my wife for that,” Thomas laughed sincerely, taken by Poppy’s warmth just like everyone else she came in contact with.

Frankie placed a kiss onto Poppy’s hand and bid her goodbye before making his way through the overgrown and under-watered garden, the sight alone stinging his chest like a stab wound to the heart, to his little cottage that rested on the edge of the property. He sighed at the state of the place he used to call home, the ivy leaves he’d take care to manicure now growing wildly over the dusty window. With a gentle shove to open the creaky, wooden door, Frankie let his eyes close as the familiar smell of wood and linen flooded his nostrils, the scent taking him back to the summer previous when he’d spend every single night reading to Florence after carefully taking her apart, only to do it all again.

A lump grew in his throat as he ran his fingers over the mantle of the fireplace, his fingertips turning black with dust and soot, much like how he imagined the state of his heart would be if he could take it out and hold it in his hands.

All the nights spent here, before and after her, it all came back to him in an instant.

This was his home, this was where he longed to be, this was the life he wanted to live.

America had given him plenty, and any normal man would’ve been satisfied with wealth and freedom and a beautiful, gentle woman on their arm, but Frankie had never considered himself a normal man. He was too gentle, to solemn, too introspective to crave anything but the green around him and that complicated and beautiful woman he once knew.

Sighing again, he slouched down onto the beat up sofa, his elbows on his knees and face in his hands as he thought hard about the last year and the choices he’d made. If only he would’ve pressed harder, he would be with her now. Perhaps not here, but somewhere they could call their own. A tiny cottage in the woods where they could stay up all night talking if they wanted, a garden that they could share without fear of being caught, perhaps even a family of their own that could be raised away from all of the classism and societal pressures that drove Florence away in the first place.

Needing a moment to himself before having to put on a brave face, Frankie got up and crawled into his old bed, the sheets and blanket a little less than clean, but he didn’t mind. If he pressed his nose into the pillow he swore he could smell her rose scented perfume, and when he hugged his blanket to his body, it almost felt like he was holding her. For now, this would have to do. A fantasy would have to get him by, because what else could? Certainly not the people inside the manor an acre away, not even the person he impulsively chose to spend the rest of his life with.

Florence, Leo, and Javi had all gotten settled at their inn for the night in Swanley, their stomachs filled with a potato soup cooked by the wife of the innkeeper. Florence and Leo shared a room while Javi slept by himself, tossing and turning with the thought of Florence and Frankie’s reunion.

Florence couldn’t sleep either, her little brother’s snoring and the large oak tree outside of the inn scraping against the window keeping her from finding any real rest. Turning to her brother in the next bed, she waited a moment before whispering his name to make sure he was fast asleep, and when she was met with no response, she carefully and quietly peeled her blanket back and stood up, creeping towards the door and opening it. With a watchful eye, she looked down the hallway and staircase for any sign of the innkeeper, but it seemed both he and his wife were fast asleep. Tiptoeing across the hall to Javi’s room, she slowly turned the knob and peeked her head in, finding him wide awake, sitting at his desk sketching.

“Javi,” she whispered, watching as his head snapped over in her direction, his eyes widening as she let herself in and walked to where he sat.

“My love,” he whispered back. “What if the innkeeper—“

“No one’s awake,” she assured, lifting her nightgown to sit around her thighs as she threw one leg over his lap, straddling his thighs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Javi’s hands rested on her hips, pulling her closer as she leaned in and kissed his neck.

“I want you,” she whispered, kissing her way up to his lips, her hips rocking against his. “No…I need you, Javi.”

Javi wanted to reciprocate, but his worries kept him from enjoying the moment, and when she reached down between their bodies, she found him soft. Pulling back, she studied his eyes with a furrow in her brow.

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hardly audible. “I want to, but—“

“No,” she nodded and climbed off of him, her eyes fixing on the hardwood beneath her feet as she nervously combed her curls behind her ear. “It was wrong of me to assume—“

“Florence,” Javi said, standing and settling his hands on either side of her face. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to touch you, but…I have too much on my mind.”

“Such as?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet his round, chocolate orbs. Javi shook his head and pursed his lips, unable to voice his fears to her.

“I don’t wish to burden you as well,” he said.

“If I’m to be your wife, aren’t I meant to share the burden?” she asked, her brows lacing together in mild irritation at his constant need to shield her. “Javi, I am a grown woman, I can handle the realities of the world we’re in. Is it your art? Your finances? Your father? I can take some of this weight off you if you let me—“

“It’s not yours to bear,” he said, pulling away from her and walking to the bed to settle into it. “You can stay with me if you’d like, but—“

“If I’d like?” she laughed incredulously, shaking her head at him. “I think I’d rather sleep alone.”

“As you wish,” he managed, though his heart ached with hurt caused by his own internal war.

He watched her as she rolled her eyes and walked out of his room, gently shutting the door behind her. He almost would’ve preferred if she’d slammed it, her gentle resignation stabbing him in the chest. Standing back up, he walked over to the desk, opening his sketchbook to stare at his drawing—Florence’s face sketched in charcoal. He wondered how many pages of his notebook were filled with her likeness, how many hours he’d spent drawing and imagining her. Sometimes he worried that he knew those images better than he knew her as a person, but it was easier to fall in love with a two-dimensional imagining than it was proving to be with the real thing. Those drawings would never leave him, never betray or lie to him, but Florence could. One look at Frankie and she might be lost forever.

Only time could tell.

[burningvelvet]

my thoughts on the tenant of wildfell hall so far (currently halfway through it)

1 Fergus is the prototypical teenage boy - they’ve never changed through time

2 I initially thought that Helen’s big secret was that she was a sex addict or serial adulterer tbh based on her speeches of indulgences, the focus on her being single, her constant guilt and religiosity, her flirtation with the narrator, the rumours surrounding her and Lawrence, etc.

3 (To compare to Pride and Prejudice which I just finished) Helen’s aunt = Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Boarham = Mr. Collins, Arthur = Mr. Wickham, Gilbert = Darcy, Annabella = Lydia

4 Gilbert striking Lawrence and then spending multiple pages contemplating it and trying to rationalize it afterwards LOL

5 The early meetings with Helen and Huntington and the drawings are so passionate — Arthur taking Helen’s hand, addressing her freely, generally swaggering around, “saving” her from the awful dudes, etc. — you can see why she likes him, you can see why he’s attractive, and all of this makes the story so much more appealing rather than if he had just been a total ass from the very beginning. It’s realistic. However, you can see the red flags early on, such as the non-consensual kiss, among other things. I already know what happens due to spoiling it for myself. Still, I absolutely see Huntington’s appeal as well as how Helen has been led toward him by her unhappy prospects (having to reject Mr. Boarham, her aunt’s harshness, her parents not being in the picture, etc.)

6 Arthur is SO Byronic. He’s so fucking entertaining and I know he’s supposed to be a jokester but he’s also hilarious when he’s not even trying. And I’m not laughing at Helen’s expense — of course domestic unhappiness and abuse is no joking matter IRL — but Arthur’s flippance, bitchiness, flamboyance, etc. is just so true to life and brings to mind the meme about men “having the audacity.”

7 I also think that not only is Arthur’s rumoured affair with the married woman probably true, but his sly hint about Annabella the “great flirt” also means they probably had an affair, and I’m sure he’ll have many other affairs exposed later on (I’m pretty sure I read that cheating becomes a major plot point later on). He was definitely cheating on her in London — her being pregnant, his poor excuses, his sad “you don’t love me anymore” mindset, etc.

8 I’m at the point where Arthur he’s just come home from London and he’s sick — I feel like this is not only a reference to his substance abuse but also probably a reference to STDs (if there’s anything I’ve learned from studying old lit, it’s that old lit is full of non-explicitly mentioned STD tropes).

9 I really cannot put enough emphasis on how much I love the use of paintings and drawings in this book! I feel like this would make a great play or film tbh — the physicality of her trying to snatch the drawing from Arthur, and the hidden pictures on the backs, such as the painting earlier on. I want to watch the adaptation series now.

10 Simultaneously wanting to cry and laugh at Helen confessing to her aunt that Huntington has no morals but she still thinks she can fix him. Every single time!!! “His wife shall undo what his mother did!” Ummmm!!!

11 It’s sad to see Milicent’s marital fate. She’s basically what Charlotte was to Elizabeth. The narrator’s adorable best friend who gets into a loveless marriage with the narrator unable to help, subsequently straining their relationship. I left off around Milicent’s engagement letter so I hope the wedding is called off but it probably won’t be. Milicent and Helen’s mutual naivety is really sad to read.

[wr1t3w1tm3]

Chapter One of a PotC Fic?

It's short, sweet, and sets up some things. It's also unedited. I just wanna get a couple reactions before I continue.

Working title is Scourge of Poseidon.

It begins with a dream. Filled to bursting with wonderful colors, swirling skirts and swishing petty coats. He finds himself along a coastal shoreline near midday, a bay below the cliff and a lighthouse atop it. He is close enough to see clearly a bride and groom in the midst of their ceremony, but not so close as to identify their countenance. 

Then suddenly he is sitting ‘round a table, watching on as the groom dances with his mother and the bride dances with her father. The boy’s a spitting image of his mother, with mousy blonde hair tied back against the nape of his neck. The girls’ fine curls are done up in a crown and her father thumps along the cliff, his long, gray hair adorned with a wide brimmed hat topped by a large, garish feather.

And with a crash of thunder, the sky is dark, the wedding guests flee, and up the path from the lighthouse comes Davy Jones. The menacing man with a cephalopod head has his gaze set upon Elizabeth, dressing her for revenge. 

He draws his sword, rushing to intercept the madman before he can reach his family. Henry grabs Carina and drags her with him, towards him. Elizabeth tries to surge past him, but she is unarmed and he forces her back with a stiff arm. 

Then, with a flash of lighting, pain radiates from his chest. Thunder rolls and with it the pain, ripping through his torso. He forces himself to glance at his chest. His sword is embedded in it. Only once he’s fallen to his knee’s does he realize that Elizabeth is screaming his name. Begging him not to leave her. She cradles him against her bosom,so careful of the sword stuck in him like a pin cushion. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot force his mouth to form words. He cannot reassure his wailing wife or blubbering son that everything will (not) be alright. 

Jones laughs, and the laugh morphs with the rain. It comes harder, and the voice grows higher, with a rasp and a deep accent Will wishes he didn’t recognize. 

“A touch… a destiny!”

There’s a bang from the other room, and William Turner shoots up in bed with a startled yelp. 

“Will? Good Heavens, are you alright?” 

His hand is at his heart instinctively. He presses his palm flat against his chest, slowing his panting so he can feel the pulse in his palm. His fingers brush the scar carved to remove the blasted organ in the first place over twenty years ago. Though it’s healed, it will always remain, a reminder of the debt owed his ship. The Flying Dutchman. 

Although, perhaps, it was a debt owed to it’s creator, the blasted goddess Calypso. It was her curse upon Davy Jones that, through a series of highly complex and rather laborious events, saved his life.

The shiver down his spine, whether from his thoughts or the morning chill, snaps him from those thoughts. He stood, and his nightclothes hung loose on his frame. The door to their room opened with a creak (one he reminded himself once more to fix) and his wife, Elizabeth, stepped inside. “Are you alright? You’ve slept awfully late?” 

Will stretches, then yawns, glancing out the window. The sun has risen near fully over the bluff. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Elizabeth’s brow furrows “You didn’t budge when I tried. I figured I’d leave you to it.” His wife, the Pirate King of the Brethren Court, was a marvelous woman. She was beautiful, with hair that darkened as she aged and a strong face and piercing eyes. Piercing eyes that helped her hold the air of a pirate, a frighteningly good one at that. She was Pirate King for a reason, after all. And while that reason had been self serving on the behalf of Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate lord of the Caribbean, she had more than proven her metal, lead men in to battles and won. 

As the poor, unfortunate soul who oft’ cleaned ship in the wake of these battles, he was keenly aware of her prowess with a cutlass and flintlock. 

“Are they awake?” He queries, slipping a black long coat around his shoulders. Elizabeth opened the door, allowing him to peer out on the two youngins around the table. 

“No, no,” a feminine voice scolded, “That’s not how you say it. It’s en vee-no veritas, not vine-o.”

Henry scoffs, a smile crossing his face “It’s not my fault!”

“Wha… of course it is! You were the one who wouldn’t sit still when your mother tried to teach you!”

“Well then, it’s her fault for teaching in such a boring manner.”

“I whole heartedly object to your classification of my teaching abilities!” Elizabeth slips past him, taking his hand and pulling him forward into their quant kitchen. Everything was hand made, done by the finest craftsmen on the seas, tribute to their king and prince. He remembers visibly the first time she actually go to show him this tribute. She’d never been able to do it justice with those tiny pictures in whiskey bottles. 

“Would you have rather your father taught you latin?”

“Seeing as he taught you to sword fight, yes.” Henry ribs, glancing at his father with eyes, glittering with joyous tears. 

Will chuckles, stepping out to join them, but his heart aches near as much as when it’d been run through. He’d longed to teach Henry to fight with a sword, one he’d make the boy of the finest metals and with all the love that filled his heart. Perhaps to match one he’d made for his mother and himself. Instead, he’d been chained to a ghastly ghost ship, his heart cut out to lead these dead men on Fiddler’s Green or the Locker. Not even he knew where they’d go, but after two decades, he’d gotten a knack for guessing. 

“There’s bacon on the stove, and I can make more toast if you’d like,” Carina stood, taking a plate from the head of the table. 

“That would be lovely” Will glances at Elizabeth, smiling brigher than the sun. 

“Carina was up even before me.” She reveals with a shrug. 

“I couldn’t sleep!” The girl calls, setting the plate before Will.

“Thank you, but I can’t imagine why,” he glances at Elizabeth, who smirks. 

“Neither can I… unless the wind against your bedroom window has become bothersome again…”

“Mother! You know well as I you could hardly sleep last night!” Henry scolds. 

Her smile falls into a more intrigued look, her arms crossed. “And as I said, I do wonder why?”

Will smiles “I barely slept on the eve of our wedding”

“The first or the second?”

“Honestly?” Will discards his silverware and leans back in his chair, “both”. 

“Well, ours is on land, for starters,” Carina sets a plate of toast on the table. All four pieces are grabbed up, one per person. Henry draws Carina’s chair back as Elizabeth sits to Will’s left and Henry at the tables foot. “And there’s no government officials present.”

“Yes, they were terrible company” Elizabeth glances at Will, now midbite, who manages a nod and affirmative grunt. 

Carina offers a little humph “And no pirates.” Elizabeth feigns offense, to which Carina quickly adds “Except the respectable ones.” 

“I would hope I’m more than just respectable,” Elizabeth teases, rising to her full height and placing her hands on her hips. She declares with a delighted smile “I am their king after all.”

“And what was all this about not having politicians at our wedding?” Henry goads with a smile. 

Will answers smoothly “The pirate king is neither a politician nor a pirate. She is your mother.” 

Carina glances out the window, then hurriedly clears the table as she declares “Well, look at the time. We’d better get going. Don’t want to be late to our own wedding now, do we?”

“I suppose…” Henry gasps when Carina splashes water from the pail against his back. Giggling, she makes a break for the stairs, and Henry follows close behind with a murmured “get back here!”

Elizabeth chuckles, settling into her seat for just a moment more. She’d really rather wear trousers to the wedding, but of course, there was proper societable company coming, so she must at least present a front of normalcy, just as she’d done in the years of Will’s absence. Of course, there were rumors, a while mill of them. People murmured when she’d first settled in the lighthouse, purchased from what funds she’d salvaged from her father’s accounts and assets left unassailed by Cutler Beckett. And then she’d brought many a strange man to Port Royal, pirates by trade, craftsmen by necessity. They’d furnished her little light house, just in time for her to welcome her little prince, Henry William. The boy, no, man, who was to be wed that day. 

She is roused from her thoughts by the distinct shing of a blade being withdrawn from it’s scabbard. She glances towards the door, where Will stands, his sword glinting in the candle and morning light. 

The sword he’d drawn from it’s rack was the one he had originally crafted for then Commodore Norrington, folded steal, a handle enlain with gold filigree, and a tang near the full length of the blade. It was the same one he turned in with his commission, which Cutler Beckett took and presented the then Admiral. And Davy Jones took the damn thing and used it to run her beloved husband through. And the blasted Jack Sparrow had wrapped her Will’s hand round his broken sword and released it, felling the fowl heart of the devil. 

Pirates, Jack Sparrow, most of all, had stolen so much from her. But what they’d taken, they’d given in equal measure. 

She watches Will, first examine the blade, then running his thumb against it’s edge. It’s a simple test of sharpness. He then replaces the sword in it’s scabbard, and he brings it with him as he retreats to their bedroom. It alarms her, though she’s not quiet sure why, and she follows, calling after him. 

“Yes?”

“Why do you need that?” 

Will sets the sword on their bed, turning to her head on. The years had treated her well. Despite the darkening of her hair and a few wrinkles, she still looks the same as his last landfall. The years have caught up with him now that he is free. His hair is still dark, black in most lights, with crows feet at his eyes and a more or less permanent furrow in his brow. The same as Elizabeth’s. 

“I figure, what, with it being a wedding, some propriety might be in order.” 

He smiles. And when he smiles, there are lines on his cheeks, racing across his dimples. And even if he hates to admit it, there is a gray streak in that mop of hair, kept carefully hidden against his scalp. 

Elizabeth smiles, and those same smile lines are there. Beautiful, just as she is. She dawdles up to him, leaning against his chest. He wraps his arms around her, arms still toned from years on the sea, strong arms that she still longs for. Twenty one years is far to long to be away from the love of your life. Far to long to keep their child holding out hope that his father will return. Far to long to excuse a missed visit because his father had been overtaken by his curse. 

“You’re scared something’s going to happen at the wedding?”

A chill runs through his chest. Of course he is. His dream is still in the forefront of his mind. No, it won’t be Davy Jones, who he’d cast to his own locker (with help from Jack), but it would be someone. He’s sure of it. 

Calypso’s words still ring around his head. “A touch… a touch… a touch!” 

“Will?”

He sighs, opening his eyes. Elizabeth is right there, finally right there. Solid, against his chest. He can hold her, and he sighs, relieved. Even more than a year on. “I’m sure you remember our own wedding.” 

Elizabeth chuckles. “How could I forget?”

“It’s just in case.” He assures. 

“You won’t need it.” She whispers. 

“It’s just in case.” He assures. 

He’s more or less reassuring himself. 

Just in case. 

Just in case.

[azulas-daddy-kink]

Since I've gotten a fair few asks about the Tyzula ship (some of which are still sitting in my inbox) during my time on this site, I have decided to outline my reasons as to why I do not ship or like Azula/Ty Lee, in a similar way to what a mutual of mine has done regarding Zutara (you may or may not know who you are, just wasn't sure if you would be okay with being tagged!).

So here goes....

Reasons I do not ship or like Tyzula from a canon perspective:

There's just nothing there. I'm not seeing anything other than friendship. Never once does either character, or the narrative, even hint at the fact that it could be something more.

It essentially ruins Ty Lee's character arc. The entire point of her arc was learning to stand up for herself, be independent, and prioritize her own happiness. This includes not letting Azula run her life anymore, and tell her what to do.

Azula, in her current state, is not ready for a romantic relationship with ANYBODY. Leastways, certainly not a healthy or functional one.

There is no evidence to suggest that Azula OR Ty Lee is attracted to the same sex. In fact, canon shows us literally the exact opposite. Both express and display romantic interest in boys, granted Azula's interest is more limited.

Ty Lee is literally not even on speaking terms with Azula post-canon. And for that to change, Azula would have to do some serious introspection and growth as a person, and make amends for how she mistreated those close to her. Even then, Ty Lee very well may decide she wants nothing to do with Azula, which is actually perfectly rational.

Reasons I do not ship or like Tyzula from a fanon/fandom perspective:

It's EVERYWHERE. You cannot avoid it, no matter how many tags or blogs you block, and it's annoying.

The majority of Tyzula shippers don't even seem to like Azula or Ty Lee as individual characters, independent of each other. And it shows. All they think about is how they can relate a post, headcanon, or piece of art to their ship.

Tyzula fics and headcanons are laughably OOC, and misrepresent both characters horribly - especially Azula. Look, I understand that we all have to change or add some things to make our respective ships work but there are limits. Personally, I draw the line at Azula repeatedly beating and raping Ty Lee but maybe that's just me.

Tyzula shippers have just been absolutely, unrepentantly nasty to me (and to some mutuals of mine) on a personal level. I have been bullied, harrassed, forced out of fandom spaces, lambasted as a lesbophobic bigot, and told to kill myself for the crime of not liking the ship, preferring to ship Azula with men, and criticizing this behavior on my own blog. That being said, seeing posts or art about this ship literally makes me want to puke, or just flat out makes me angry.

Semi-related to the above point, Tyzula shippers just refuse to stay in their own fucking lane! They go out of their way to make stupid comments on art or posts promoting other ships, and pick fights with people who disagree with them (also anyone who disagrees with them is automatically dismissed as being lesbophobic).

When you ask people in this fandom to explain why they see Azula as a lesbian, they either say something to the effect of """vibes""" or scream at you for oppressing them and hating lesbians.

(If you all have anything else to add, I would love to hear your thoughts!

Unless you're just a salty Tyzula shipper who feels like telling me off or calling me lesbophobic for the 323467th time, don't waste your time because you will be blocked immediately and no one will entertain your stupidity).

[2n2n]

Riffing off of my last post... I want to think about something! Or, introduce a thought....

first off, a magical spell to ward off evil. In your mind spins the image of the Yugi twins kissing peacefully, happy in their futon together... ahhhh! Okay... we resume now.

Perhaps this is obvious to some, but it might not be to others, so why not voice it.

I think valuing the gender of characters is your preference individually, there are preferences I have, too! Tastes, aesthetically, and such. But, to some extent, I think being rigorous and strict about avoiding say, 'male/female' relationships, or hating 'male characters', in the pursuit of loving queerness & loving women for example, can go a little overboard... ooonly in that, narratives are not always representing only what they appear as, and you can't be so sure what other people are representing in abstractions. This post is only for people who might feel sensitive about those abstractions-- if you don't have a care in the world, don't bother reading on...!

Here is an example, from a popular series many love. The Moomin novels are precious to me, I love the expressions of the author, Tove's, relationships and human experiences. Tove largely expresses herself through Moomin, a boy. She expresses her relationships with women AND men through that conduit. Ironically, the relationship between Moomin and Snufkin-- beloved by many!-- represents a 10-year love affair with a man in her life, Atos. While the story of Moomin and Too-ticky, is a representation of her relationship to her later long-term female partner, Tuulikki. I don't see fandom much explore or care about Moomin/Too-ticky, probably because it is M/F. I think that's kind of funny? I'm not here to make a judgement-- I write Snufkin/Moomin-- but, when I think about what people value in Tove VS what narrative they like in fiction, it's interesting that the real-life experiences influencing that fiction doesn't matter.

Meanwhile, a lot of female mangaka represent their traits through male characters. Arakawa connects to Edward Elric, and Yana Toboso projects a lot of herself into Ciel Phantomhive. While it's not stated as outright as all the other examples, I do believe Iro-sensei projects a lot of their personality into Hanako, and Aida-sensei seems to playfully draw Iro-sensei as Hanako, or embellish him with Iro-sensei's IRL habits.

We can look at a story like JSHK, and we can look at it literally as a story about ghosts and humans and such. Or, we can look at it thematically, and see a story about many, many more things we might relate to. Broad concepts of eschewing society's morals, strictures, or values (suchas Tsukasa), or following them to the point of pain (suchas Teru), who gets punished or forgotten and why, how to be happy in a world that doesn't care if you are happy (Hakubo, Sumire).... etc...

Hanako's struggle with Nene-chan, is that he cannot marry her, he cannot grow up with her, and 'has no future' with her. I would describe Hanako as chronically unable to conceptualize commitment for himself. At the start of the manga, this makes him a kind of playboy to Nene-chan-- flirtatious, harassing, but also closed-off. He sees his dynamic with Nene-chan as a temporary, short-term thing... a year of frivolity with a girl, something that can't 'go anywhere'. He can be capricious, but only because of a sense of hopelessness. This relationship cannot "go anywhere".

Much to be said about queer relationships being seen as 'a phase' in many cultures... something you do when young, but grow out of, moving into normative adulthood. I'm not saying that's the INTENTION-- but that you could happily choose to read it however you want, connect to it however you want.

I mean... gay marriage is not sanctioned across Japan... this concept of "a person you can play with a little when you're young, but never truly commit to" is a cultural concept there. It's interesting that when Nene-chan dreams, "I want to get married some day in the real world!", Hanako receives it as a rejection, and no longer plans to attempt to entrap her through bizarre, indirect circumstances.

Hanako can use strange, convoluted systems like making Nene-chan his kannagi, or binding her to him with the mermaid scale, to ensnare them together .... as much as you could uh, start a business with your lover, but perhaps not legally marry them. It's an interesting compromise, or as he says in Picture Perfect, 'I'm only using what I can'.

Picture Perfect is also about creating a fake fantasy world which fictionalizes everything into a saccharine and acceptable, normative fantasy one wherein Hanako is no longer a Mononoke, but the human, Amane. As Mitsuba says, "in this world, she can even marry No. 7!". What does it mean for Nene-chan to reject this sanitized, acceptable rewritten version of their love, & desire the haunting ghost, even with all of the foibles of that? She doesn't claim to hate the fiction, but it isn't the love she remembers.

The concept that kaii simply 'cannot access' certain aspects of society is interesting. This concept that humans engaging with kaii sincerely, are naive, short-sighted, and incapable of thinking of the 'big picture' is, too. It's childish of Nene-chan to chase Hanako, and others who 'know better' or think more 'realistically' chide or laugh at her for it (Akane, Teru, Mitsuba....). Mitsuba finds it funny that Nene-chan is so smitten with a lover she can't have for life. Mitsuba longs to be 'normal'. Hanako wants a 'normal' life for Nene-chan.

Just as well, however Amane or Tsukasa may have felt about each other, they were brothers. There is a limit to the level of closeness they can have. To put it bluntly, they can't get married, either, lol.

Amane/Hanako the entity may not 'have a future' with anyone he loves, as he may not ever have a proper, societally-acceptable love, with anyone. His love might always be something impossible to achieve-- the moon, out of his reach. That's an interesting trait for a main character.

I think it shouldn't be shameful or stupid or reductive to connect to Hanako/Nene, or Akane/Aoi (lifelong 'best friends'), or Sumire/Hakubo (who were hardly seen as people by anyone, their relationship's value anywhere from invisible to repugnant) .... we literally do not know Aida or Iro's relationships, experiences, we don't even know their own identities or personal lives all that deeply....! We don't know where they are writing or drawing from. But in that way, I think it would be doing a disservice to what you can connect to in a narrative, to presume it's only ever what it looks like on the surface.

For a great many authors & artists, we didn't get to know the greater narrative of their life until long after they died, and could reread their works with new context. I don't think people need to die for you to do that, though. If you notice a consistent theme, it might be intentional... or it might not be! You should have fun. You shouldn't worry too much about it IN-TEXT being wlw or mlm lol.... that's, just not how a lot of people choose to write their stories, even if their lived reality is exactly one thing. Even if there's not a deep reason, maybe it feels more fun or more playful to imagine oneself, a lesbian, as a nasty teenage straight boy. Maybe it even feels more 'real' but in a 'lol... tfw' way. Do you feel me on that??? Sometimes... I think things get a little too literal around the web lately in media analysis!!!!! I would love to encourage anyone who needs permission, to get a little less literal. I don't think you need to, imagine Hanako as a woman to make HanaNene appropriately lesbo vibes, or to justify yourself, a lesbo, liking it. You could be a lesbo and Hanako could represent the type of girl you are exactly. There are girls like that. I mean. Tsukasa represents the type of girl I am.... *paws out*

and aouhhhrho aoaaoouou disclaimer anyone can enjoy whatever they like etc etc have fun etc, live your life etc not saying everyone who likes XYZ is insecure or XYZ or should just blah blah or it's wrong to do blah blah write blah, this all isn't relevant to you whatsoever if you're happy and confident in what you like, proud to like it or whatever, this post is only!!!! relevant if you feel ashamed, embarrassed, silly, or dumb for 'seeing something' or relating to something 'not for you' or 'not there'!!! You don't know that it isn't there! You don't have to choose from .... the few same-gender options actually in-text. Or contort the canon around. You can see your own relationships in anything. Because people write their own relationships in a thousand ways.

My husband and I can write ourselves as two girls. As two girls and a boy. As two boys. As a boy and a girl. As two boys and a girl. As a boy and a nongendered thing. We do this obsessively. I wouldn't say any of these narratives are more or less accurate or true to our lives depending upon the genders aligning with our real life human bodies. We can be a thousand things, and we're still 'us'. We recognize 'us' in that which resonates.