#he really is just a delight who gets better and better :')))

[felassan]

Some more DA:TV and related snippets from Sylvia Feketekuty, Part 2. rest of post under a cut due to length and spoilers. [Post One, Post Three]

The dev team really wanted to deliver on Emmrich's romance [source]

Sylvia Feketekuty has now left BioWare so there are likely some things she can't answer now "just because I can't look them up with certainty anymore" [source]

When Emmrich is first introduced, he has a skull helmet. Why does it never ever appear for the next 40-100 hours? "The helmet does indeed look wicked! I believe it actually shows up on his shelf in the Lighthouse eventually. (If I had been a smarter writer I would've asked if we could have it appear again, that one's on me.)" [source]

User: "In another post you mentioned shops in Nevarra City near the Necropolis. How far IS Nevarra City itself is from the Necropolis? Do only senior MWs get to go?" / Sylvia: "I'm reluctant to say what the distance is since I never defined it in game so it's Unknown™. But I imagine they can either walk or take a carriage, depending. Also I never imagined junior MWers are forbidden from going into town or such. It could be they have set hours and times where they're allowed. But got to get all those chores done first..." [source, two]

On the DA:I goat scene ([link]) - "The GOAT! God bless them, that was a delight." [source]

Brian J. Audette, on [this thread] - ""Better late than never" addendum to this thread. I just noticed that Isle of the Gods' writer Sylvia is on here now and I'd be remiss not to tag her in this thread. I can't say enough wonderful things about having worked with Sylvia on this mission." [source] / Sylvia: "Thanks Brian! You tackled an absolutely jam-packed mission with aplomb." [source]

Jo Berry: "Thank you for everything and everything else, on both Veilguard and Inquisition. Sunlight on your road, wherever it goes." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank YOU for all your writing Jo. Seriously, you were a godsend on Veilguard and DAI both." [source]

Trick Weekes: "It's been fantastic working with you, Sylvia, and I know you're going to crush it with whatever you do next. Thank you for finally letting me make you "the person who has to do journals so Trick doesn't" on one of our projects." [source] / Sylvia: "Thank you Trick! I'll miss working with you. It was an honour to finally be given the awesome responsibility of the journal system that still haunts my dreams." [source]

John Epler: "sylvia did you see i told the world Emmrich sleeps standing up like a horse" [source] / Sylvia: "It's days later but: yes. Yes I did." [source]

User: "As someone who also has a truly debilitating fear of death, Emmrich is so special to me. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it represented in such a clear and concise way." / Sylvia: "Thanks, definitely felt that fear myself. I really wanted to express it clearly and was hoping would resonate with others." [source]

User: "Do you have any thoughts or opinions on what nickname Emmrich might have gotten from Varric if he'd ever gotten one?" / Sylvia: "Oh man that's a good question, but ultimately since I didn't write Varric, that must remain a mystery. Nicknames can only be bestowed. ("Bones" like someone suggested below is funny though.)" [source]

User: "If Emmrich's hobby is alchemy/plants, Vorgoth's is art, and Audric's is architecture... what's Myrna's? (Next to Emmrich, she's my favorite Watcher - sorry Vorgoth!)" / Sylvia: "Myrna has a one off line, you may not have heard it yet, where she talks to Vorgoth about getting tickets to the Sword of Drakon.* She enjoys a night out at the theater, whether it's a play or an opera. *(I think that's the play I named, I hope I'm recalling my own line haha.) It's a bit indulgent of me, but I chose Sword of Drakon because it was one of the plays I made up for a series of codices in DAI about Orlesian theater. I had a lot of fun with these and wanted to give them life once more. [link]" [source, two]

User: "During Rook’s disappearance in the prison, how did Emmrich react? Considering their intense romance, did he fall into depression, or did he show a more vulnerable side? Could his fear of death have influenced the situation? In the immortal romance💀, Emmrich promises that nothing will separate them, not in this world or any other. How likely is that? Would he go to great lengths for Rook, even crossing boundaries? Or, at some point, would he accept Rook's death?" / Sylvia: "1) Very strongly! I think it's a bit more interesting if I leave details to your imaginations, but Emmrich feels things deeply and probably had some sleepless nights. 2) So this I can't say much on even though it's a juicy topic. The truth is, I wouldn't even know unless I was actually sitting down to write it. Again, Emmrich feels things very passionately, but this is the kind of scenario where I might want the player's choices to have an effect." [source, two]

User: "Any chance that color scheme [of Emmrich's coat] was based off the corpse flower?" / Sylvia: "I couldn't find anything on the colour scheme and the corpse flower. Afraid this one's a mystery to me." [source]

User: "I'm really curious if there's a Nevarrese language? We have Orlesian, Antivan, Tevene, Qunlat..." / Sylvia: "I wondered that myself, especially given its ancient ties with Tevinter and also Orlais which would certainly have affected the languages of power and influence. Could also have roots with the Planasene. We never talked about one though, as far as I know, so the answer remains...unknown. 💀 (I did introduce tomb-script, the language you see etched into stone in the Necropolis, but I thought of it as more of a specialist's language for occult and magical things specifically.) (If we did define a Nevarran language in some corner of the lore, now I'm going to feel embarrassed, but I don't BELIEVE we did.)" [source, two, three]

User: "I wanted to ask if you have anything you can share about MW grave dowry jewellery - is it the sort of thing they keep on at all times? Also, would Emmrich like jewellery gifts or give them to Rook?" / Sylvia: "I figured it would be something they wear most of the time, or at least in public. You don't want to be without your grave-gold if you pass away! Emmrich would love to get jewellery, especially if it marked a special occasion like his other pieces do! He'd also probably like to gift Rook a piece of grave gold himself, though he knows a non-MW Rook might look at that part askance." [source, two]

User: "Question: how much if anything can you tell us about the circumstances surrounding the emergence of Emmrich's magic and him going to the Mourn Watch? In my mind, his parents' death could certainly be a catalyst for the emergence of mage powers, but I'm so curious why the butcher's boy goes to what seems the equivalent of Nevarran Harvard instead of a regular Circle unless he immediately demonstrated outstanding ability?" / Sylvia: So timeline wise, I think his magic manifested after he was taken in. This part isn't canon, so much as a background thought I had that maybe the spirits of the Necropolis nudged the MW to scoop up this future corpse-whisperer. It seems like a kind of place ripe for that sort of omen. That said, it could've also been a kindhearted Watcher who saw how shattered and alone this young boy was, and thought an upbringing in the Grand Necropolis would be the better place to deal with his grief. It's the kind of thing I want to leave open unless someone goes back one day to fill it out!" [source, two]

User: "what’s the overall Mourn Watch opinion on the whole Weekend at King Markus’s the other Mortalitasi are pulling? I can’t blame Emmrich for not wanting to be involved with that political mess!" / Sylvia: "No clue what you're talking about. King Markus is in the finest of health!!!!! ahahahahaha (To my mind Emmrich's response indicates a tension between the orders, but that they're going along with the polite fiction to avoid a mess. I can't say what the future holds though.)" [source]

User: "Ah, one last note: whoever decided “DA liches are immortal protectors and not always evil?” Chef’s kiss. It’s all I’ve ever wanted!" / Sylvia: "Thanks again! It was in Emmrich's first draft. The other writers and editors gave me good feeback on lichdom and the philosophy behind it especially" [source]

User: "I'm an ICU nurse, and that is imagined to confer a comfort with mortality. Suffice to say Emmrich has been a huge comfort to see." / Sylvia: "Thanks so much. I really wanted him to struggle with it while also engaging with it, because it's something I find hard as well. And I hoped it would find purchase with players." [source]

User: "If you’re willing, can you share a bit about the other orders within the Mortalitasi? Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium?" / Sylvia: I'm afraid I don't have much, sorry. I left the other Mortalitasi orders a big open canvas in case we wanted to invent more some day. (We've mentioned the palace Mortalitasi are separate from the Mourn Watch, so there's one. As you probably caught, Emmrich's not a fan of theirs.) Is there a rivalry with the Tevinter Imperium? I can't really point to anything in the game talking about that, so I hesitate to call it canon. But to my mind it would be very natural and also very funny. So if that ever manifests, I approve." [source, two]

User: "was any of Emmrich's design or personality modeled on British actor David Niven? I think there is resemblance just wondering if that was intentional." / Sylvia: "Oh I love David Niven. But the more direct actor influence for me was Peter Cushing in a few old Hammer Horror films." [source]

User: "just wanted to say thank you for creating the character of Josephine in Inq!! Helped me learn some stuff about myself when I was younger and meant a lot." / Sylvia: "Thank you so much on all counts! I'm glad the lovely Lady Montilyet was there for you (and enormous credit to her actor, Allegra Clark. She absolutely nailed Josephine, straight away.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich: "He mentions he thought he would marry - is that permitted for Mortalitasi when it wasn't for regular Circle mages? Can they now raise their own children?" / Sylvia: Mortalitasi have a lot of power. I imagine the Nevarran Chantry might grant them permission to marry outside the Circle more regularly than in places where mages are given less respect. (Mages can also marry within Circles, so no permission needed in those cases.) The same might be true for mages raising mage-born children in Nevarra, but I say that with less certainty. I think that's a topic I would've wanted to discuss with the rest of the narrative team." [source, two]

User: "is there a particular reason why emmrich is always wearing a glove on one hand?" / Sylvia: "I like to think it's mostly because he works a lot with his hands. The glove seems useful if he has to, say, grip a rough outcrop of rock when traversing the Necropolis, or deal with a bitey corpse." [source]

User, on Emmrich: "On my 1st run I played a trans Rook and romanced him. It felt incredible how he was so accepting of Rook's identity, and in return she could support him as he did a transition of his own as well. Beautiful mirroring!" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much! If those scenes worked, it's thanks to some people at work who kindly gave feedback that helped get the tone right." [source]

User: "I've been wanting to thank you for writing Luck in the Gardens for 4 years. Hollix was the first time I ever saw a non-binary character given a real voice." / Sylvia: "I loved writing Hollix in that story, they were a treat, and I'm glad they meant a lot to you. (And a shout out to a nb friend who gave me some good feedback on the character, I don't think the story would've been as clear without their help.)" [source]

User: "I was curious about Audric from TN, and if he originally was planned to have an appearance in veilguard, and what he's up to now" / Sylvia: "Love Audric, but I never planned to bring him into VG. I'm not AGAINST it, but I didn't want the short stories to feel like required reading for the game, and I liked where his arc ended in DatDM. That said, I dropped in a few references to Audric to let people know he's around and well. And I imagine he's doing what he loves: being a force of order, in the library. (And reading books during the more quiet hours below.)" [source, two]

User: "As a consumer of (and probably future creator of) so called "erotic" fanficfion, I'm wondering how you feel about the fact that fans make it about a character you created?" / Sylvia: "No issues with it whatsoever. We put sex and romance into the game itself, after all. I think people use fan art and fanfiction to extend their time with a story they've grown fond of, or to figure things out. So it feels like a natural extension of that." [source]

User: "Maybe one day my rook will join the mw!" / Sylvia: "Well, the Grand Necropolis is always eager for more company...🪦👻" [source]

User: "did the flame eternal (short story) come first or the flame eternal (quest)? i’ve been wondering if the quest was named after the story or vice versa" / Sylvia: "I wrote the scene first, the short story came after. But I named the quest AFTER the short story had come out, so I'd say the quest is named for the story because I liked the callback." [source]

User: "1.I know John answered already that Emmrich sleeps like a horse but is there really no bed for this man? 2.How would he react to a bouquet made for him?" / Sylvia: "1. Unknown. Perhaps he brings out pillows and a blanket for the slab in his room (after scrubbing it, of course!) Perhaps he goes home to an elaborate silk-covered bed in his Necropolis apartments. Or the horse thing. (TBH: I never decided myself, so I've leaned into impish mystery). 2. Emmrich would be absolutely delighted and flattered by being presented with a flower bouquet." [source, two]

User: "I hope it's okay to pop here but it might interest you to know a lot of us have been headcanoning that he has a secret bedroom behind one of his bookshelves! It seemed to line up with his sensibilities somewhat." / Sylvia: "That would honestly be great. Pull out the right book and snooze time." [source]

User, on the cemetery date: "This makes me feel like Mourn Watchers include the dead in important personal milestones/events and, if so, I love that so much. Like they want to share these events and the joy/love/excitement/etc. with those who have passed (and perhaps linger.)" / Sylvia: "That's absolutely how I thought of it too." [source]

User: "was there any game/book/show/film that inspired the Mourn Watch and Emmrich? When I saw them in the preview content, I got reminded of the Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir and playing through the game cemented those vibes." / Sylvia: "I hadn't read any Locked Tomb when writing Emmrich, I think we must both just have impeccable taste. (I actually tried to stay away from contemporary stuff on necromancy when writing him, out of a superstitious fear I'd be unduly influenced. I do want to talk about influences later though!)" [source]

User, on Josie: "Do you think she’s open to having kids/adopting with the Inquisitor? Lord Ontranto and Yvette are so ahead!" / Sylvia: "I think that falls firmly within the category of what you imagine she and your Inquisitor's romance looks like, which means: absolutely, if that's where you imagine life would take them." [source]

User: "Emmrich, his story & everything surrounding him absolutely played a huge part in helping to lift me up & connecting me with new friends online" / Sylvia: "Thank you! And I'm very glad to hear Emmrich and his fellow Watchers helped you out when you needed it. He'd be pleased to know so himself." [source]

User: "Was it ever considered for him to appear in the game?" / Sylvia: "(short answer is no, but I wanted to let people know Audric's doing well.)" [source]

User: "I enjoyed your short stories in Tevinter Nights. Emmrich mentioned working out in the morning. What does his morning routine look like, and what kind of exercise does he do?" / Sylvia: "Thanks so much! Those stories have a special place in my heart, so that's especially nice to hear. On exercise: He likes a brisk stroll, and does morning stretches, and for something more strenuous, he likes to go swimming. Why? It's a workout where you don't have to worry about sweating. That just seemed to align with his fastidiousness in a funny way to me. (I also imagine exploring the Necropolis keeps him active, climbing all those stairs and crumbling ledges and the outsized walls of hallowed tombs, etc.)" [source, two]

User: "Harding will turn to a MW Rook who's been talking nerdy necro shop with Emmrich, and goes (paraphrasing), "You're so different when you're talking about this stuff than you are when you hang out with us!" and I loved that" / Sylvia: "Yes indeed! And thanks. I really wanted a beat where you realize MW Rook has learned to swap between being a fancy nerd and talking a bit more like "regular" people in Thedas. It seemed like a fun trait for that background." [source]

Sylvia, on how she came to BioWare: "No formal training. The closest to practice I had was running tabletop RPGs for friends, which actually helped me a lot with understanding the different kind of RPG players out there and what people want out of a story. And honestly: I just kept applying, over and over. That was my main virtue. I was rejected the first couple times I applied to BW. And rightly, I think, I wasn't ready and practicing in between really helped me become a stronger writer." [source, two]

Some more on this topic ^ from Sylvia: "To be honest: mostly luck, some perseverance, and then writing skills, in that order. I was rejected at least twice from BW before I got in, and I think they were right to do so. I wasn't ready yet. The third round someone I knew passed on my sample to a writer there, I did two more rounds of samples while taking feedback and revising over the next month. And then I was lucky enough they liked it enough to interview me. I wish I had better advice than perseverance. I think having a small, completed game, even something text based or a mod, isn't bad either. Even if it's short, it shows you finished it. But: my entry was over 15 years ago now, and to be honest I'm not sure what BW's applicant process are anymore. I don't want to be discouraging though. I would say keep applying, and make friends with like minded people who also want to make games, and best of luck." [source, two, three, four]

User: "I've been wondering something about Mourn Watch Rook's background - their bio says they were found as a baby + raised by the MW, and they reference it in-game, but then they also say they were a street kid and left their old life behind to join the MW to Taash. I'm just curious how one - being raised by the MW - lead to the other - street kid era. I just hc'd it as a euphemism for my Rook's party girl phase lol but it did leave me a little confused." / Sylvia: "This is a case of the background changing slightly over time, and me not squaring it in time with dialogue. In my mind: MW IS found by the Mourn Watch, raised by them, and work for them. But MW Rook also had period(s?) growing up where they explored Nevarra city, to explain why they're more. street savvy and worldly than your typical Watchers who never leave the city. I've seen people noting some discrepancies, and in a perfect world I would've caught those lines in time to smooth them out to encompass the whole story. But perhaps your Rook gives slightly different answers to different people for their own, mysterious reasons! (Or, in reality, it's writer error.)" [source, two, three] "Anyhow, I encourage any head canons that help square these discrepancies" [source]

User: "I romanced him on a Rook that I perceived as about 42ish and my running interpretation of the lines acknowledging her being young were either Emmrich not realizing how old she is, a running bit between them, or some cute form of flattery to not remind her of her own age haha" / Sylvia: "That's adorable, I love it" [source]

User: "1. What would Josie's ideal date be? 2. Could adopted kids be heir of the Montilyet estate or would it go to Yvette? 3. What does Josie think of the Crows?" / Sylvia: "1. I think she'd try to structure something, but the Inquisitor taking her away from her strictly scheduled routine to relax would actually be better for her. A picnic in a garden, a stroll around a lake followed by a meal in a quiet little restaurant. Something with a soft evening. 2. I don't think I ever said so in the game, but to my mind Josephine had some nieces and nephews in line to be heir. If she adopted a child and thought they'd be a better candidate, they could absolutely inherit the estate. (And of course, she could bequeath money or personal effects as she liked.) 3. She thinks of them as a necessity in Antiva, and that it's important to appease them. There's probably highly placed Crows she would get along with. But she'd never be comfortable with them. At the end of the day they're contract killers, and she's no lover of violence. (If I actually DID mention who Josephine had lined up to inherit the estate after her, but just forgot, I will ask for mercy because the game came out over 10 years ago.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Would you ever consider making a playlist on spotify of the sort of music you could picture Emmerich listening to? Or perhaps sharing any of the music you listened to while writing Emmrich?" / Sylvia: "I actually have an itunes playlist of what I listened to when writing Emmrich on my old computer. If I dig it out, I'll post a screenshot! (A lot of ambient stuff, probably unsurprisingly)" [source]

User: "I utterly, completely adore the way Josephine was written, she's such a wonderful and complex character. Her history as a bard, her ruthlessness, her kindness and sweet nature and how CUTE her romance is." / Sylvia: "Lady Montilyet herself would be flattered to hear you liked it." [source]

User, on Sylvia's comment about Peter Cushing being a go-to for what Emmrich would be like: "This makes me so unbelievably happy given my love for Peter Cushing 😭 my love for Emmrich was inevitable." / Sylvia: "I want to talk a little more about it later but Cushing was such a wonderful actor. Wish we'd had him around even longer." [source]

User, on death and working in death care: "In the end, it’s always about memory." / Sylvia: "That's so true. We want to be remembered, or to have something that lets people know even a little about who we are. (It's why I'm glad newspapers still print obituaries, you can read about the most amazing lives.)" [source]

User: "I was starting to think the game was reading my mind and tailoring to me once he said his favorite color was lilac, and I was given the option to say darker purple." / Sylvia: "I'm glad you enjoyed Emmrich and his romance. And that the bit about colours worked for you, I was trying to think of what would be something fun there, and purple is one of my favorites too. (Fine taste!)" [source]

User: "“Down Among the Dead Men” is one of my favorite chapters from Tevinter Nights. I loved Audric and I was so happy when Myrna mentioned him in Veilguard! Was there any chance he might’ve appeared in game?" / Sylvia: "basically I didn't plan it, but I wanted to let TN readers know Audric is living well" [source]

User: "If Hezenkoss was also you ALL of that was a sheer stroke of brilliance!" / Sylvia: "Thank you! Hezenkoss was me, so glad you liked her. She was a blast to write. Oh my god, I meant to write Hezenkoss was one of my favorites not "me". (I think I snipped out something and consequentially sound like a maniac in that post above. SORRY. She is not me, I wish I had that kind of confidence.)" [source, two]

User, on behalf of their friend: "Well, spontaneously I'd be interested if she can say any more about Emmrich's past romances. Was there someone really serious among them, or all just fun and casual? I'm also curious how the whole mage training works in Nevarra. Are some trained from the start by the Mourn Watch or does everyone go to the Mortalitasi equivalent of a Circle first?" / Sylvia: "1. I think there was probably a mix of more serious romances and more casual ones over Emmrich's life. The serious ones just never panned out. (Until Rook, if you're romancing him.) 2. I pictured the MW taking in promising members from other circles, but I left their selection criteria vague on purpose, in case we needed to define it later. Of course, there's also exceptions. We've seen they take in some orphans or foundlings (MW Rook and Emmrich, for example) when fate, chance, or pity allows it. (I had an idea spirits might sometimes nudge MWers to take in someone, but that's not in the game, so it remains, I suppose now, my own head canon.)" [source, two, three, four]

User: "Emmrich is every bit the warm and kind academic that I looked up to in my undergrad/postgrad days, and I have taken time in the game just to wander the Grand Necropolis and take everything in." / Sylvia: "My pleasure, and thanks very much for saying so. (Props to all my teammates, it took a lot of people to bring those characters and places to life, and they were all so enthusiastic about our weird gothy corner of Thedas.)" [source]

User, on Emmrich's dream: "One of few cases where writers don't go for "actually immortality is lame" lesson to appease the audience for whom immortality is unattainable. Refreshing to have a character who wants to live forever, can do it, and it isn't treated as a mistake. One of the boldest bits of writing in the game." / Sylvia: "Thanks Mary - that was one of my aims, because so many times in stories, immortality is a fool's errand. I wanted it to have its rules, and its price, but not something disastrous or out of reach." [source]

User: "The MW as a whole was beautifully done and the way they handle life and death was deeply healing and aided tremendously in my own personal journey with grief." / Sylvia: "I'm very glad meeting Emmrich and the Watchers helped even a little, that means a lot to hear." [source]

User: "Amazing work in veilguard and inquisition honestly and the flame eternal was such a fun read! Unless it’s been answered before my query is where do the Mourn watchers live/sleep? Is it a case of they live in the higher parts of the Necropolis or do they live in the city and commute?" / Sylvia: "Flame Eternal was a fun one, hadn't written a story that short before but I enjoyed introducing Johanna and Emmrich's dynamic back in their good old days... As to your question, there's one line of banter between Emmrich and Neve that talks about this (so, very easy to miss.) The Mourn Watchers live and sleep in the upper (safer) levels of the Necropolis." [source, two]

User: "does mortal!Emmrich return to the Necropolis or spend more time in the world first? He plays detective with Neve & camps in Ferelden with Harding feels like he’d want to experience more of the world before returning home." / Sylvia: "Impossible for me to say what the future will hold with certainty, but I think Emmrich's enjoying exploring the world too much to go back to living in the Necropolis full time just yet. He'd certainly want to keep visiting regularly, but there's so much more to see." [source]

Sylvia: "The Watchers have a special place in my heart." [source]

User: "I just wanted to say how much I love Emmrich" / Sylvia: "Thank you very much! I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed getting to know him." [source]

at this point tumblr stopped letting me add to this post !

[meadowlarkx]

8+8+8 Silmarillion Fic Recs 2024!

I was inspired by @sallysavestheday and @polutrope's recs to revisit some of the Silmarillion fandom fics I read and loved in 2024, arranged in lists of 8 long fics, 8 short fics, and 8 bite-size fics that made my year delightful. With plenty of things still on the TBR, I figured I would nonetheless share a few faves!

Fics and summaries under the cut!

Longer fics

Penumbra by @imakemywings (Maedhros/Thingol, M, 18k)

Maedhros presents himself as a diplomatic guest to Doriath, certain he can convince the king to do as Maedhros wishes him to if he only had the chance. It is possible Maedhros is less than prepared for Doriath than he expected.

This is the kind of longer fic that feels so beautifully fleshed out and lived-in to read. Thingol characterization here is INCREDIBLE as is the slow build court romance, political dynamics, and light mentor/mentee. So key to my conception of this amazing ship.

naught green upon the oak series by @welcomingdisaster (Maedhros/Maglor, E, 37k)

Maglor returns from the Bragollach. Or someone returns, anyhow.

I love this Gothic widower Maedhros so much. This CoH-inspired Maedhros/Maglor (in which much is being compartmentalized) is so dreamlike to read. Himring feels like a house in a fairytale, Maglor its lost princess. Also, really sexy.

Mélamar by @buds-of-marjoram (Maedhros/Maglor, E, 40k)

Nelyafinwë doesn't have the sight, yet his dreams are filled with blood, fire and screams. Even in the peace of Valimar.

Please imagine a world where Maedhros foresees the dreadful events and moral spiral of Silm in advance, shares his misgivings with Maglor, and then the tragedy is averted by their close bond and increasingly public D/s relationship as Maedhros takes the reins of politics in Valinor to arrange the pieces on the board differently than in canon. This lavish, sexy fic brings me SO much joy.

What Blooms on Ard-Galen in the Springtime by @jouissants (Maedhros/Maglor, E, 8k)

The grasses and flowers sleep beneath a blanket of white feet thick. When spring comes and Maglor walks among them again, all will be different.

I could not resist the chance to rec Maglor lady-lord of Himring of my heart. This accidental pregnancy AU is so gorgeous and tender. Maglor doubting Maedhros' valuing of him and then it being so plainly affirmed and reaffirmed heals me. Please also read jouissants' absolutely epic postcanon Strange Currencies, which I can't say enough about!!

The Worst Are Full of Passionate Intensity by steadfastalysanne2022 / @last-capy-hupping (Thuringwethil/Ungoliant, E, 7k)

In which Ungoliant comes to Middle Earth, nearly slays Morgoth, and recruits a new servant within a week.

This is so incredibly hot and unhinged and such a gift to fandom femslash. Thuringwethil attracted to power and enmeshed in its hierarchies, served by others and seeking someone worthier/worthiest to serve herself, then biting off way more than she can chew with Ungoliant, is all just so good. Reading it for the first time made like my whole week.

And Love Grew by @polutrope (Maglor & Elrond & Elros, T, 23k)

As a host of survivors makes the journey from Sirion to Amon Ereb under Maglor's leadership, old bonds unravel and loyalties crumble. But from the scraps and ruins, new and unlikely bonds take shape. A story of perseverance through suffering.

This is written in such a classic and considered style--it's beautiful canonverse feelings and atmosphere. I love this story's grim yet so expressive tragic hero Maglor and very bleak (hurting me) leader Maedhros.

Kiss and Marry by @thecoolblackwaves (Celegorm/Curufin, M, 4k chapter fic)

Curvo and Tyelko get married. What could possibly go wrong with these two together?

Curufin thinks carefully and chooses a spouse: who better than Celegorm? This is such good crackfic, it had me cackling aloud to read. This isn't a ship I usually have a lot of feelings about, but the marriage premise and the hilarity/sincerity of it all really made it for me.

Laurë by Huiniel (Glaurung/Maglor, Fingon/Maedhros/Maglor, E, 29k)

Glaurung takes Maglor captive, hypnotizes him, and fucks him on a pile of gold. That's all I have.

(I love this summary, which I read via googletranslate, along with the rest of the fic--it's originally in Russian if you prefer to read in the original!) I can't not mention this fic, updates of which have been such a prominent (and thrilling) feature of my 2024 reading experience. Maglor is rescued from Glaurung's clutches, but he isn't the same as he was before. I love the dynamics between Maglor and Maedhros and Maglor and his other brothers and the angst and smut of it all.

Shorter fics

one whole with my other by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor (Míriel/Indis, E, 4k)

“Indis-i-Noldóran,” spoke the Maia through a mouthful of rain. “I bear news of one who will return to your house.”

God... god. So poetic and beautifully written, so tender and sexy. This fic makes me cry every time I reread it. I love arranged marriage setups and this story, with newly and vividly alive Míriel returned to a lonely, proud, and noble Indis in a reconfiguration of the Finwë-Míriel-Indis relationship/Statute, is such a beautiful take on them.

The Patience of the Oak by @imakemywings (Galadriel/Melian, G, 3k)

Galadriel is determined to show Melian she is capable of more than Melian believes. Melian wonders if her pupil grasps her lessons.

This is just incredible--so poetically written, so magical and atmospheric. The power dynamics and mentorship and osanwë are amazing and Melian's vast and eerie presence are peak weird Maiar. Young, reckless, proud Galadriel is captured perfectly. Also, one of the sexiest G-rated fics out there.

To Wear a Heart So White by Tilion / @tilion-writes (Maedhros & Maglor, T, 2k)

“Will all great Ulmo’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?” Maglor whispered hoarsely. “No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.” “My hands are of your color,” Maedhros growled, “but I shame to wear a heart so white.”

Maedhros and Maglor at Sirion, and dialogue from Macbeth. I've been captivated by this ever since I read it. Each line is so well-placed and the dynamic between them sings. I love the way this concept is used to express the canon violence and tragedy of it all, too.

Banked Fires Blaze by Chestnut_pod (Aerin & Fire Pot; Aerin/Brodda, T, 2k)

What is it to be made for a kinder world?

This fic is SO creative and brilliant--telling Aerin's story and the burning of Brodda's hall as part of a longer folktale/myth about women and hearths and Brodda's people and the coming Dagor Dagorath. I really love examinations of non-normative/human/"bad" traditions and cultures in Tolkien and I was blown away by this portrait of a different kind of Silmarillion myth!

Proxy by @aipilosse (Celegorm/Celebrimbor, E, 3k)

Celegorm's nephew seeks him out one evening in Nargothrond. Celegorm is playing king, but Celebrimbor's game is less clear.

This is so juicy and gendery--masc transmasc Celegorm comparing Celebrimbor to Lúthien. Celegorm leaning further and further into playing the villain and Celebrimbor struggling with the family's deeds, the break between them imminent, makes for such a good dynamic. Dark and sexy and fraught!!

the ways of birds by @welcomingdisaster (Maglor & Maedhros, T, 4k)

When Maglor is captured in the aftermath of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he doesn't expect a rescue.

Whump in the venerable whumpfic tradition and honestly so formative to me. I love how gritty this is and how vividly I can picture the wretched goblin march through the landscape. I LOVE Maedhros rejecting political expediency and rejecting pragmatism to save Maglor.

My Son by @polutrope (Fëanor/Maglor, E, 3k)

“Father, I assure you: it is nothing. I would choose you a thousand times before any husband. Ever would I choose my own blood before that of a stranger.” After his exile to Formenos, Feanor locks himself in the vault with the Silmarils. Makalaure goes to him.

This is such an eerie and beautiful dark fairytale. With how entwined the Feanorians all are by the Oath and their loyalty to Fëanor, this relationship makes only too much sense in this story. I love Maglor's desire and the gender and selfhood of it all, and how unsettling and selfish Fëanor's taking possession of him is.

make me come alive by @queerofthedagger (Maedhros/Maglor, E, 6k)

Maglor struggles to give up control. Maedhros makes sure that he learns.

MY SILMSMUTEXCHANGE GIFT!! Himring Maedhros + osanwë lifestyle BDSM + Gap Maglor. This builds deliciously--it is sooo sexy. Maglor's loyalty and Maglor struggling to accept Maedhros' authority--but needing it, it settling his guilt and unease--are fantastic. One of the hottest unhinged Maedhroses I have read. I love the way his presence looms in Maglor's mind even in his absence and how convinced he is that he has Maglor's best interests at heart.

+ 1 extra: Forbidden Prey by @whovianofmidgard (Celegorm/Maglor, M, 3k)

Celegorm doesn't know that he is attracted to his older brother, Maglor. He ends up pushing him away, while searching for Maglor's traits in his other potential loves.

I have to mention this fic because I simply enjoyed reading it SO much. I love a feminine Maglor and a Celegorm who wants Maglor and is taking that out on him. The hints of background Maedhros/Maglor, Celegorm's jealousy and obsession, and the way this spirals into Celegorm's attraction to Lúthien are all just catnip to my brain.

Really short fics (under or around 1k)

The Fortress by TheLegendCreator (Himring & Maedhros, G, ~500 words)

A Dwarf visits Tol Himling and wonders about the craftsmanship. He listens to the stone-song, and it tells him the tale of an Elf-lord that wove his heart into stone.

I love the mythic/fairytale vibes of this--the way Himring's stones remember Maedhros, and the dwarven OC is chilled hearing his tale. It strongly evokes to me the "deep they delved us, fair they wrought us" memory and history of Tolkien's ruins and landscapes.

sundial by @swanmaiden (Pengolodh/Dírhavel, G, ~500 words)

Pengolodh meets a kindred spirit in the market square at the Havens of Sirion.

This is so bittersweet--the humble but bustling life of Sirion before the kinslaying and the mutual recognition of these two historians and tellers of tales. Knowing what's to come makes their brief connection and Pengolodh's resolution to share his feelings hit all the harder. You get the feeling that he never gets the chance to.

One Thousand Days by @melestasflight (Uldor & Maedhros, T, ~800 words)

Uldor has spent one thousand days carefully observing the Lord of Himring. Because everyone has a weakness, and Maedhros’ weakness lies in the West.

I just love the POV switch here on Tolkien's "villainous" peoples, the way this story makes Uldor's betrayal seem not only compelling but reasonable from his perspective. The arrogant preoccupation of Elves with other Elves, the rumors of the kinslayings, Uldor's dying curse flung at Maglor.... all so good.

Fire by @buds-of-marjoram (Maedhros/Maglor, M, ~300 words)

My brother came back; an inferno.

This brief ficlet is so evocative and so sensual. I love the BDSM dynamic here and the Maglor POV of Maedhros--the way Maedhros has changed, become cruel even, but they adore each other and are completely entwined.

Let the water hold me down by BloodwingBlackbird (Daeron/Melian, E, ~900 words)

Daeron and Melian and songs.

Melian captivates Daeron and Daeron gives himself and his music over to her as her conduit. An absolutely incredible eerie, otherworldly Melian and the patron/artist dynamic is so sexy. Daeron's juxtaposed with Maglor--who can't understand what he shares with Melian and can't decide whether to pity or envy him for his queen's patronage. So vividly and poetically written. My Innumerable Stars gift!!

crowns and other trinkets by @thelordofgifs (Maedhros & Maglor, G, 1.4k)

In the years of Maedhros’ captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother’s baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros’ laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie? Before the Mereth Aderthad, Maedhros and Maglor sort through some jewellery.

I always adore Maglor haunted by guilt from his "kingship" and this scene brings so much of that for me in subtle ways. I love Maedhros' attention to Maglor, the way he wants to foist adornments on him, and the way the pieces of jewelry link past and present, bringing younger and happier moments into the room in bleak Beleriand where they must decide which of their few things to part with. Hints of Celegorm being cruel and accusatory to Maglor during Maedhros' captivity are the cherry on top for me.

Atonement by @jouissants (Maedhros/Maglor, G, 1.5k)

Maedhros and Maglor, home at the end of the world.

Out of so many amazing fics and amazing Maedhros/Maglor fics from jouissants this year I struggled to pick what to put on this list but it had to include this one--so comforting and tender, I've reread it so many times. I LOVE this weary canon divergence Maedhros--how determined he is to love Maglor well despite everything, to stay with him, to not choose death--how he's deeply satisfied by Maglor's small comforts, too, despite things not being easy and their life being so humble. Maglor pregnancy literally can fix them I believe it.

Surfeited by sabcatt / @shinraelectricpowercom (Celegorm/Dior, E, 1.1k)

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. After the Ruin of Doriath, Celegorm has some fun with his prize. Dior would like to get off this ride.

This is like the best evil "tender"(-ish) noncon ever. Celegorm/Dior is such a good ship all the time but especially when Celegorm gets the chance to be horrific and to take out his thwarted attraction for Lúthien on Dior. This brilliantly crafted smut is bringing it all. Go read it...

[badlydrawnmanic]

sonic movie 3 was pretty good BUT

i'm sorry, i can't help but feel disappointed by how gags seemed to take precedence over the plot more often than not, they removed the crucial detail of shadow being an artificial creature rather than naturally born, his unique link / relation to sonic despite never having met him, and the weight present in the ending of SA2 is just... ignored

after i saw the movie i went on at least an hour long monologue to my friend about how fascinating and tragic shadow's story is in SA2 alone much less when you consider the stuff that comes later, and hearing this she said that the movie felt like it was made by someone with about as much sonic knowledge as her (which isn't very much). i said that it felt like the people who made the movie may have played / looked into SA2 before making it, given very direct references and nods to the original title, but like... they stopped playing halfway through when it got serious / hard, like they got bored with it or something. i then had the same monologue with my mom the moment she woke up (sorry mom) because i couldn't sleep i was thinking about how much the ending felt half-baked and what i might've done with the movie series as a whole if i were the one writing

i understand that the target audience is general folks and especially kids, but as an adult super-fan who's been mega into this series since i was 7, it really sucks to see something you love so much not receive the love and care you would have given it after finally making it to a major hollywood production

i wanted to be able to cry going into this film, and i didn't feel... much of anything. some moments were really cool! but then it cuts to a scene of Human Characters Dicking Around For Way Too Long to the point where the other characters are complaining they're bored and it's like. y'all why

i'm not saying it isn't worth seeing, but if you're looking for a faithful adaptation of SA2, specifically with the weight, somber feeling, and finality of the game's end, you aren't gonna get it. probably better if you go into it expecting more comedy than proper action / satisfying story beats

all that and the second post-credits scene... fun fact, shadow wasn't supposed to come back after SA2. he was supposed to die and stay dead. he only came back in sonic heroes because everyone thought he was So Cool and sega delivered, so something about teasing that shadow is still alive feels... off? him coming back in heroes was a genuine surprise and delight for a lot of people and this also took the ending that's supposed to be sad and removed any sort of finality it may have had

metal sonic is cool though, and amy is very cute. wonder what they're gonna do with that for the next film

[cinnamon-stixs]

Sinsmas came out, and I bawled. here's me yapping about it.

-Blitz put horses EVERYWHERE to try and make Stolas happy

-Stolas was asking for his antidepressants. keep in mind he goes this whole episode, which takes place over the course of a month, completely unmedicated.

-Blitz asking what he eats :(. Then Stolas's rich ass.

-Stella fucking GRAB'S VIAS PHONE. GOD I WANT TO KILL THAT BITCH. THEY SIT THEIR AND LAUGH ABOUT HIM WANTING TO TALK TO HIS DAUGHTER IT MAKES ME SO. FUCKING. ANGRY.

-Imps still hate Stolas. Also bro has NO life skills whatsoever

-She straight up spits in his coffee, no remorse. Queen honestly.

-New fit!! this is so much better than that dumbass romper

-Blitz catching rats for him :((

-"No, this is how I act when I don't have money! :D"

-I absolutely adore the concept of sinsmas btw. Also, notice how both Moxxie and Blitz act on wrath, rather than greed (where they were both raised). Interesting lil detail

-Of course Blitz would set the apartment on fire

-Loona acting like me fr

-Millie and Moxxie fighting heheheee

-He's so concerned lmaooo??

-Whiteboard! My fave is the 'days since moxie sang' counter.

-Loona's opened up so much I love her QmQ

-"I'm poor now!" I love you Stolas but holy shit you privileged ass baby.. At least yall can afford to feed everyone in your house

-God Blitz is so in love

-Stolas is GOING THROUGH IT with these parallels

-Blitz trying to defend cheating 💀💀

-Homophobic cunt

-Mammon tree topper

-They're STILL laughing about Stolas trying to call Via. Have they kept her phone from her this whole time?

-She didn't hear them say he'd been trying to call. She took her earbuds out AFTERWARDS. As far as Via knows, he only called once.

-Stolas was the one who got her the guitar

-Via's song goes so hard, but what happened to her accent??

-The parallels in Via's song and the one Stolas sang to her in ep 2 make me wanna cry

-Btw Via is COMPLETELY justified in how she feels, and her decision to not forgive Stolas.

-"I'll just get older and you'll only know my name" Holy fuck that line goes hard

-I THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA ATTEMPT.

-"Well here's an idea, You could shut the fuck up!"

-Me I fear

-She sits down with stolas's diary I can't

-I thought the bit of her throwing up as weird as hell. But, foreshadowinggg

-What if this was my 13th reason.

-"Didn't make me wet AT ALL"

-The scream as she flies out the window is delightful

-Blitz immediately knows stolas went to look for Via

-GET HIS ASS

-"Get your icy hands off my bottom, bitch!"

-Dude what the hell did he say?!

-GET. HIS. ASS!!

-"fuck yes! :D"

-Loona and Moxxie working together :(((

-This action scene is so fucking cool

-"High five!!" DUMBASS?!

-Im gonna kms they're so cute

-VIA!

-She doesn't hug her father back.

-She thought him needing the antidepressants was her fault I'm actually gonna do it this time.

-Although Via won't talk to Stolas, she still saved him. She loves her dad, but she's rightfully angry. It'll take time to rebuild that trust.

-FUCK.

-Blitz relaxes. Stolas doesn't.

-God what a cutie

-MOXXIES FACE HSDHSJHDJSIJ

-I knew immediately in the bathroom scene what was up with Millie

-Im really excited to see the pregnant millie plotline actually. Judging by her reaction, she's not sure if she wants to keep it.

-STOLAS'S SOFT LITTLE LAUGH AUGH IM CRYING

-He doesn't hug Blitz back.

-Xmas song at the end goes hard.

Overall, this episode was AMAZING. The writing was great, the emotional moments hit hard, the animation was great as usual, and the pacing was good, if not a bit clunky. What a great end to the season.

I think i'll go call my dad.

[rotenpk]

Thinking about a fic idea where you, jayce and vik r friends but you and vik r pining. You work as an entertainer for the elite in both piltover and zaun, and came across them when performing a group piece for the council. The connection began when you sought jayce and Viktor for sponsoring the show with hex tech.

One night, after months of friendship you all go out to a night club in Zaun to get Viktor out of the lab for once, and someone in the crowd obviously recognizes you and starts to egg you on to start ‘dancing’. Jayce knows exactly what they mean by dancing as they yell at you, but poor Viktor, who thinks nothing of it is delighted at the chance to see you dance like you did on your performance night, and encourages you to join the crowd.

You move into the crowd, and disappear for a good bit, and for a while Viktor is content to sit there and sip his 3% sweet milk while he thinks about how good you look in your club outfit when suddenly the lights dim. The place fills with fog and the noise in the club dies slightly while jayce and Viktor both watch, intrigued as two shimmery poles start to extend from the ceiling a short ways away from their table, and soon a sensual but peppy beat starts to fill the place.

The energy returns, but it’s changed slightly. There’s something more charged lingering in the air making him shiver slightly. He didn’t get much of a chance to think on it though as he took the last sip of his drink before immediately spitting it out as he flushes and becomes FLOORED when YOU of all people start to descend from the pole and give him a wink while you make sultry eye contact. You hope to god he likes what he sees.

He never in a million years would have imagined this is what you meant when you said you had a “background in acrobatics and dance” and he felt like an idiot for not piecing together why you were a private performer only. The way the blood in his body starts to creep downward though, his body doesn’t seem to mind this information. Maybe you could give him a private performance one day…..fuck what he wouldn’t give to see you wrapped around him like that pole.

Having stripped quite a bit and put on some new shoes he suspected you kept in your bag, he’s infatuated with the way you start to move around the pole, up and down, side to side and round and round. The room suddenly becomes unbearably hot and his pants far too restricting and he can’t help but be hypnotized by the way your hips gyrate as you dance, and his mind begins to picture what those motions might feel like on top of him…what you’d feel like if he got to bury himself in you while you clenched.

You turn to look at him at one point and to your delight he is visibly disheveled and horny, and jayce is giving him a hard brow raise from over his cup.

Aaaaaand that’s all I have for now OWHFKHEOTHOWT IM SORRY. IM NOT A WRITER.

IDK I JUST REALLY LIKE THE IDEA OF HIM BEING REALLY INTO YOU AND BEING DEEPLY e AFFECTED BY YOU SEDUCTIVELY DANCING BY HIM. HE ALREADY FISTS HIMSELF TO YOU, MIGHT AS WELL GIVE HIM BETTER FUEL.

[pricegouge]

Soapprice ‘cest post

This dynamic would be chaos in the best of ways. Soap would be getting into this that and the other while John did nothing to curb it.

Maybe it’s soaps senior year of college and he decided he wanted to go out with a bang so he’s turned the prancing up to the max. The most recent incident (an explosion in the chemistry lab that sent white smoke billowing out and filling the hallways and classrooms causing everyone to evacuate. The fire dept and epa were called. The smell was going to linger for weeks.) got his stepdad, one john price called.

John shows up to the school and is all ‘what can you do? He’s a smart kid and sometimes genius comes out in disruptive ways.’ Finally agrees to talk to him just to get the headmaster to stop fuming.

The whole drive home is John telling him, ‘you should be old enough by now not to need constant supervision, but that was some explosion from what I heard walking in.’ and ‘they don’t know how to handle a kid that’s as smart as you, it’s why you have so much free time on your hands. But you disrupted everyone else’s lessons.’ And ‘you need to treat dangerous chemicals with the respect they are due. Oh they weren’t dangerous unless under specific circumstances? My kid is a fucking genius’

Just a good natured, laughing ‘don’t do this again’ and soap is eating. it. up.

The concurrent praise and censure sending all the blood rushing straight to his cock. He’s squirming in his seat as if he’s getting chewed out when really he’s so turned on that he might cum the next time they hit a speed bump.

John pulls into the drive and turns off the truck. He twists to look at soap with a raised eyebrow, “well? Anything to say for yourself?”

And soap breaks down with a ‘please can I suck your cock’ leaning over to try and fumble with John’s belt before he even gets an answer, drool puddling beneath his tongue.

john, who knows full well what praise does to the boy. it's not like soap's ever been covert, wearing those indecently tight gray sweats around so john can see each time his cock twitches and leaks if john so much as tells him he's done a good job cleaning the garage. honestly, he's never met mr. mactavish, but if he ever does, there are a few things he'd like to say to him.

just imagine how much john delights in seeing soap squirm, his hands fidgeting even as he tries to sit on them to hide it, fat thighs covering the worst of his twitchiness but doing nothing to block the blush rising up soap's throat from john's rapt attention. he knows he's got him when the clever little shit has no quips to fire back, just sits and lets the praise and the strange brand of chastisement wash over him. john can be nice when it suits him. can be sweet if it means this finicky little thing that keeps flitting in and out of his hold, too skittish to follow through on his promises, will finally sit still long enough to have a bite taken out of him.

all the better if he thinks it's all his doing, begging to get his mouth on john's cock like he'd ever be able to refuse the boy. look at him, being nice about that, too.

"of course you can, sweet boy. just need something to keep that clever mouth busy, hm? something to focus on so you don't cause too much trouble."

his mam would be so happy to see how far he's come.

[turkicgods]

At first, the god simply rolled his eyes, ready to try his very best to just let the others' words fall away from him like water to a ducks back. Yet there was a sentence there that caught him unawares, making him still, grinding every inch of him to a halt. You & your brothers & sisters were forced into a life you didn't deserve or ask for. The wording struck him harder than he'd ever thought possible, the strange and foreign notion that he and his siblings somehow deserved better than the lot they'd given? Was it odd to know that he'd never really considered that? That he could go against the grain, that any of them truly could?

Even Matyr hadn't fully turned his back on what he was, on his purpose. Maybe he was thinking too deeply into it, but that was his job, as a businessman, as a master manipulator, he had to be able to seed his way into every nook and cranny to understand and gain control from every angle possible, pull every puppet string available to him. But this? Did they deserve it? Did they deserve better? Did he deserve better? After all this time? After his life's work? His twisted view of humanity? His goal of harming the very planet they stood on all in an effort to further punish humankind for simply existing? Why? Because his father told him to.

Temir tried his best to remain unreadable, but the pain was there, hardening that confident expression, tainting it with the doubt that he'd spent so long trying to bury in the darkest crevices of his mind. "You don't know what we deserve... what I deserve." It was the most raw the god had been in a long time, since he'd last lowered his guard and opened up to the woman he'd loved only for it to be thrown back in his face. It frightened him, being so exposed, but for a moment, it was all he had left.

Instead of letting the thought ferment, he shook his head as if physically trying to shake it off. "You forget, information is easy to come by on Earth. Humans aren't exactly difficult to manipulate, particularly when that's your area of expertise. For the god of informants? He has eyes everywhere, spies everywhere... it's as easy as breathing. But gods outside our pantheon? Let's just say networking is more difficult to navigate without stepping on too many toes." He found it so easy to fall back into his usual manner, that air of confidence returning to him even though there was definitely a thick layer of it missing now. "Just like you don't know everything about us, we don't know everything about you. We hear snippets every now and then, gossip, but... it's not as though each pantheon sends out a monthly newsletter." It was a rather amusing thought though.

"And isolation? That means nothing. From what I understand, my dear uncle Ulgen lives in isolation. That doesn't mean he shares in your defiance. As for the sheer lack of other gods partaking in your delightful presence... like you said, this is your domain, it's protected. We have no way of knowing what you get up to in your own little world. For all I know, you could be having wild cocktail parties and fine soirees. I know of at least one of your pantheon who would approve." He explained so that the other could understand where he was coming from, shrugging his shoulders as he looked around him. "So, you'll pardon me if I take everything you say with a grain of salt. More so given how cosey you've been with my pantheon's sky gods. You have to understand how this looks from my point of you?" Though he neglected to mention what it meant on a more personal level. "This... is a lot to take in. Whether you're telling the truth or not, it's... a lot and I've invested my entire existence into the way I am now, to the life I live. How could I possibly turn back now? This is everything I have, everything I am."

HE LISTENS intently, never faltering or backing down as he watches the other god seem to continue his rant. It seemed part of the facade has vanished and now Temir spoke true, as Karthisius had hoped. It is far from perfect but at the very least it confirms a sinking suspicion he'd been having for QUITE some time now. That perhaps there was SOMETHING within Erlik's children that innately led them to craving more. HE WASN'T going to hold out hope for all of them, but at least SOMETHING had to be there.

"Perhaps, but it'll be ALL the more difficult for him to do so if he has to start from scratch now won't it? And YOU are here now. You & your brothers & sisters were forced into a LIFE you didn't deserve or ask for. It is COSMIC justice if you are all ABLE to reclaim your identities. I walked a MILE in those shoes once and I do not intend to allow anyone else to suffer such a fate."

THE NEXT STATEMENT causes Karthisius to frown, FROWN in a way that he so rarely did. It's HEARTBREAKING––heartbreaking to say the absolute least. How could A BEING be made so SMALL as to think their existence––their purpose––was their only source of value. It made his blood boil, but after a moment he draws in a QUIET BREATH, seemingly exhaling out his disdain with it.

"What becomes of those who FREE themselves of the tyranny is that they are given the choice on how they wish to live. MASTERS of their own being. The choice to be whatever it is they choose to be. No longer living under the TYRANNICAL iron fist of someone who by all rights should have NO SAY in what those beings become."

It sounded IDYLLIC, that much he knew for certain. Not everyone could believe in such things, and for a being who had lived so long with no sign of hope, he imagined it sounded silly. It's not until the INQUIRIES are turned on him that he cants his head to the side. He'll ANSWER honestly, but he sincerely doubts he'll be believed so he elects to shake his head instead.

"If your INFORMANT brother knows everything then you should already know the answer––but since you're asking, no. I defied Zeus, OPENLY. Haven't you noticed that not a SINCE OTHER Greek god has spoken of me? Have you not noticed how I LIVE in isolation, while the rest of the gods live in Olympus. No. I do this for MYSELF. I do this because it is what I BELIEVE in. You, of course, are under no obligation to believe it, but whether you do, or do not–a clear conscience is more important to me than any personal gain. I have LIVED as you do, and I can guarantee you that if I can pull someone else out of it, I will."

[mobius-m-mobius]

Happy Birthday David Tennant (ft. his impeccable style) 🥳💖 - April 18th, 1971

[x-i-l-verify]

Linked Universe Daemon AU Headcanons

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 1: The concept of daemons is borrowed from the His Dark Materials series. A daemon is a person’s soul manifested outside of their body in a tangible, physical form, which permanently settles into the form of the animal that most resembles them in character as the individual matures. Person and daemon are not separate beings, but two halves of one mental coin, which means that they each know everything the other does, thinks, and senses. Daemons are almost always the opposite gender of their person and have a distinct personality than the person to a certain degree, as person and daemon represent different aspects of the same whole. Touching someone’s daemon without their permission is taboo, considered a violation tantamount to rape in most cultures.

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 2: All Links have the same name for their daemon: Ellanharai (composed of the Old German elements ellan “courage” and heri “army”). However, because all the Links are their own person, their daemon’s form settles on something different with each incarnation. Just as the Links in the Chain go by different titles to differentiate them all, so, too, do their daemons. Links tend to settle early (12-13 years), as they generally know who they are and what they want from a young age.

WORLDBUILDING NOTE 3: The Dark World/Twili crystal magic combines someone and their daemon into one physical body. This new body has the form of the daemon but the gender of the person with size alterations or different markings/coloration and is controlled by the person, with the daemon part of their mind taking a backseat. For example, Legend is larger as a rabbit than his daemon usually is, and of course, her natural color is not bright pink. The lingering effects of this transformation only physically affect the person side of the person/daemon pair once they are returned to normal. 

---

SKY + PSALM (RED-CROWNED CRANE)

Red-crowned cranes are renowned for their lasting and affectionate pair bonds, having come to represent longevity and devotion in many cultures; they are cooperative and low-aggression birds, quite tolerant and relaxed around other animals, and only really become territorial and protective over their nesting sites and chicks.

Psalm is impatient, mischievous, and fierce. Sky is more easygoing, considerate, and gentle.

Sky and Psalm are very outwardly affectionate with each other, and both can often be found napping together in a patch of sunlight, Psalm resting her head in Sky’s lap or draping a wing over him. As the physically tallest daemon of the bunch, Psalm delights in teasing fawning over her smaller daemon sisters, especially the younger ones. She will often sit on someone and happily brood, and while some may outwardly protest, everyone secretly enjoys it.

---

FOUR + RHYME (ITALIAN HEBRAN HONEYBEE)

Four's daemon is an industrious, adaptable, cooperative, sociable species of honeybee, known for being assertive but not aggressive insects; they have a high threshold for what they consider threats, and will communicate using pheromones, body language, and vocalizations to make themselves as clearly understood as possible, but they will not hesitate to defend themselves if something is deemed a threat.

Four is empathetic, observant, passionate, and composed. Rhyme is the emotional, pragmatic, impulsive, competitive part of his personality.

Rhyme is usually kept in a protective case Four wears around his neck to prevent any harm from coming to her either in battle or out of it, due to her diminutive size, but he will happily let her out to stretch her wings when around people he trusts. While she is too small to outright cuddle with her sisters, Rhyme loves perching on their heads or burrowing into feathers or fur when it’s chilly, and she’s surprisingly expressive with her body language, though one might have to squint to see it.

When Four splits into his Colors, Rhyme also splits. Which means instead of one being in two bodies, they’re now one being in eight bodies. As in LU canon, none of the Colors is their own individual in this AU, merely a fraction of a larger whole. In turn, each iteration of Rhyme is an alternate part of each of the Colors, with Four’s soul fragmenting into smaller and smaller individual pieces the deeper you go down.

---

TIME + MELODY (SPANISH FARON MASTIFF)

While menacing in appearance due to their sheer size and bulk, Spanish mastiffs are actually known for being protective, affectionate, quiet dogs, with a long history of guarding livestock; they are patient, easygoing, and surprisingly playful, good with children and tolerant of other animals, though their strong wills and stubbornness make them a challenge to handle for first-time dog owners.

Time is authoritative, jaded, and stoic, while Melody embodies his nurturing, hopeful, mischievous side.

Melody can often be found at Time’s side with one of his hands resting on her head or back. As the largest daemon in the group paired with the tallest person, they make for quite the intimidating pair and are downright deadly in battle together. Outside of battle, though, Melody becomes a big teddy bear, utterly content to let her daughters sisters use her as a pillow or mode of transportation, quietly communicating all the warm care and tenderness Time is sometimes too awkward to openly express. She is the one who introduced the musical motif the other Ellanharais also adopted when coming up with nicknames for themselves.

---

TWILIGHT + ARIA (GRAY WOLF)

Twilight’s daemon is a social, cooperative, dedicated apex predator, who routinely work together to raise their young, defend their territories, and chase down their prey over vast distances; they are not overly aggressive and prefer to avoid conflict whenever they can, using body language, sent marking, and howling to diffuse tense situations and prevent costly fights between packs or individuals.

Twilight is focused, cautious, and opinionated. Aria is his easygoing, empathetic, people-pleasing side.

Aria instantly adopts most of the younger daemons in the group and dotes on them as much as they’ll allow. However, she turns into a big, besotted puppy whenever Time and Melody come into the picture and becomes adorably bashful around Malon’s pigeon daemon Rosamu. She is often found at Twilights right side, guarding his flank and watching his back while he focuses his attention on what’s in front of him. She also loves scritches and belly rubs and has nearly smothered Twilight more than once by sprawling on top of him too heavily while they sleep. While their initial transformation into Wolfie was traumatic and scarring at first, they have both grown to enjoy the occasional opportunity to truly travel, fight, and exist as one.

---

WILD + TRILL (WEDGE-TAILED EAGLE)

Wild’s daemon is a loyal, resourceful, resilient species of raptor that is often found alone or in monogamous pairs, but will freely cooperate together with groups of up to 15 other eagles to take down larger prey; they are straightforward and communicative with their vocalizations and displays and also surprisingly playful, wrestling or playing food games with each other.

Trill is Wild’s dutiful, reserved, focused side, while Wild is the impulsive, playful, lackadaisical side.

Trill is rather choosy with and to whom she shows open affection. She can be very standoffish, preferring to let Wild do the talking for both of them, but once she trusts someone, she will often become very chatty and physically affectionate. It is common to see her riding around or napping on Aria's back, but she has begun opening up more to the others as well.

Because Wild lost all his memories in the Shrine of Resurrection, Trill had become unsettled when they finally woke up, taking the most basic shape a daemon can take, normally only seen with very young children: a small, floating, glowing ball of golden Dust. As they regained their memories during Wild’s quest and discovered more about themselves, Trill began taking on some of their old favored forms before eventually resettling for good as her original settled form, the wedge-tailed eagle. Despite physically being the same, though, there’s still that distance between who they are now and who they used to be, most evident in how their personalities have seemed to switch; Wild used to be more serious, focused, and responsible, and Trill used to embody the impulsivity, rowdiness, and wanderlust he kept tightly tamped down for the sake of duty and appearances. Both of them are still coming to terms with how much they have changed.

---

LEGEND + LYRIC (EUROPEAN HYLIAN RABBIT)

Legend's daemon settled as a hardy, wary, sociable, territorial species of rabbit, able to survive and thrive in almost any environment; they are a keystone prey species, a vital part of almost any ecosystem they find themselves in, who must stay ever vigilant and rely on their speed, wits, and determination to stay alive.

Legend is blunt, private, and practical, while Lyric is the sensitive, sociable, sentimental side of him.

Legend has… a complicated relationship with his daemon’s form. He initially hides her away from the rest of the Chain out of paranoia and insecurity, keeping her in his pack at all times. What would Hyrule they think of the renowned Hero of Legend having a defenseless, soft little rabbit as a daemon? They would lose all respect for him, or worse, be disappointed. It isn’t until after the Twili crystal incident, and Twilight and Sky find out about Lyric’s form, that he starts to come out of his shell.

After the ice has been broken, Lyric leaps at the chance to interact with the other deamons more. She goads Aria or even Melody into games of chase, can finally properly pounce on Warriors’ daemon the next time she teases her, curls up into a little fuzzy ball with Hyrule’s daemon to nap, leaps up on Trill or Psalm or Wind’s daemon’s backs and coax them into giving her a ride, and holds Rhyme in her little paws to gloat that she finally knows a daemon smaller than her (Rhyme is not amused). She is the one who came up with the name for their group of daemons, which is a chorus, just like a group of Links is a chain.

---

HYRULE + CADENCE (YELLOW-BELLIED GLIDER)

Hyrule’s daemon is a small, nocturnal glider species that is selectively social, close-bonding, and expressive, utilizing a number of chirps, whirrs, whistles, and growls to keep away intruders and keep tabs on each other; yellow-bellied gliders are incredibly active, hard-working creatures, spending up to 90% of their time awake foraging, and they can travel up to 2 kilometers in just 4 hours through a combination of climbing and gliding.

Hyrule is independent, wary, and agreeable. Cadence represents his dependent, connected, feisty side.

Cadence is generally quite a skittish daemon, who can normally be found clinging wide-eyed to Hyrule’s back, shoulders, chest, or arms, or hidden inside his tunic or pack. She has not interacted closely with many other daemons in her time (fairies do not have daemons), so she is still getting used to the physical affection the others offer. She does not dislike it; it is simply a lot. But she is gradually learning to love being nuzzled, cuddled, and carried, and she greatly enjoys riding around on the other larger daemons.

---

WIND + SHANTY (MILITARY MACAW)

Wind settled just a couple months before the events of Linked Universe as a resourceful, gregarious, deeply loyal species of macaw; like all macaws, they can be quite loud, communicative, and expressive, and they have generally been described as having friendly, confident, playful dispositions, albeit with the occasional temperamental mood swing.

Shanty is Wind's meticulous, perceptive, down-to-earth side, while Wind is reckless, curious, and carefree.

As is befitting for a parrot daemon, Shanty spends much of her time perched on Wind’s shoulders or arms, though she does love being held and cuddled, too. She is still getting used to her settled form, and sometimes forgets she cannot shift like she once did, leading to some hilarious mishaps when she faceplanted on the ground trying to turn into a hermit crab, or one memorable instance where she nearly drowned while trying to become a yellowtail snapper. She gets very starry-eyed over the other demons and thinks all of them are the coolest for different reasons. She desperately wants to impress them and prove she’s just as badass as they are, so she can sometimes chafe under their well-meaning coddling.

---

WARRIORS + BALLAD (RED FOX)

Warriors’ daemon settled as the confident, dependable, independent red fox, the most widespread and successful carnivore in the world, found in just about every available habitat, from jungle to tundra; despite being mainly solitary, these animals have a complex social hierarchy and can be seen in a wide variety of group settings, with vixens sometimes coming together during the breeding season to help raise each other’s cubs, and their mates bringing them food and also helping parent the new cubs.

Warriors is shrewd, charming, and diplomatic, while Ballad is more brash, cheeky, and candid.

Ballad, while generally friendly and warm with the other daemons (especially the younger ones), is also strangely skittish around them. She is fine initiating touch or curling up for a nice nap around or with someone else, but if touched unexpectedly, she tends to either bristle, growl, and retreat behind Warriors, or go very still and quiet. She shies away from any human hands except Warriors' (and even then there are days he doesn't touch her directly). They bring to mind other hands. Slim, small, elegant, painted hands that hurt, that took, that tainted- ...It’s fine. She’s fine. They’re fine. Everything’s fine.

---

Resources:

Red-crowned crane analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24990

Italian honeybee analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23882

Tibetan mastiff analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24552

Spanish mastiff information: https://dogtime.com/dog-breeds/spanish-mastiff

Gray wolf analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23828

Wedge tailed eagle analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=26686

European rabbit analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=23718

Yellow bellied glider analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24968

Military macaw analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=26591

Red fox analysis: https://daemonpage.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=4&t=24946

Art belongs to @/linkeduniverse

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Always cracks me up when people who haven't seen much of Moomins characterize Snufkin as someone who is always very wise and mature and perfectly chill and who knows everything. Boy I remember you from the early books. I remember you wanted to call a boat "Lurking Wolf".

[szappan]

also today me and an exchange student i became tentative but earnest friends with over the semester realised we're probably never going to see each other again it's all so strange how quickly you can start missing people

[lisbonsteresa]

silly

[mockiatoh]

My biggest frustration with the left has always been the inability/unwillingness to work on making progress inside of the system while advocating for greater change.

I remember the first time I came to this realization.

I was nineteen, pregnant. We couldn’t afford to heat the house because we couldn’t afford the deposit to turn the gas on. It was miserably cold. The duplex we were renting was old and rickety and drafty. The window frames were messed up and there were cracks you could stick your finger through that were open to the elements.

Just, like, to give you an idea where we were financially. And this was better than we’d been doing before!

Anyway, I had recently started going to DSA meetings. And that month, they were talking about how a moderate democrat had successfully gotten a small increase in WIC benefits monthly. It came out to, like, $10 a month.

The members talking—mostly male, almost all doing decent—were scornful. The democrat should have pushed harder and gotten more, refused to accept anything until everyone else caved to their demands. I remember sitting there, quietly drinking the latte in the smallest size they had that I had bought with scrounged quarters, listening. Wishing it wasn’t held in an indie coffee shop because it was a luxury I really couldn’t afford, but it would be rude not to. Enjoying the coffee anyway.

I was one of the lucky ones who was getting that additional $10 a month through WIC. Even more exciting, we were now getting a voucher for the farmers’ market. I casually mentioned that WIC recipients would now be getting farmers’ market vouchers, too.

The guy who organized the meetings was a hard worker, passionate guy. Did something in tech.

He was like, “That’s the thing! These people don’t want farmers market vouchers. They want—” and he went on to describe a bunch of pie in the sky desires. That, yeah, sounded good.

But one. I was one of those people! A lot if the tamiles were super excited about it, myself included.

I had never been to a farmers’ market before. I tried arugula for the first time, a piece pulled from a bunch by the grower as he explained the flavor difference. I hadn’t known before then that different lettuce greens had different flavors, that it was more than just the texture and shape. I tried pesto, which delighted me. Goat cheese. I got three full pounds of strawberries for two dollars, since they were closing soon and the old man selling the berries got a kick out of me.

Anyway. It was like, you have a decent life. Not great but decent! The things that are life changing for me, for us… you already have.

The ten dollars at the grocery store made the difference between a meal of broken-noodles-with-some-half-horrible-pantry-scraps and a meal. It kept me full and healthy! And the additional farmers’ market voucher was world changing for me.

The democrat who worked for those things barely got them through. And it was means tested to hell and back. They weren’t able to get everything they wanted. But what they got made such a huge difference for me, for people like me.

[herunswithscissors]

I love how Spongebob doesn't lie to kids about cops.

All the cops are kinda assholes and some are downright abusive and scarily sadistic and grossly oppressive and unjust. They just smile and tell jokes while they do it so the adults never notice and the kids don't get scared. But it plants the seeds of truth in them before the copaganda can really take hold with Paw Patrol onward.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Really stupid au where when they were younger, Kakashi and Obito shared an accidental kiss a lot like Sasuke and Naruto. (Kakashi commits to his mask shortly after but will never not insist it's unrelated)

Years later and Kakashi, trying to cheer up Naruto and Sasuke ab their own embaressing accidental first kiss, shares his own story

Then, years later when Obito reveals himself on the battlefield, instead of going "woah, another Uchiha!?" when he hears his name, Naruto can't help but point and shout OH MY GOD UR THE GUY WHO KISSED SENSEI!!!!!!!!

Instant dead silence. (Obito wants to die)

Sakura, who never heard the story ab how it was a one time accidental kiss: "omg... sensei's childhood boyfriend went evil on him... this is so fucked up"

Obito is VIOLENTLY thrown off by this turn of events (and also hasn't actually thought ab it in years oh my god that did happen didn't it)

Kakashi, seeing how badly it threw him off, and also the kind of person who plays hard into throwing people off and generally fucking w them to gain an edge, seeing Sakura mumbling ab lovers to enemies and just kinda goes "Yeah Obito I can't believe you'd do this to me I thought we had smthn special."

"Yeah a rivalry????"

"So I was only ever a way for u to get stronger,, figures u were using me,,,"

[Confused Obito car crash noises]

Sakura yells smthn ab him being a deadbeat and how Kakashi can do so much better and Naruto is instantly shouting in agreement as Sasuke stands there like "hn." Which is basically the same thing for him

Kakashi just starts straight up lying actually

"What about all those picnics we went on... watching the sun set over konoha..."

"Are you talking about when Minato said we weren't allowed to come back inside till we stopped arguing and ate on opposite ends of the roof bc we couldn't even look at eachother without yelling???"

"It was so romantic."

Obito, starting to actually doubt himself, "was that a date????"

(It was not.)

"You died in my arms..."

"I died under a rock"

"We literally got eye married" (not a thing, he just made this up 3 seconds ago)

"We got WHAT" (no one can prove him wrong tho bc no surviving Uchiha knows that much ab their clans marriage traditions)

"Oh my god sensei's husband is a deadbeat" - sakura, horrified (and maybe a little delighted)

"Figures." -Sasuke, who's been in proximity w Obito for some time now and absoloutley believes every word ab this topic Kakashi is saying

"Woah. This is almost as bad as the fact he murdered my parents when I was a baby dattebayo" - Naruto who's priorities are NOT what they should be

"Ok. I wouldn't go that far." - Sasuke, who's priorities are also fucked but not THAT fucked, oh my god Naruto

"No, no he's right. We should kill him even harder for this" - Sakura, who doesn't actually agree but wants an excuse for more juicy sensei love drama (and also wants to see Obito beaten to death anyways)

[makethatelevenrings]

Ubi Amor Ibi Fides (Where there's love, there's faith) // Lucius Verus x f!reader

summary: When he saw you that day, surrounded by a gaggle of children who begged you to tell them a story, he had no idea that the Fates had their own epic tale in mind of everlasting devotion. OR, contrasting vignettes of the past and the present through the eyes of Hanno and his wife.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE!! 18+, war, blood, death, allusions to rape and what happens to female prisoners of war, allusion to desecration of a corpse, historical inaccuracy (if Ridley Scott can do it, so can I!), smut, Lucius being Down Bad for this wife, mythology and religion (with inaccuracies), discussion of suicide, suicide attempt, grief, throwing up, Roman culture???, period-typical misogyny but like, make it feminist

“Tell me a story.”

Exhaustion clouded his voice and you turned away from your weaving to find him leaning against the roughshod mudbrick door frame. It was days like today that you cursed his stubborn nature. While he had been willing to let you help in breaking in the ground for the coming harvest, your husband sent you inside by midday when the sun was at its highest. Now, you were rested and chilled by the wind that eased its way through the small house, and he was completely depleted.

“Come.” You beckoned him with an outstretched hand. “Rest beside me and then I will tell you.”

He didn’t argue, for once, and took your hand in his. You drew him down to sit beside you, his head settling in your lap. Your fingers curled into the soft, downy hair at his temples and he relaxed with a sigh. While you wished you could continue stroking his hair, the weaving in front of you wouldn’t be completed without two hands. As you went back to your work, you began to speak.

“There were once two lovers by the name of Pyramus and Thisbe…” He huffed out a quiet laugh. You smiled at him, delighted that it made him relax even further. Most of your stories were the ones he had told you about from his childhood and you weren’t really in the right mind to come up with a fresh story.

“The parents of our two lovers refused to let them marry, but their love reigned strong through the thin crack in the stone wall that divided their property.” As you spoke, you embellished the story with extraneous details and dramatic gasps, eliciting quiet chuckles from your husband. He looked weary these days and not just from the labor in the fields. The Romans were creeping closer, and it would only be a matter of time before they came to your city. You woke up last night to a cold bed and found him standing at the doorway, staring out towards the sea. He knew what was coming. You both did.

“The gods looked favorably upon their sacrifice and changed the tree to its dark appearance to signify the devotion between them.” You ended the tale and stopped your weaving for a moment to gently trace your fingers along the edge of his features. You loved the sharp crest of his nose, the curve of his lips, and the bright blue of his eyes. His lashes were so long that they left shadows across his cheeks when he shut his eyes.

“I understand why he did it,” he said softly.

“Hmm?” Your hand stroked over his curls once more as you thought through everything you needed to get done tomorrow. You paused, however, when you felt his face turn to see you better and his lips brushed against your palm.

“I understand why Pyramus ended his life.” His calloused palm covered your own and he turned your hand over, his fingers sliding along yours and intertwining. “One can only imagine the pain he must have felt.”

A painful squeeze built in your throat and you felt an awful burning sensation behind your eyes. He sat up and gently cupped your face in one of his large hands, drawing your gaze up to meet his.

“Hanno,” you breathed. He smiled softly and leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He was never one for words, always more inclined to act. Breaking apart, you pressed your forehead against his and breathed in the masculine scent of him tinged with soil, sweat, and something purely him.

“When death claims us, we go as one,” he vowed. “I cannot exist in this world without you.”

“As the gods see fit,” you assured him. “I will follow you wherever you lead.”

You wished this was a story.

It had been an easy day in the fields. You were sprinkling seeds in the ditches that Hanno dug earlier. The chickens clucked at you from their pen, begging for a bit more food as if they hadn’t been fed a hearty amount of grain earlier. After you planted these, Hanno would place the earth back over it while you worked on your herb garden.

You were capable of doing the hard, manual labor. Growing up, you would always help your parents through the entire process of planting, but Hanno was insistent on keeping his precious wife away from the heavy work. Rather, he encouraged your herb collecting and training with some of the city healers. You were grateful for him, truly. Most men would sequester their wives in their homes and work them to their deaths from labor, both of earth and child. 

But Hanno was different. 

He taught you to read, speak, and write in Latin. He would easily switch between Numidian, Phoenician, and Latin until you could respond perfectly. When he took breaks from tilling, plowing, and managing the harder tasks with the animals, he sat next to you at your garden and asked about the different plants. He was never cruel, never struck you or screamed at you the way you had heard other wives whisper to one another. In fact, Hanno was exceedingly kind to you and to anyone he didn’t view as a threat.

Which is why you thought this was a nightmare at first.

The horns of war sounded and you stood up straight to watch as the beacons erupted with fire at the top of the wall. Fear seized your heart and you stood frozen, transfixed, by the flames that licked the sky. Smoke curled off the top of them and the smell burned at your nose. You might have stood there all day if it hadn’t been for Hanno rushing out of the small house to your side.

“Come,” your husband instructed you. “We must get ready.”

He grasped your arm gently and it snapped you out of your reverie. Swallowing down your panic, you followed him into the house and to the small trunk he had made to hold your armor. The two of you silently donned your gear and were nearly finished when Jugurtha came to your door.

“My lord,” you greeted him with a slight bow. The chieftain’s face betrayed nothing, but you could see the worry in his eyes. Hanno and Jugurtha would be in the heat of the battle, directly in the path of the oncoming Roman fury. Would the gods listen if you sent them a prayer now? It felt as though they had decided to abandon you.

“The healers are gathering at Taklit’s house.” Jugurtha looked at the two of you, a hidden regret in his gaze. “We will come retrieve you once we have claimed victory.”

“Yes, my lord.” Your voice had softened as you realized how quickly this was all happening.

“I will join you soon,” Hanno replied. Jugurtha nodded and left, his imposing figure leaving an empty space in the doorway and in your heart. Needing a distraction, you turned and focused your attention on securing Hanno’s armor. As your trembling fingers finished tightening his armor, his hand enfolded around yours and he drew your fingers up to his lips. Hanno placed a delicate kiss on the tips of each finger. You searched his face to memorize every last detail, from the crinkles beside his eyes to the slight curve of his lip. Only the gods knew how this battle would end and the anxiety felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

“We go as one,” he reminded you. “I will not lose you.”

“Nor I, you.” His lips ghosted over yours and you leaned up, capturing him in a searing kiss. You poured every ounce of your devotion, fear, and worry into the kiss and he took it all onto his broad shoulders, shielding you from this world. His hand fisted in your hair and he pulled you impossibly closer so he could sink the weight of his devotion into every fiber of your being.

The gods had granted you this man as your husband. Perhaps they had not abandoned you yet.

“Be brave, my Hanno,” you whispered once you broke apart. He pressed his brow to yours and you breathed him in. “Be strong and be brave. And come back to me.”

The warm metal of his betrothal ring pressed into the skin of your cheek as he cradled your face between his hands. He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your clammy skin. You savored the ring, this physical reminder of his tie to you, and touched the one that rested on your hand as a reminder of your tie to him.

“I will see you soon, my love.”

How bittersweet endings are, you thought to yourself as the walls of the city were seized by Romans. Men and women fell left and right from the parapets and you knew there was no help you could give them once their bodies hit the ground. Instead, you watched in horror as Roman soldiers grew closer and closer to where you were stationed and awaiting the wounded. You could see Hanno at the top of the wall fighting for his very life and your heart beat wildly in your chest at the sight of so many men around him falling in battle. Would he be next?

A cry of pain nearby alerted you to someone needing help. One of your people had been caught within the crosshairs of an archer and you rushed out of the house to grab them and drag them to safety. The child, only a mere babe, shrieked in agony as you dove to cover his little body when another arrow went sailing over your head. Even over the din of war, you heard Hanno scream your name. 

A Roman soldier grabbed you by your hair and yanked you up off the ground, forcing your back to bend sharply and a shout to emerge from your lips. He drew his sword, placing it to your throat with the intention of drawing your blood, your life, out of you with one swift pull. Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, you shouted your status in Latin.

“Healer! I’m a healer!” Perhaps he would be merciful. Perhaps he would let you go. Your eyes sought out the top of the wall and you saw Hanno desperately fighting to get to you, but he was too far away. The blade knicked the soft skin of your throat.

Two things happened simultaneously. One, a general pointed at you from the crowd and yelled at his man to stop. Two, Hanno was shoved off the wall and into the sea, right where huge rocks clashed with the waves.

A scream escaped you. A wail. War makes widows, your mother had said. And here you were, one of them. 

The soldier removed his blade and forced you up to your feet, shoving you back in the direction of the house. You scrambled to scoop up the child in your arms. If you could not save your love, maybe you could at least save a mother from grief.

The child died in your arms by the time you stepped into the healer house.

Numidia fell. Rome claimed victory and dominion over the land. Hanno was dead.

You busied yourself with tending to the wounded in hopes that you wouldn’t think about the fact that you were now under Rome’s control, a widow, and possibly homeless. What would happen next? Would they let you retrieve his body? Or would they throw him into a pile and burn it all along with the city itself?

A shadow fell over you as you tended to one of your own. You looked up to find the general gazing down at you. All at once, you were filled with hot rage and the deepest sorrow. You stood quickly, your hand reaching for a stray knife on the ground but he merely raised a brow. Right. What skill do you have against a Roman general?

“You’re a healer,” he said, not as a question. “And you speak Latin. How?”

“How do I heal or how do I speak Latin?” you spat. He remained stoic and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You would never reveal Hanno’s secrets. Not even under the threat of death.

“My husband is-” You stopped yourself and swallowed hard. “Was a merchant. He taught me so I could help him sell.”

“But you are a healer.”

You shrugged. “We do what we must.”

He studied you carefully and then nodded at one of his soldiers. A sudden bolt of terror struck you. Was this your future? To be a general’s plaything? A concubine? Some kind of bed warmer until he got back to Rome and disposed of you into the nearest brothel?

No. You were the wife of Hanno, a kind man and a good soldier.

“If you expect me to lay with you, I ask that you let me slit my wrists first so that I can die knowing I never let you take more from me than you already have,” you hissed. The soldier went to unsheathe his sword, but the general raised a hand to stop him. He took in your figure and the way you trembled with rage and grief.

“I need a healer,” he explained. “For my men. I will not touch you, for I am a married man, and you are a widow.”

He turned to the soldier once again. “Place her in chains and then put her in my room. Do not lay a finger on her, nor let anyone else.”

What choice did you have? If you defied them, you would be dead. If you went with them, you would have a chance to avenge Hanno before you died. Either way, you would join your husband in the afterlife. Going meant you had a chance to drag another life with you on the journey.

You dropped the blade and let the soldier lead you to the ships, not daring to look at the mass of bodies being piled up on the sand. Tears blurred your vision as you were hauled onto the ship. The keening wails of mourners raised above the fractured walls and you watched as smoke started to envelope the city. Just this morning, you had been thinking about spring planting and now you were a Roman slave.

What fresh hell was this?

The soldier clamped the heavy irons onto your wrists, connecting them together, and then attached two to your feet as well, forcing you into a shuffle as he then moved further below deck to a room. He tossed a thin blanket onto the wooden floor and pointed at it. You needed no words to explain that it would be your new bed.

When the door shut behind him, you fell to your knees over the chamber pot and promptly threw up everything in your stomach. An agonized sob tore from your lungs and you grit your teeth to silence the wail that threatened to emerge. You beat your fists on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor and wept silent tears, rocking back and forth in time to the crests and waves of the wailing mourners outside. Your people were subjugated. Your home was destroyed.

Your Hanno was dead.

Oh Thisbe, you thought as hot tears coursed down your cheeks. I understand. I understand. I understand. If I cannot shoulder this burden, then let the gods strike me down so that I may join him in peace.

“Tell us a story!”

The voices of children bubbled up over the crowd and Hanno looked up from sharpening his sword to find a woman surrounded. The kids eagerly mobbed her, their little heads bobbing up and down as they pleaded for her to tell them a tale. A basket balanced precariously on her head, but she seemed as though there was no worry about it falling.

But the thing that Hanno noticed the most was that she was completely and utterly beautiful.

“Who is that?” Jugurtha smiled at the young soldier’s question. He saw the way the woman captured his gaze. He knew that look in his eyes.

Jugurtha said your name quietly and explained how your family used to live on the outskirts of the city so they could accommodate a larger farm, but recent skirmishes in the area had wounded your father and drew you behind the walls of the city. Hanno had met your father before and made a mental note to visit the man and see how he was healing. Perhaps he would bring some fresh fruits from the merchants.

Jugurtha must have caught onto his train of thought because he called you over. The gaggle of children followed closely behind and you laughed, a sound that Hanno delighted in hearing.

“Are you interested in a story too, my lord?” You said in greeting. Jugurtha grinned and gestured for you to sit.

“You’ve been hard at work. Take a moment to rest and tell the children a story.”

With careful hands, you reached up and lowered the basket to the ground. Hanno could see it was full of various types of plants and fabrics. He had a million questions swirling around in his head. What did you do to pass the time? Where were you staying? Did you like it here? He stayed silent, however, as you slowly lowered yourself onto the ground. Your dress pooled around your legs and the coins on your shawl clinked against each other. What would you look like bare? He banished the thought as soon as it appeared.

“Come.” You beckoned the children to sit around you and gathered one of the youngest into your lap. The child reached up and played with the ends of your veil and you smiled down at her before beginning your story.

“Long ago, there was a queen of Numidia by the name of Kahina. When invaders came to Numidia to conquer us, she stood strong and fought them off with all of her might. Kahina was brave and smart, using both her strength and her mind to push the invaders back.” You launched into a tale filled with drama, some comedy, and even a bit of romance that had the kids shouting and cheering with glee. Hanno even stopped cleaning his weapons to sit and listen. He was enraptured by the way you kept the kids engaged as you weave your tale. The child in your lap started to drift off and you didn’t even hesitate before drawing her closer into your arms and cradling her.

“Queen Kahina is a reminder to all of us,” you declared. “That each of us has the power to stand up for ourselves, to do what’s right, and to be proud of who we are.” You gazed out onto the sea of little heads bobbing their agreement and then looked up to lock gazes with Hanno. For a brief moment, it felt like everything in the world went still. He scarcely knew he was breathing until Jugurtha nudged him. You tore your gaze away and offered a brilliant smile to the children. Clapping your hands together, you shooed them back towards the gathering of homes.

“Your mothers are probably wondering where you’ve gone off to. Now, go home and do some chores to help her out.”

“Oh, but we want another story!” One boy cried out. You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, your veils moving like buttery silk across your skin.

“Only if you finish your chores for the day. I will ask your mother and you know I will. Now, off with you!”

The children dashed off, leaving you with the sleeping babe in your arms. You slowly started to rise, intent on not waking her, when Hanno spoke.

“Here, let me carry your basket.” He stood and took the wicker basket from the ground so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying both child and items. You regarded him warily at first and Jugurtha had to hide his smile behind his hands.

Truth be told, you were one of the most desired women in the city. You were also one of the least trusting. Your mother desperately tried to set you up with suitor after suitor, but none met your standards. Your father laughed off your mother’s attempts and said that the gods would lead the right man to you. You were older than most women to be unmarried, but you remained steadfast in your belief that the right man would come someday.

And perhaps today was that day.

Jugurtha offered you a short nod to express his approval of Hanno and your suspicious expression melted somewhat. You turned and started to walk towards the village. When you realized that the handsome man with blue eyes wasn’t following, you glanced back at him.

“Are you coming or not?”

Hanno scrambled to catch up and quickly joined your steps, a smile cresting on his face as he asked you about how you were settling into the city.

Hanno cried when his mother sent him away. He sobbed when he fled his hiding place, cried on the boat crossing, and sniffled away into his sleep the first few days of living in Numidia. But he had never wept like he did when they tossed him into the hold of the ship with a Roman brand on his shoulder and a ring that felt infinitely heavy on his finger.

The last thing he saw before plunging into the sea was the blade sliding across your neck. Stuck between the two worlds of consciousness, he saw flickers of a wheatfield stretched before him and, for a moment, saw the outline of your body amongst the stalks. He reached out, his hand passing through where you stood, and then you disappeared from his grasp.

Coming to, he rushed from the sea and towards the city, but two Romans stopped him. He needed to find your body. He needed to see that you were buried properly. He was never as devoted to the gods as you were. You kept idols on the hearth and prayed regularly, but he only found himself turning to the gods at a time like this. But, right now, he found himself praying to Viduus, Libitina, and Proserpina.

Let her soul cross, Mercury. Bring her to the Fields of Elysium. Please. Tell her I will meet her on the other side.

He was forced to kneel next to Jugurtha, stripped of his armor and weapons, and watched as they loaded body after body into a pit. Jugurtha’s gaze never left the growing pile, even as he asked the question that Hanno dreaded.

“She’s gone,” he said, his throat raw from screaming your name across the battlefield. Did it hurt? He wondered. Was it instant? Did you feel pain? His sweet wife who dedicated her life to healing and helping died in such a brutal manner. His hands curled into fists as rage filled his veins. You were supposed to die at an old age, tucked in his arms and surrounded by your children. That’s what he planned that day so long ago when he walked you home, basket in his arms and a babe in yours. You dropped the child off with her mother and he refused to let you take your basket back, instead carrying it to your small house where he checked in on your father, met your mother, and charmed your whole family.

He craned his neck to see the dead lying a few feet away in hopes of catching a glimpse of any sign of you but there were too many dead. Too many lost. He saw the man he had bought silk from two days earlier. The midwife in the village. So many of the soldiers he had helped train.

Hanno glanced beside him and saw a fellow healer who was weeping openly. He leaned closer and asked if she knew anything about what happened to you.

“They took her,” she wailed. “They took her.”

Any grief that remained calcified into pure, hot rage. They took your body? For what sick purpose? To desecrate your corpse? To taint you with their hatred and their delusions of power, even when you were already dead? He started to rise, intent on seeking out your corpse and draping himself over it so that he would still be holding you when they killed him. Jugurtha stopped him with a shaking hand around his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the leader lamented. “But not like this. This is not how you will die.”

Hanno’s eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the soldiers, in front of the keening mothers and children, in front of the men he had defeated and stripped of their armor to expose their humiliation. Hanno remembered the way he pointed directly at you, encouraging the soldier to keep the bloodshed continuing, and knew what Jugurtha meant.

He was going to kill him, and then he would reunite with you in the afterlife.

“Tell me a story,” Lulit encouraged as the two of you picked herbs from outside the city. The two of you rode out early this morning to gather herbs not grown in the village gardens. Lulit was with child and Jugurtha insisted on a guard coming with you and you glanced over at the man asleep at the base of the tree that the horses were tied to.

You paused for a moment to consider which tale you should tell. Recently, the only stories that came to mind were romances. Your face burned at the thought, but you knew why they were the only things that floated to your memory. A certain blue-eyed man had consumed every waking thought of yours and it was driving you mad.

He was a consummate gentleman and always found ways to visit your family. He started helping your father get his new trading business up and running in the city. He brought your mother fresh wheat to bake bread. He carved toys from wood and willow reeds for your siblings.

Hanno was the man of your dreams. He was exceedingly kind, handsome, and funny. He was sincere and wasn’t putting on some kind of face to impress you. He was just truly nice to everyone he met. You saw him once helping one of the elders bundle their wheat harvest and carry it into their house. Jugurtha had already come by and assured your parents of Hanno’s good nature.

He had started to teach you Latin and how to read and write Phoenician and Numidian. He told you stories from other empires and listened intently when you told him tales your grandmother had told you. The gods had indeed brought the right man, the perfect man. 

“Psyche was one of three daughters of a king and a queen of a far away land. She was renowned for her beauty and praised among the land as the second coming of the goddess of beauty. Her admirers would bring offerings and gifts to her, angering the goddess, who decided that Psyche must be punished.”

A thorn caught on your finger and you let out a hiss of pain as you brought your finger to your lips, sucking the blood away. You began to continue your work and your story when a horn trumpeted across the sky.

The sounds of war.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you immediately looked to Lulit. Her face had drained of color and she traded a worried glance with you. In the time you had lived here, the horns had never sounded.

“We need to move.” Despite being asleep moments earlier, Hanno was already leading the horses to the two of you.

“Who is it?” You knew better than to stall, especially when he wore such a serious expression. He helped you climb onto the back of your horse and paused for only a moment, one of his warm palms resting on your skirt-covered thigh.

“A small war party, by the looks of it. Nothing the defense can’t handle. But we need to get out of the way before they attack. There’s a forest just a few paces away, but we need to get moving.” He ensured that you and Lulit were secured before he climbed onto his own horse. Dust grew in the east and you felt your worry build with it. Hanno tugged at the reins of your horse, urging you to follow. You urged your horse into a gallop and kept close to him, but you still looked over your shoulder to gauge how close the marauders were.

“Hanno.” Your voice carried a warning and he looked back to see a rider closing in on them. He let out an expletive and pointed to the trees that were nearing with every step.

“Go! I’ll find you.” He slowed his horse and fell in line with you, his bright eyes meeting yours. “I swear to you.”

You swallowed against your rising panic and he sent you a reassuring smile before he turned his horse around and rode off in the direction of your pursuer. You looked back to watch as he drew his sword with expert ease.

Focus, you chastised yourself. You need to focus.

Lulit silently followed you as you led the way to the forest. Once the trees began to cloud your vision, you looked back and saw nothing but dirt and sky. He would be okay. He had to be.

Dismounting, you grabbed the reins of your horse and led her further into the forest until you came to a clearing with a good underbrush. You tied the horses and instructed Lulit to dig out some of the underbrush so she could lay down and rest while you brushed out the horses.

“Are we in danger?” she asked. Were you? You had no clue. But you set your shoulders and covered her with the blanket she kept on her saddle.

“Hanno would never let anything happen to us,” you told her. You settled down onto the soft grass next to her. “Let me continue my story. While Psyche’s sisters married, she found herself still unmarried and that worried her father who consulted a seer. The seer predicted an awful outcome for the beautiful daughter, one of a brutish husband in the form of a dragon who came to claim her and whom the gods feared. But truthfully, the goddess of beauty had been so enraged by the people’s devotion to Psyche that she sent her son to enchant her with a hideous creature, but instead found himself falling in love with her.”

Lulit curled up onto her side, cradling her growing belly with her hands as she listened raptly to your story. You spoke of the trials the lovers endured in their pursuit of one another, but as you began to wrap up the story, you found that she had drifted off to sleep.

A branch cracked nearby and you flinched. There was a small knife in your saddlebags that you used for foraging and silently, you crept over to your horse and retrieved it. The leaves rustled and you spun to face whatever beast dared to come close. You held your knife aloft and pointed it in the direction of where the noise was coming from. Oh, you were not brave. You were a farmer’s daughter and a healer. The most you knew with a knife was how to butcher an animal.

“You need to adjust your thumb to the other side,” Hanno said in greeting as he stepped through the forest and into the clearing. “It will give you better control.”

With a ragged sigh of relief, your shoulders fell from their tensed position and you dropped the knife onto the grass below. He stooped to catch it and studied the small blade with a hint of a smile. Droplets of blood stained his face and you carefully examined him for any sign of injuries.

“I am unharmed, my little warrior,” he teased. He rose and handed you the knife once more. “And I will make sure to teach you how to use that.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He could easily be lying. Father always brushed off your mother’s worries so as to not incite her own anxieties. Hanno raised his arms from his sides and slowly turned so you could see that he was indeed unharmed. His sword hung from its scabbard and you could see that blood still lingered on its surface.

“Are we safe?”

His eyes darkened and he stepped closer, his hands hovering over your waist. He searched your face for something, you weren’t sure, but dipped his head into a nod. “Aye. I would never let anything happen to you. To you or Lulit.”

“Then rest, soldier. Let me clean your sword.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but determination furrowed your brows and Hanno reluctantly unstrapped his sword from his side and handed it to you. This was a task you had witnessed your mother perform before when your father took on anyone trying to attack the farm. Blood was not a foreign thing to you, even if Hanno appeared to want to protect you from it.

You took a rag from your saddle pack and sat down by a tree. Hanno joined you, his back against the bark and his eyes studying the treeline for any disturbance. Slowly and methodically, you ran the rag over his blade and ensured that every last drop of blood and gore was cleaned from it. He searched your face for any sign of fear. Fear of what? Of him? A man who so willingly charged into danger to protect you engendered no fear from you.

“There,” you declared. “Good as new.”

He gratefully accepted the blade from you and placed it back in his scabbard. The sun was starting to set and the glow between the trees created a halo of light around you. He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair out of your face before curling his knuckles against your jaw and stroking his thumb over your cheek. You let your eyes flutter shut and leaned into his palm, savoring the rough drag of his calloused fingers against your soft skin.

You loved him. Oh, the thought made your heart race and you surged forward. He caught your waist in his calloused hands and let his lips meet yours in a breathless kiss. Hanno groaned against your touch and you pulled away, thinking he was hurt with some injury you hadn’t seen, but he merely cupped your face and pulled you back in so he could nip at your lips and soothe the slight sting with his tongue. You whimpered at his touch and kissed him once again, moving your hands down to trace along the hard lines of his chest. Your hand moved lower and Hanno quickly pulled away from you, one of his hands catching yours and tangling your fingers with his.

“Not yet,” he panted against your cheek. “Not yet.”

Dawn was breaking when you awoke. Your head rested on a blanket that you recognized as Hanno’s while your own draped over you, protecting you from the bitterly cold nights of Numidia. Your soldier sat wide awake and alert beside you and you could tell, from the fatigue weighing down his eyes, that he hadn’t slept a wink through the night. A silent sentry, guarding you and Lulit from any unseen danger.

The blanket fell from your shoulder as you began to sit up and he instinctively reached over to drag it back up your shoulder, bathing you in warmth from both the outside and surging through your insides at his tenderness.

You woke Lulit and the three of you rode back to the city, barely making it in time before a search party headed by Lulit’s husband went out. He wept when he saw his wife and swept her into his arms. Two men offered to take your horses to the stables to care for them and you graciously accepted. Hanno refused to leave your side until he deposited you at your doorstep.

It was still early but you knew your parents would be awake, both from their anxiety and their history as farmers. Your mother let out a shriek when she saw you approach and ran from the doorway to hug you. Hanno squeezed your hand once and made to step away, but you kept your fingers tightly entwined with his.

“I believe you have something to ask of my father,” you explained. His brows raised in surprise and you offered him a shy smile. As your mother ran back to the house to exclaim of your return, you raised your clasped hands so you could press a kiss to his dirt-stained skin.

“Are you sure?” His hesitation had nothing to do with you, but rather in his belief that he was not good enough for you. You laughed and started to drag him in the direction of the house.

“You foolish man.” A boyish grin lit up his face and he followed you inside.

“What happens to me once we reach Rome?”

General Acacius looked up from the letter he was writing and turned to face you. The floor barely made a comfortable place to lay your head, but he had at least given you blankets and removed the chains from your legs. They only went back on when you were on the deck, thanks in part to your failed attempt to jump overboard and sink into the sea.

“My wife will find a place for you in her house,” he explained. You scoffed and picked at the dried blood under your fingernails. You spent your days stitching up and tending to the wounds of Roman soldiers and spent your nights curled up on the floor of this room, dreaming of bright blue eyes and a crooked smile.

“Why? Couldn’t you just drop me off at the nearest brothel and let them rip me apart?” His compassion, minimal at best but still present, confused you. To him, you were barbarian scum. A conquered people. Prisoner of war, spoils, an artifact of his military prowess. He winced at your accusation, knowing that it was true for many military campaigns that the women were subjugated into the slave trade and forced into prostitution. The general refused to meet your eyes and you savored what little bit of power you held over him.

You could picture it now. You would demure yourself and behave in his wife’s house until you found a chance to slit her throat and leave him with the same raw, empty feeling that consumed you.

“You have skills that would be useful,” he muttered. “Your husban-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him,” you hissed. “My husband was a good and kind man. You do not deserve to speak of him.”

“He taught you well,” he continued on. “Lucilla could use someone with your skill set.”

The name made you pause and you tilted your head to the side, brows furrowing as you mentally ran through your memories. “Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius?”

He regarded you with suspicion. “Aye. How do you know of her?”

“Everyone knows of Marcus Aurelius,” you retorted. “I’d be a fool not to.”

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention away from you and he rose to answer it. General Acacius left the room to sort out some sort of issue and left you alone with your thoughts. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your folded arms. If you shut your eyes, you could see his face. If you thought hard enough, you could feel him in your dreams. The rough stubble of his beard. The high plains of his cheekbones. The crooked smile he gave you when he made you laugh.

Lucilla, daughter of Aurelius, you ran the words over and over in your head. Aurelius. Aurelius.

You could only hope that Hanno would forgive you if you delayed your joining with him in the afterlife for a little bit longer.

He slept fitfully on the ship and in the cages. He dreams of your eyes, your laugh, your smile, and wakes with your name on his lips in a strangled cry that he buries into his bicep and lets only a few tears leak out onto his battered skin. 

He has nightmares most nights and the lack of sleep fuels his rage. Dark circles take hold under his eyes and weariness leaves red rims around his blue pupils, making him appear as the wild barbarian they purport him to be. His muscles ache and scream and bruises litter his torso. He bites a monkey back and savors the burning anger that courses through his veins. The crowds cheer and shout and applaud his fury, but he pays them no mind. All he focuses on is going back to his cell and dreaming of you once more.

Killing men has never been an issue for him. He was raised a fighter, even in Numidia where he helped Jugurtha lead their forces. He fought in skirmishes and battles. When he met you, it brought another reason to keep the fight going. He refused to let a single person pass into the gates of the city when you were seeking protection inside. He had failed you, and every new scar on his body was merely penance.

Ravi chastises him for the way that he seeks out injury, but the man doesn’t refuse to help him. In an opium-fueled haze, Hanno tells him quietly that his wife was a healer. She was exceedingly kind and gentle. Too gentle for him. He was scared he would break her with his brutish nature, but she was also enduringly strong. A stray tear slips down his cheek and he tosses the opium aside in favor of feeling the pain and knowing that it pales in comparison to the ache in his chest. His grief builds and compounds into this sickening version of him that he cannot recognize. The blood of other men stains his skin, no matter how hard he scrubs in the baths. Even when the iron-thick substance is gone, he can still see it.

Macrinus brought the finest courtesans by his cell, but he refused them everytime. Once, the girl shared a similar hair color as you and he invited her into his cell, but merely let her rest on his cot while he sat at his desk and sketched what he could remember of your face on thin papyrus.

When he looked into the stands and saw your murderer seated with his mother, his rage calcified into his heart. With every kill, he pictured your pale face crying out for him. With every breath, he reminded himself of his failure to protect you. His mother had the audacity to reason with him.

“Do you have a family?” Lucilla asked.

He says your name with the reverence afforded to the gods and then hisses out that you were dead and taken from him by her husband. How dare she try to call her son home when she shares a bed with that monster? Ferality consumed him and his thirst for revenge. He meant what he said to Macrinus. Only Acacius’ head will quench this fire in his blood. For a sickening moment, he wants his mother to feel the way he does.

There are times when the night is darkest that his mind descends into the throes of the deepest depression and he wonders about how you would feel if you saw him like this. There is one nightmare that plays over and over again in his mind. He is in the Colosseum and the crowd is cheering in their bloodlust. The gates open and he steps out to face his next opponent, only to find you standing in the sand with your hands outstretched towards him. In this dream, he can’t stop himself from raising his blade an-

He woke up screaming.

Hanno doesn’t trust Macrinus within an inch of his life, but he trusts that he’ll bring him Acacius and that…that will be enough.

“Can I tell you a story?” Hanno whispered into your hair.

The wedding was an all-day event. You looked resplendent with flowers woven in your hair and layers of colorful fabric adorning your body. It felt as though the whole city came out to celebrate your union and the dancing, food, and music flowed for hours. Jugurtha clapped his hands on Hanno’s shoulders and congratulated him. A knowing glint flashed in the older man’s eyes and Hanno was eternally grateful for the man’s meddling.

Your father had tears in his eyes when he took your hand from his and placed it into Hanno’s, but they were tears of joy. When discussing the marriage negotiations and dowry, your father declared that there was no one greater for his daughter. In his vows, Hanno promised to protect and provide for you until his very last breath, one that he would take with you in his arms at an old age, with your children around you.

As the night grew longer, the crowds began to thin out. Parents took sleeping children home and the elders slipped away so they could rise early and start their daily chores. The fires began to burn low and Hanno looked over to you, only to have his breath catch in his throat at the realization.

His wife. His wife. Your lovely face was now his to wake up to every morning and your sweet laughter was his to elicit. Izim was telling some tall tale about his adventures as a sentry, but Hanno didn’t hear a single word. He ignored the hoots and hollers of his fellow soldiers and friends as he left their group and strode towards you.

The women around you tittered and giggled as he approached and it drew your attention away from whatever Seble was telling you. You barely had time to react when he suddenly scooped you into his arms. Hanno easily cradled you to him, your long veils swirling around the two of you, and he made his way towards the new house he had built with the help of your father and a few friends. The party cheered and you hid your laughter into the crook of his neck.

Hanno stopped in the doorway and set you gently onto your feet so you could examine your new home. Someone, your mother, you presumed, had already set some lanterns alight in the house and a clay jar of flowers sat on the small wooden table in the center of the room. It was a small house with the bed on one side and a small kitchen on the other. You traced your hand along the furniture that you knew he constructed himself. Your dowry chest laid at the foot of the bed already and a loom was on the wall. Your husband had done all of this.

The word made your throat squeeze with a level of affection you had never experienced before. He watched you carefully from the doorway, but you could see tension in the line of his shoulders and how his hands fidgeted until he clasped them behind his back. The flames from the lanterns made his eyes glow and heightened the smooth planes of his face. You reached up and unclasped your veils, letting them pool at your feet before you took a step forward.

He met you halfway, his hands going to settle on your waist as you nestled into his strong arms. Your hands came up to rest on the rough fabric of his tunic and you could feel his heart beat wildly under the tips of your fingers.

“My husband,” you breathed to the heavens. You wanted the gods to know that this man was yours. He had placed an iron ring on your finger and you savored the weight of it, the press of it against your skin. Hanno’s lips lifted in the barest hint of a grin, but his eyes took on almost burning intensity.

With nimble fingers, you released the clasps of his tunic yet kept your gaze locked on his as the fabric pooled to the ground. Hanno’s breaths grew ragged as you settled your hands back onto the chiseled muscle of his chest. For a moment, nothing happened. You just stared at one another as the air electrified with palpable energy. You had no idea where this boldness emerged from, but you slid your hand down his bicep, along his arm, and then to his wrist where you clasped it and raised his hand to rest on your breast. He swallowed so hard you could see his throat bob and just the simple evidence of his arousal made your skin burn.

“My wife,” he said hoarsely and untied your dress.

Hanno sucked in a shuddering breath as the fabric fell away from your body and joined his on the floor. He stroked his hands over your quivering flesh and stepped forward so that his body pressed against the length of yours. You felt him harden against your thigh as he leaned down to capture your lips in his. The two of you had kissed plenty of times, from small chaste pecks to that heated moment in the forest, but this felt entirely new and you welcomed it. He nibbled at your lips and explored your mouth with the desperation of a dying man searching for water. You moaned your approval which encouraged him and he let one of his hands drift down to cup your breast.

Hanno’s touch made your skin light on fire with every simple brush. How were you supposed to act when the man strutted around shirtless most of the time and built your house? Some of the older women in the city gossiped about their husbands. They told you about how it hurt, about the way he took without giving, and how they hated it.

From the delicate way Hanno touched you and the tender press of his lips against your pulse point, you knew that this would be different. He bent down and hauled you up against him, your legs wrapping around his waist for security, but you knew he would never drop you. You slid your arms around his neck, pulling your chest flush with his and he let his head fall back with a sinful groan, exposing the column of his throat. Eagerly, you licked a stripe up against his sweat-tinged skin and savored the taste of salt, musk, and man.

“By the gods, you will be the end of me, my little wife.” His teeth enclosed around the hinge of your jaw and you let your head fall to the side with a little sigh. Hanno nipped at the skin of your neck and you jolted against him, causing his throbbing cock to brush against you. Hanno squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation that wracked his body and you turned your head so he was facing you. Running your thumb along his jaw, you pulled your husband into another kiss and then pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hold tightened on you, sending a zing of pain mixed with pleasure down your spine.

“Take me to bed, husband,” you panted against his mouth. “Claim me as yours.”

Furs and silk lined the bed and softened your fall. You marveled at the way he prepared everything for you, even bringing over the blankets you wove for your marriage chest and setting them on the bed. He planted himself over you, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he took and you stole a glance down his broad chest to the heavy manhood that stood proud between his thighs. Your body pulsed with want even as your mind protested the idea of taking his length. He sensed your apprehension and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your temple, your brow, both eyelids, and then your lips once more.

“I cannot promise it to be painless,” he said. “But I will do everything in my power to make sure you find bliss too.”

One of his hands snaked down to your most intimate place and your eyes widened with shock as he brushed the pad of his finger along the seam of your cunt. Your legs spread further apart instinctively and he kissed you in thanks for your invitation. A gasp escaped you as one of his fingers slid past your entrance and he kissed away your shock, even as you felt the rough and calloused pad of his finger slide up and press against some part of you that had you seeing stars. A little whimper from you had him pausing and he immediately pulled his hand away, eliciting a low whine from his wife. Hanno couldn’t stop his cocky smile that spread across his face before he touched that part of you again. His finger drew a circle over your flesh and your hips canted up, a mewl spilling past your lips and your breath catching. He stole a kiss, then another as he sent electricity up your spine and shocks scattered through your bones.

“You are magnificent,” he murmured just as he slipped another finger into your aching cunt. For a moment, you felt a hint of discomfort and bit your lip to refrain from making a sound. Hanno frowned and pulled your lip out from between your teeth. Some small part of you whispered ugly words and lies into your mind in an attempt to push his affection away. He only wanted you because other men did. You were merely a token to conquer. He needed a wife before he could get a concubine.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds.” He kissed the corner of your lips and you turned your head to see him properly once more. His eyes burned with a hunger you had seen before like in the forest or when he saw you carry one of the village babes on your hip. Hanno cheek pressed against your own and he whispered into your ear as he sank one finger into you and then two. He told you how proud he was of you, how good you were for him, how precious you were, as he pulled little cries of pleasure from you. You tightened around his fingers and he leaned back and watched your face as your body twitched and seized with the electric shocks of pleasure. A proud smile captured his face and he craned his head down to kiss you again and again and again. You climbed higher, higher, higher but then he abruptly pulled his hand from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned in that deep timbre bass that wracked through your body. Hanno rubbed a gentle circle into your outer thigh and shifted himself until he was kneeling between your spread legs. He grasped his cock in one hand and pressed his other hand to your hip, holding you in place under his heavy gaze. You squirmed as his eyes raked down your naked body and the little thoughts began to creep in once more, but he silenced them with one word.

“Divine.” Hanno leaned down and laid the flat of his tongue along your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a choked out gasp and for a moment, you thought you died and entered the afterlife. He chuckled against your inner thigh and pressed a kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his heels. He stroked his thick length twice before moving closer to you. He nestled his face against your hair and inhaled the sweet scent of rose petals. His cheek rested on your temple, and he shocked you with his question.

“Can I tell you a story?”

You choked back a laugh and kissed the shell of his ear. “I suppose.” While you were the typical storyteller, you would always accept whatever he gave you.

“There was a king of the island of Ithaca by the name of Ulysses*. He was sent to fight in the Trojan War and on the way home, was blown off course. The journey home took over ten years and was filled with countless obstacles and dangers.” You gasped as the blunt head of his cock slid past your entrance and Hanno inhaled deeply. “Odysseus had a wife, the queen of Ithaca, named Penelope. A hundred suitors from the various lands and tribes came in an attempt to woo her and take her hand in marriage. Everyone thought Odysseus to be dead.”

He rocked his hips and his thick length began to split you open and your lips parted in a silent moan. Any air that was in your lungs seemed to evaporate as he filled you fully. Hanno swallowed your shaky whimper with a sweet kiss. You clawed for purchase against his chest, your limbs liquifying when he pulled out. Hanno caught your hand in his and flipped your hand over so he could pepper kisses along the inside of your wrist.

“Penelope was a devoted wife and ever faithful. She never doubted that Odysseus was alive and would come back to her. She lied to the suitors and told them that she would marry them when she finished weaving a funeral shroud. But she undid her work each night.” This time, his intrusion didn’t have the burn like the last thrust. Instead, his cock dragged against your walls in such a way that had your eyes rolling back into your head.

Hanno groaned as he started a steady thrust of his hips. He moved your hands above your head and entangled his fingers with yours, squeezing them in assurance as he fucked you. The pleasure burned so hot in your stomach and consumed your entire being. Everytime he thrust in, it felt like he was carving you out and branding you with his claim and oh, how you wanted this. He built this house for you and your future and even though he put a roof over your head, you saw stars with every touch against your skin.

“Ha-Hann…” You whined as he hit a certain spot that made your head spin. “Hanno.”

He frowned and slowed his thrusts and he touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing away the tear that you didn’t realize slipped down. “Does it hurt?”

You yanked him closer until his nose was touching yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips and he bottomed out in surprise.

 “Don’t you dare stop.” He grinned that reckless, crooked smile of his and swept your lips into a bruising kiss as he fucked every last thought out of your head. His name became a prayer that you chanted to the skies as he took you higher and higher until that coil that wrapped in your stomach snapped. You clenched around his cock and your body seized up as your orgasm washed over you. Hanno let out a guttural, animalistic groan and he spilled his seed into you, flooding you with warmth.

Silence enveloped the two of you, only the heavy exhales from exertion permeating the bubble that surrounded you. Hanno’s body relaxed and he caught himself before he put all of his weight on you. Rolling to the side, his arm came up to curl around your front, and he pulled you to his chest. Nose to nose, you met his gaze and let your breath mingle with his.

“Penelope didn’t falter in her devotion,” you said hoarsely. “Did she?”

His hand drifted up and down the raised gooseflesh on your arm and he reached over to draw one of the furs over you. “Aye, she didn’t.”

You tossed the edge of the fur over him and kissed him once again. “I will always remain steadfast.”

His lips met your temple and he tucked your head under his chin. “And I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.”

Acacius lead you into the villa, the shackles and a new plate around your neck indicating your designation as slave. Lucilla immediately greeted him with an embrace and you looked away, your heart shattering at the sight. Quiet words were exchanged between the two before Acacius paused and stepped back to display you.

“She is from Numidia,” he explained. “She has skills in healing and I felt she would be a good addition to the household.”

Lucilla approached you and took in your sorry state. You felt bile rise in your throat as you bowed your head to the woman, but she stopped you with a raised hand.

“What is your name?” she asked you in Phoenician. You paused before answering her in your second tongue. That’s when you saw her eyes and realized, with a jolt, that she was indeed the woman you had heard of.

“Leta,” Lucilla called for another slave. “Come. Show her to the baths and give her a fresh chiton. Acacius, unchain her.”

He obeyed his wife’s command, but the slate remained. Perhaps you would wear it for the rest of your, hopefully short, life. Leta, an older woman, silently beckoned you to follow her deeper into the villa where a few slave women were gathered together over a pool of warm water.

“Who is this?” one of them asked in Latin.

“A Barbarian whore for the general, I presume,” Leta replied. “He brought her from Numidia. Thing hasn’t had a bath in her whole life.”

You remained silent, hands clasped before you, even as Leta pointed towards the bath. “You. Wash.” You pretended not to understand and she huffed out an annoyed breath and marched off, leaving you to strip out of your ruined and bloody dress from home and step into the water. You didn’t want to wash the gore off of your skin. Not when it was your last reminder of home. Of him.

Taking a moment to look around, you tried to picture what it was like living here in all its splendor. Leta returned and tossed a dress for you onto the edge of the tile and you stared at it blankly. She turned her back to you and started to gossip with the other girls. Your hands scrubbed at your skin, but your ears picked up all that they were saying. Gladiator games, senators, the emperors, it was all banal and boring.

But you found it all invaluable.

When night fell, you slipped out from the tiny cot you had been given in the slave quarters and silently made your way through the halls. Mosaics lined the walls and depicted everything from myths to actual battles. You stopped at the bust of Marcus Aurelius and stared at it for a moment. Shaking your head, you moved on to the hall that everyone had pointedly walked past and Leta explained was off-limits. Or as she said, “no touch”, because she thought that your supposed inability to speak Latin was also an indication of your idiocy.

You pushed open the doors and entered the chambers. Dust covered every inch of the place, as if no one had been in here for years. You carefully made your way over a broken tile and into the bedchamber where the sheets were still unmade and a book lay open on the desk. Turning slowly, you took in the whole of the room with an unsteady inhale.

“The gates of hell are open night and day,” you whispered under your breath. The words were etched onto the top of the wall. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.” As you spoke, you could almost feel the presence of him at your back, his rough and low voice breathing the words into your ear.

You fled from the room, unable to bear it.

You almost made it back across the atrium when Lucilla emerged from seemingly out of nowhere. The two of you paused and you quickly lowered your head in deference.

“I hope you weren’t trying to escape,” she said gently. “Acacius told me that you were recently made a widow.”

The wince on your face was visible even in the moonlight and she stepped forward, her hands clasping over yours in comfort. She spoke her next words in Latin. “I am sorry. These meaningless deaths are foolish emperors playing war without considering the human cost of it.” The older woman patted your hand and made to leave, but your voice stopped her.

“Your slaves do not respect you,” you spoke in Latin. “Leta spreads vicious rumors about you and she said she has ties with some of the senators. Your allies are playing you and your plan is shaky at best.”

She whirled around to face you and you jutted your chin out in defiance, your eyes flashing with something dangerous. “In Numidia, my husband was the soldier, Domina. But I was the politician.”

Macrinus delivered on his promise. Acacius faced off with four soldiers in the Colosseum before Hanno was given a taste of vengeance and oh, did he savor it. Acacius ordered your death. Now, Hanno had the chance to ensure you were honored properly.

But Acacius stood across from him, sword on the ground, and accepted his death with a stoicism that Hanno only dreamed of possessing. The crowd roared and swelled with indignation after Hanno demanded to know their morals, but he was ushered away before he joined his father in dying in this ring.

He was granted the chance to see his mother one last time before her execution for treason and his slaughter in the arena. Lucilla told him of his father and he remembered meeting Maximus and how kind he was, even in the jaws of death. When his mother meets him for the last time, his only thought is how much Lucilla would like you.

She gave him two gifts in parting.

One, his grandfather’s ring.

Two, a lock of hair. And not just any…

Lucilla smiled sadly. “Acacius took her from Numidia to be a healer and didn’t realize she was your wife. She is safe, Lucius, and under the care of my household. I’m afraid I put it together too late, and she isn’t aware that you are here.”

For a moment, the rage subsided and he heard only a shrill ringing in his ears, as though he took a heavy blow to the head. Lucius turned the hair over in his hand and raised it to his nose, smelling a faint hint of rose petals.

I shall always come for you. No matter what it takes.

His mother was taken back to his cell and he took a moment to curl his palm around this fragment of you and press it to his chest to guard it from the world.

And then he called for Ravi.

Your hands remained steady when you slit Leta’s throat. You did so quietly, in the darkness of an alleyway. Blood never fazed you before, and the taking of a life was no different now. As far as you were concerned, this woman was one of the reasons why your Hanno was dead. Was it a rational thought? Perhaps not. But rationality would come another day.

The Colosseum roared with fury and you tried not to flinch at the deafening sound as you slipped in through the gates below, into the pens with the animals and gladiators. Chaos reigned above and below the world’s largest stadium so it was easy to blend in with others. The cloak you stole from Leta made you appear to be a fellow slave working amongst the masses. It never failed to amaze you how they called you a barbarian when they fought men to the death for their entertainment.

Your fingers skated over the smooth wood that curved over your spine and you felt a little better knowing that it was on you. The games were already underway with a few prisoners being devoured by Barbary lions as the crowd screamed for their blood to spill. You slipped around a few courtesans that lingered in the hall and passed the raised dais where three maidens were chained. Pushing on, you found a small corridor that was unoccupied and slipped in between the stones to hide from any roaming eyes.

The noise increased and you knew what was coming. Lucilla would be executed and Macrinus was to blame. The lanista was the mastermind of all of this, and you knew firsthand what war could do to people. You refused to let Lucilla die and, as much as you hated the Romans for what they took from you, the innocent children in the streets would die.

After this, you promised yourself, you would join Hanno.

Footsteps rushed past your hiding spot and when it quieted down in the hallway, you took that as a chance to peek out and see if you had an opening. You slipped out into the hall and darted towards one of the gates that was partly open. A bloodbath was the only word to describe what was happening in the Colosseum. You blanched at the sight of Lucilla tied to the dais, but it seemed as though the gladiators had it well in hand.

Removing the bow from your back, you notched an arrow onto the string and inhaled deeply. Macrinus was not hard to stop, thanks to his place behind Emperor Caracalla, but you didn’t have a clear shot. The crowd was turning on the Praetors and more soldiers entered the Colosseum on horseback. One Praetor nearly took the head off of a gladiator and you turned your bow in that direction.

Breathe in, aim, fire as you breathe out, Jugurtha had instructed. Keep your arm steady, your aim true, and your mind clear. There is no time to panic, just shoot.

The arrow sailed through the air and straight through the Praetor’s shoulder, knocking him off his horse and to the ground. You drew another arrow and started to aim towards Macrinus once more, but this time he was standing up. Caracalla was slumped over dead in front of him and Macrinus had his own bow in his hand.

Numidians were excellent horsemen and archers. Before you ever met Hanno, before you even bled for the first time, you were trained in the art of horsemanship and archery. Indeed your husband vowed his protection, but you were not one to go down without a fight. He taught you how to manipulate a knife, where to aim on the body, but Hanno never came close to your familiarity with a bow.

Your next arrow arched through the air and collided with Macrinus’ shot. The wood splintered midair and you loaded a third, but the lanista fled the stands before you could take another shot. It gave a gladiator the chance to free Lucilla and pass her to another gladiator, a hulking beast of a man. The gladiator gave chase to Macrinus and you focused your attention on your subject at hand.

There had to have been a reason the gods kept you alive and took Hanno. Clearly, it was to protect your husband’s mother.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?”

His hand stilled from where it had been absentmindedly stroking your thigh. Hanno came home from the field and immediately drew you into his lap, inhaling your sweet smell and letting his hands roam all over your body. You savored his touch, but marriage had sharpened your mind regarding his mannerisms. Something was bothering him.

Hanno sighed and he nuzzled his nose against your shoulder. You let him have this moment, but you would weasel the truth out of him, someway or another.

“Is it another woman? A concubine?” you asked, your voice hushed and wounded. He laid a kiss against your skin and shook his head.

“Rome is moving closer,” he finally said. You turned so you could see his face and cupped his chin, drawing his head up to meet your gaze. He blinked up at you with those sky blue eyes of his and nestled into your palm until he could lay a gentle kiss there.

“My name, my real name,” he whispered, “is Lucius Verus Aurelius and I am the prince of Rome.”

The first thing he did after ascending his rightful place as Emperor of Rome was go to his mother’s villa.

Lucilla was fine, a small gash on her bicep and shaken up, but fine. He tried to be a good son, but she could tell his focus was on anywhere but her. Lucilla directed him to the gardens and that is where he found you.

The Roman dress was different from what he was used to seeing, but you still covered your head with a veil when praying to your gods. Head tilted towards the heavens, hands outstretched, you made a beautiful image of devotion.

Your feet inched closer to the edge of the cliff.

“Forgive me, my love, for being so weak that I could not do this sooner,” you said. Tears coursed down your cheeks and stained the fabric of your chiton with damp tracks. You muttered a mixture of prayer and apology and he strained to hear it.

“Give me the strength to commit this final act, oh gods, grant me this. I have protected his mother and granted her the life he was not spared. Please, oh Hanno, let me see you in the afterlife. I am tired, so tired of only seeing you in my dreams.”

“Step back from the edge, my heart.” His voice came out in a tremble.

“Hanno,” you whispered. “Forgive me for being so weak. Forgive me for failing you. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been nothing but strong.” A ferocity claims his words. “Step back from the edge.”

“We made a promise,” you pleaded. “We go as one. Let me join you, please.”

You raise one foot over the rocky cliff and he lashed out before he could think. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back so hard that the both of you tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Lucius kneeled by your side to search for any injury.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. This was the afterlife. It must be. You obeyed his command to find those bright blue eyes that haunted your dreams.

“Am I finally dead?”

“Not for a long, long time.”

No, this wasn’t the afterlife. Blood caked his skin and scars littered his bare arms. He had been muscular before but now he appeared to be only thick, corded muscle. Your hands came up to rest on his neck and you examined his face. The same freckles. Same lines by his eyes. Same long eyelashes.

Trailing your hands down along his arms, you skirted around the obvious injuries he had until your fingers brushed something new, something entirely foreign to you that resided on his shoulder.

A brand.

And with that, the dam within you shattered. The wails of a widow finally escaped your chest and you let out an agonized scream as you curled in on yourself. Hanno gathered you into his arms and buried his face into the crook of your neck. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto your skin. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on the armor that still adorned his body and you eventually settled on cradling the back of his head with one hand and grasping his forearm with the other.

“I am so sorry,” he wept. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner.” He wrenched the slave plate from your neck and kissed the places where the chain had rubbed your skin raw.

All the agony of grief and rage and terror from the last month spilled out of him in broken, gasping sobs. His precious wife was alive and in his arms. Numidia had fallen, but now he had the chance to protect her with all the power and might of Rome. He could now have armies at his beck and call, coffers of coins brought to him, and enemies assassinated but the true power laid in his arms.

His little wife was right. He was the soldier, the muscle, the physical strength. But the reason he fought and killed, the reason he kept going even when every part of his body screamed to give up, was because of her. As far as he was concerned, she had the power to raze cities and command armies. All she had to do was ask him.

“Is this real?” you breathed once your sobs and trembling ceased. He pulled you into his lap and almost began crying once again at the feel of your supple body against his.

“It’s real,” he assured you before he bent down and kissed you. Despite the blood that coated his skin, you savored the taste of him. You never thought you would get this again. Maybe the gods did bless you.

He kept you pressed against his side as you made your way back into the villa. One of the slaves nearly dropped her tray at the sight before her and ran to grab Lucilla. The stately woman swept into the courtyard and met you both there.

“Lucius,” she exclaimed. “I take it that this is your wife.”

“Yes.” His gaze never strayed from your face. “This is her.”

You instinctively went to bow to Lucilla but she stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“You are not my slave any longer,” she assured you. “Not only did you save my life, but you are now my daughter and also Augusta.”

Hanno, Lucius, you reminded yourself, stood in all his resplendent glory, covered in dirt and blood with his gladius hanging from his sheath. How different the two of you were now, yet still fit like the gods made you for each other. Your small house was gone. Your home was subjugated. Your family and friends in the afterlife. But Lucius was still here and still breathing. That made it all worth it.

He might be the Emperor of Rome now and you, the Empress, but he was still your charming soldier, your devoted husband. This, you decided, would make an excellent story someday.