#i see a thousand things to do in a day and i feel that i can do them

[stylesispunk]

"Eternal whispers of you"

marcus acacius x f!reader

Summary: In a time of ancient empires, the forbidden love between a powerful general, Marcus Acacius, and the emperor's sister was met with tragedy. Their affair was discovered, and the emperor cursed his sister to live an eternal life, forced to witness Marcus die in every lifetime without the chance to love him fully again. After a thousand lives, would they meet again?

w.c: 13k (this was supposed to be 8k.)

warnings: angst, power imbalance, loss, separation, mentions of curse, some historical mistakes, the story also takes place in the modern day (I'm telling you) not proofreading. paragraphs in cursive indicate flashbacks.

a/n: This idea was better in my head, but the last Gladiator 2 trailer made me feel things and inspired me to write this. You will also notice inspiration from "The Age of Adeline" in this story. I hope you like it cuz it took me three days to write it. You will notice some inaccurate facts but it was for the sake of the story and my imagination, don't judge me, please. Happy reading and PLEASE share your thoughts with me. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

********"

You were cursed to a life without an ending. Lonely and loveless, every day of your life or any love you could find wouldn't reciprocate and you were going to be condemned to see them grow old and die, and you would continue to live a life in an endless cycle of tragedy.

You were condemned to just tell stories about the man of your life, the one who had been murdered and punished to die without honor for your brother's poisoned mouth.

You became a traitor for the empire. But not cries out of shame or the dirty words of people hurt as much as the day you hold Marcus’s hand for the last time as his eyes closed in a forever eternity that you were going to live without him.

Not even death could put you both together in the same path. You were cursed to remember his love, and you were cursed to never see him again and to live a never-ending life without the love who made your life a field of dreams.

The night after your love affair with Marcus was discovered. The emperor, your brother, furious with your betrayal, condemned both of you. You were summoned to the imperial court, where your brother delivered the punishment. His words sting like venom, cursing Marcus to die dishonorably in front of your eyes.

That night still haunted you.

The imperial court was dimly lit by the flickering flames of torches, casting shadows across the towering marble columns. You stood at the center, your heart pounding like war drums in your chest. Your brother, sat upon his gilded throne, his eyes dark with fury. You could barely hear the words that escaped his lips, but their venom poisoned the air between you.

“Traitor,” he spat, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You have betrayed not only your empire but your blood.”

Your eyes flicked to Marcus, kneeling beside you, bound and bruised. The strong, unyielding general was barely recognizable under the weight of chains and despair. His gaze, however, remained fixed on you, calm, resolute, and filled with love that no curse could shatter.

Your brother’s face twisted with rage as he stood, his robes sweeping the floor like the wings of a vulture. “You,” he snarled, his finger pointing at Marcus, “will die with dishonor, like a common criminal for taking advantage of my sister. And you,” he turned to you, his eyes burning with hatred, “You will be cursed to an eternal life, loveless and alone. You will remember this betrayal every waking moment for the rest of your existence, and you will never know peace again.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you did not flinch. The emperor’s voice rose like a storm. “You will watch him die, over and over, in your memory. And with every death you witness, you will be reminded that this is your doing. You will live forever, but you will die inside every day.”

With a gesture of his hand, the guards dragged Marcus away. His eyes never left yours, filled with an unspoken promise of love that neither time nor curse could take from you. You reached for him, your fingers grazing his as they pulled him further from you, his touch slipping away like sand between your fingers.

You screamed his name, but your voice was swallowed by the cold, empty hall. The weight of your brother’s words crashed down on you like a wave, and you fell to your knees. The curse had already begun.

The day of Marcus’s execution came far too soon.

They paraded him through the streets like a criminal, his once-glorious armor stripped from him, replaced with the rags of the condemned. The crowd jeered and spat, but you saw none of it. All you saw was Marcus, broken, yet still impossibly strong.

You stood at the front of the crowd, the place of honor reserved for the emperor’s family, forced to witness the final blow. As they prepared to end his life, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat screaming for you to do something, to save him.

But you were powerless.

Marcus turned his head toward you one last time, his eyes soft, filled with a love that had transcended the horror of the moment. His lips moved, forming words meant only for you.

“I will find you again.”

With that, the sword fell.

The world shattered around you. You dropped to your knees as the crowd roared with approval, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your heart breaking. You clutched your chest, feeling the jagged pieces of your soul tearing at you, but the pain wasn’t enough to free you from the curse. You couldn’t escape. The curse wouldn’t let you.

You watched as Marcus’s body was dragged away, knowing you would never hold him again.

++

After Marcus’ death, you begin to experience your immortality firsthand. You don’t age, but the world around you does. At first, the pain is too great, and you isolate yourself, haunted by the memory of his final moments. You visit his grave every day, talking to him as if he were still alive.

There’s a sense of numbness, a hollow ache where his presence used to be. You realize the gravity of your curse the first time you notice gray hairs on the friends and people around you, but none on yourself. While others grow old and die, you remain the same, a constant in a world of change.

You slowly started to see the empire fall, and with it the death caught your family, one by one. Geta was the first, the middle of a family you now considered cursed. The, your mother and father met the same fate, and finally, Caracalla met death too, murdered by a soldier. He died without honor and he would be remembered as the cruelest imperator, you would make sure of it.

You were the only left from the fallen family, you could have saved the empire from breaking into pieces, but you weren’t going to sacrifice any second from your eternal life on it, so you erased yourself from Rome and from the history of it.

You left Rome behind, watching the city fall to ruin, its power crumbling with each passing year. The empire you had once known, that had been ruled by your family, was now a memory, a fading echo in the vastness of time. You no longer belonged there, and you had no desire to preserve what had been lost. The weight of your curse consumed you, drowning out any loyalty you might have once felt.

Instead, you wandered, drifting across continents and centuries. At first, you tried to hide, retreating to the furthest corners of the earth, away from people, away from the pain of watching those around you wither and die. Each new connection, each fleeting friendship, was a reminder of the man you could never forget, of Marcus's warm touch and his promise to find you again, unfulfilled.

But the world was relentless, and no matter how much you tried to isolate yourself, it continued to grow, to change. Civilizations rose and fell, each one leaving its mark on history, yet you remained untouched by time. You began to realize the truth of your brother’s curse, not just the eternity of your life, but the eternal loneliness that accompanied it.

The worst part wasn’t just the loss of your family or Marcus’s death; it was the fact that no matter where you went or how much time passed, you could never escape the memory of him. The grief was always there, lingering just beneath the surface, a shadow following you wherever you went. You carried the weight of his death, not just as a memory, but as an unending, crushing reality that haunted your dreams and your waking moments.

In the centuries that followed, you watched as kingdoms rose from the ashes of the Roman Empire. You saw the birth of new religions, new governments, new ways of thinking, but you remained on the outside, forever watching, forever unchanged. While others lived their lives, you were a ghost, slipping through the cracks of history, unnoticed and unseen.

But you could never forget Marcus. No matter how hard you tried to distance yourself from the pain, he was always there in your thoughts. His memory became your only companion, the one thing that time could never take from you. You told stories of him, of his strength, his courage, his love, but never revealed the truth. They were just tales to those who listened, history that no one could verify, but for you, they were the only way to keep his memory alive.

You returned to his grave as often as you could, though as the centuries passed, even that became more difficult. The world changed around you, the landscapes shifted, cities were built and destroyed, and the places you had once known became unfamiliar. His grave, once a sacred place for you, was lost to time. It was one of the last connections you had to him, and when it was gone, it felt as though a piece of you had been taken too.

There were moments when you tried to end your existence, hoping to find Marcus in the afterlife. You throw yourself into battles, attempt poison, even seek out dark magic, but nothing works. The curse prevented any harm from lasting.

The curse ensures that you never forget Marcus, his face, his touch, the sound of his voice. You find yourself returning to places that remind you of him, like the old battlefield where you first met, or the quiet corners of the palace where you shared stolen moments.

You often found yourself returning to places that held memories of Marcus. The battlefield where you first met, where he had caught your eye in the midst of the chaos, remained sacred to you. You would stand there, recalling the way your heart raced when he first spoke to you. The palace too, though long gone, remained vivid in your mind. You could still hear the echo of your laughter as you shared secret moments in the quiet corners, moments stolen from the prying eyes of the court.

But none of these memories could fill the void that had been left behind. You were a shell of who you had once been, and your existence was now defined by the absence of Marcus.

You became a witness, watching people fall in love, create families, grow old, and die. It was a cycle you had been denied, and it filled you with both longing and bitterness. The worst part of your immortality wasn't the endless life itself, it was the endless isolation, the inability to ever truly connect with anyone again.

In the present day, the weight of centuries finally began to take its toll. You had lived through empires, witnessed the birth of new nations, and seen countless lives come and go. Yet, no matter where you went or how much time passed, you remained haunted by Marcus’s memory. He was always there, a specter in your mind, the only constant in your immortal existence.

After wandering aimlessly for decades, you found yourself drawn to history once again, not just as a passive observer, but with a deep desire to preserve the past.

You were in a quiet bookstore, surrounded by shelves of dusty books. Your hands ran over the spines of history texts as you stopped at a volume about Ancient Rome. The familiar symbols, the names, even the dates of battles were etched in your mind like scars. You paused on a chapter dedicated to General Marcus Acacius, your Marcus. He was remembered as a hero, a man of honor, but the truth of his death, the betrayal, has been lost to history. You smiled at the thought that even Caracalla’s venom words, didn’t tinted Marcus’s name on history.

The memories fled back in an instant, the first time you saw Marcus commanding his troops, his fierce yet kind eyes, the way he smiled when no one else was looking. It was a painful nostalgia, one that made your chest tighten. You’ve avoided facing the truth about the Roman Empire for so long, unable to face the weight of those memories. But you realized now that telling Marcus’ story was the only way to keep him alive.

You left the bookstore, a decision already made in your heart. You would become a history teacher, and through your lessons, you would keep Marcus alive in a way that no curse could take from you.

At the first day in the classroom. The desks were arranged neatly, sunlight streaming through the windows, and your students were filing in. You stood at the front of the room; your hands rested on the chalkboard. It was strange, being back on an important role where you were meant to pass on knowledge. But for you, this was more than just education, it was a form of remembrance.

You felt a mixture of nerves. This was a chance to talk about Marcus again, to give him the honor he was stripped of in life. You weren’t sure if you were becoming crazy through this endless circle, and you didn’t know if you still were twisting the knife of endless memories you had of him, but you know that this was the closest you had been to him. As you students settled in, you introduce yourself, with a new of the thousand names you had had during your long life. You dove into your lecture about the Roman Empire. When you mentioned Marcus, your voice faltered just slightly, but you pressed on, determined to honor him in the only way left to you.

As you stood before your students, your mind wandered back to the times when you were with Marcus, the memories flooding in, unbidden but unstoppable. The classroom around you faded, and the vivid images of the Roman Empire took over. You were no longer in the present, but back in the heart of ancient Rome, standing beside him, your love, your general.

It was a warm summer evening in Rome. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in shades of deep orange and purple. You and Marcus were hidden away in a secluded corner of the palace, stealing a moment of peace amid the constant threat of discovery. His armor had been discarded, instead he was wearing his cloak as if it could erase the responsibility off his shoulders. In that moment, he was not a general, he was just Marcus, yours, the man you loved.

His hand brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine. You had to be careful, even here. The walls had ears, and the court was always watching. But with him, you found yourself willing to take the risk. The world outside your bubble of stolen moments didn't matter. Not the empire, not your brother, not the looming consequences. Just Marcus.

"You should go," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "It's too dangerous."

But you shook your head, stepping closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "I don't care," you whispered back, your heart racing. "Let them find out. Let the whole world know. I love you, Marcus."

He looked down at you, his dark eyes softening as they always did when he gazed at you. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you too," he said, his voice filled with the same intensity you had come to depend on, but laced with sorrow. "But your family will not be kind to us.”

You knew he was right. You both did. The affair was treason, a betrayal to the honor of your family, to your brother. But the pull between you was too strong, too undeniable. It had started innocently enough, during the long strategy meetings Marcus held with your brother. You had caught glimpses of him, and over time, those stolen glances had become longer, lingering. Before you knew it, you were sneaking away from the palace, meeting him in secret, hiding your love from the watchful eyes of Rome.

In that moment, though, none of it mattered. He leaned down and kissed you, softly at first, as if testing the boundaries of your defiance, then more passionately, as if the whole world could burn for all he cared. You melted into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the heat of the moment, your mind clouded by desire and the need to be close to him.

You snapped back to the present, your heart still racing as if you had just been pulled from Marcus’s arms. The students stared at you, waiting. You realized you had paused in the middle of your lecture, lost in the memory. Quickly, you cleared your throat, steadying your voice before continuing.

"General Marcus Acacius was one of the finest commanders Rome ever produced. He led with strength and honor, but..." you hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. "But history doesn’t always remember those who deserve it most. He died in dishonor, stripped of his title and his legacy.”

Your students watched you, unaware of the deep, personal meaning those words held for you. They were listening to a lesson, but you were recounting the loss of your greatest love.

And that’s how week after week, your lectures became more detailed. The students were captivated by your knowledge of the Roman Empire, unaware that you were telling them stories of your own life. When you spoke of the campaigns Marcus led, your tone softened, and the students sense the reverence in your words. They asked questions about him, and you answer with more care than you do for any other figure in Roman history.

Speaking about Marcus became a bittersweet ritual. You felt the same pain as you did centuries ago, but there was a strange comfort in saying his name aloud. With every story you tell, you feel like you were giving him a second life, bringing him back into the world if only for a moment. The students didn’t know it, but they were learning about a man who shaped you in ways that any book could never explain.

After class, you often sat alone in your office, a single lamp casting a dim glow. Old books of the Roman Empire were spread out before you, but your mind drifted away. You thought about the moments you shared with Marcus, the way he used to hold you after long days of battle, the whispered promises of a future that was stolen from you both.

The loneliness that had followed you for centuries still lingered, but teaching about him helped ease it, if only slightly. It was as though every time you speak his name, you were defying the curse, keeping his memory alive despite the gods’ punishment. But there were nights when the pain was too much, and you felt the weight of eternity pressing down on you. You wonder if Marcus could hear you, if somewhere, in some distant place, he knows you were still fighting to keep his honor intact.

It was late, the room lit only by the flicker of a single oil lamp. You were lying beside Marcus, the cool night seeping through the cracks of the window shutters. The war outside had raged on for weeks, but in this quiet moment, there was only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.

His arm was draped across your waist, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over the back of your hand. His touch was gentle, a contrast to the hardened general the world saw. Here, with you, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. You shifted slightly, laying your head on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

"You know we can't keep this up forever," he whispered, his voice thick with weariness and something more. Fear, perhaps. Or resignation.

You didn’t reply right away. You knew the truth of his words there was always the looming threat of discovery, of punishment. But in this moment, you wanted to pretend, just for a little longer, that the world outside didn’t exist. That this wasn’t forbidden. That you weren’t living on borrowed time.

He caressed your hand, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark reminder of the battles he fought, the sacrifices he made. "I would give it all up, you know," he continued, his voice soft, barely audible. "The empire, the glory, everything. Just to stay here with you."

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. You knew he meant them, and you wanted to believe in a future where such sacrifices could lead to a peaceful life together. But you both knew better. The weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the emperor, your brother, were never far from your thoughts.

"You don't have to give up anything, Marcus," you whispered, bringing your hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours. "I love you as you are. And for as long as we have, that will be enough for me."

But even as you said the words, a sinking feeling settled in your chest. You had always known that the empire was a ruthless machine, and it would not allow your love to exist without a price. Still, you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss linger as though you could keep time at bay, as though you could stop the inevitable.

When you pulled away, Marcus smiled faintly, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "If only we could stay like this forever," he murmured.

You leaned back in your chair, the weight of eternity pressing down once again. Could Marcus hear you now? Could he feel your longing across the vast time? You didn’t know. But you hoped, no, you believed that somehow, somewhere, he still held you in his heart, just as you held him in yours.

One day, a student stayed behind after class, intrigued by the depth of your knowledge about Marcus Acacius. “It’s like you knew him,” she said, half-joking. “How do you know so much about his life? There’s not much written about him in the sources we have.”

For a moment, you’re taken aback. You’ve been careful to keep your personal connection to Marcus hidden, but the student’s words strike a chord. You felt the urge to tell her the truth, that you did know him, that you loved him, that you were cursed to live on without him. But instead, you smile softly and say, “I’ve studied him for a very long time. Some stories just stay with you.”

The student nodded, satisfied with your answer, but as she left, you felt a pang of longing. You wished, just once, you could tell someone the truth. But you know the world wasn’t ready for your story. It’s a secret you’ll carry alone.

As the years passed, teaching became your refuge. You taught more than just facts and dates, you taught the human side of history, the emotions and relationships that shaped the past. Through your stories, Marcus lived on in the minds of your students, and that gave you a small sense of peace.

The curse still lingered, and the pain of losing Marcus never would fade completely. But through your lectures, you’ve found a way to keep his memory alive. You couldn’t bring him back, but you could ensure that he was remembered, not as the man who was unjustly killed, but as the honorable general who loved you. In that way, you fought against the curse, turning your suffering into something meaningful.

One afternoon, as your students filled out of the classroom, you noticed one student lingering behind, gathering his things slowly. You've been watching him for a few weeks now, and it hasn’t escaped your attention that he always sat alone, quiet and withdrawn. His name was David, and though he never caused any disruptions, he seemed distant from the rest of the class, lost in thought, barely engaging with the lessons.

You decide it was time to reach out.

After the classroom emptied, you approached David as he slanged his backpack over one shoulder. His eyes remained downcast, and you sensed a heaviness about him, something familiar in the way he seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

“David,” you said gently, “can I speak to you for a moment?”

He glanced up, surprised, but nodded. You gestured toward the front of the room, and he hesitantly followed you. The two of you sat across from each other, the quietness of the empty classroom made the moment more intimate.

You saw something familiar on him, soft brown eyes

You looked at David and felt a strange sense of recognition. His soft brown eyes held a weight that was all too familiar, reminding you of someone you had long ago lost. The resemblance was subtle, but it struck a chord deep within you, like an echo from a past you had tried to forget.

"Is everything alright?" you asked gently, hoping to break through the wall he had built around himself.

David shrugged, staring down at the desk in front of him. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, but you could tell from his tone that he wasn’t.

You leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. “It’s okay if you're not. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He glanced up briefly, then away again, the silence between you heavy with unspoken thoughts. There was something more than just teenage angst weighing on him. Something deeper.

“Do you live with your parents?” you asked, thinking you could reach out to them, perhaps offer a meeting to better understand what was troubling him.

David shook his head slowly. “No, it’s just me and my dad.”

His words were like a key, unlocking a door that had remained sealed for centuries. The moment he mentioned his father, a strange chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t explain it, but something inside you shifted, as if the ground beneath your feet had suddenly become unstable.

Before you could ask another question, David continued. “He…he works a lot, doesn’t talk much about stuff. But he cares. I know he does.”

You nodded, sensing a familiar loneliness in his words, one that mirrored your own. “I’d like to meet him,” you said, though the idea stirred something unsettling within you. “Maybe we could have a talk, see if we can help you feel more connected here.”

David shrugged again but didn’t resist. “I guess. I’ll let him know.”

A few days later, you arranged for a meeting with David’s father. As the time approached, you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled into your bones since the conversation with David. There was something about him, about his eyes, his manners, that reminded you of Marcus in a way that felt impossible. But centuries had taught you that the impossible often had a way of finding you.

The classroom door creaked open, and you looked up from your desk. David walked in first, looking a bit anxious, followed by his father. The moment you saw him, your breath caught in your throat.

It was Marcus.

He stood there, lingering by the door, his eyes locking with yours. Though time had passed, and he appeared as someone entirely new, the essence of him, his presence, his soul, was unmistakable. He looked at you with a furrowed brow, as if trying to place you, the same soft brown eyes that had haunted your dreams staring back at you in the flesh.

He stepped in slowly, a tall man with broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a calm yet commanding presence. He looked almost exactly the same as he did all those centuries ago, his hair was streaked with gray, and there was a tiredness around his eyes, but the face, the face was unmistakable.

It was Marcus.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, and for a split second, you felt dizzy, as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet. Memories fled back, so overwhelming it was as if you were living them all over again: his voice, his touch, the way he smiled at you in those quiet moments when no one else was around. Your throat tightened, your hands trembled, and you could barely breathe. You waited for centuries, living in the shadow of his absence, knowing he would never return to you. And yet, here he is.

You’re stared at a man who didn’t remember the life you shared. A man who looked like Marcus but had no idea of the love, the pain, the eternity you’ve endured without him.

He didn’t recognize you, of course. How could he? You’ve lived for centuries, unchanged, while he, he’d been given a new life, one free from the curse that bound you. He cleared his throat, clearly waiting for you to speak, and it was only then that you realize you’d been standing there, staring.

“Uh… I’m David’s father,” he says, extending a hand. His voice was deeper now, worn by time, but the tone. It was Marcus. It was him.

You forced yourself to take his hand, and the moment your fingers touched, the air in the room seemed to thin. The connection was immediate, electric, and your mind spun with the impossibility of what’s happening. You shook his hand, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from falling apart.

“I’m… I’m David’s teacher,” you managed to say, your voice shaky. You gave him your name, though you were almost certain the sound of it, the familiarity of it, would spark something in him. But nothing. He was just a man, living an ordinary life, unaware of the past you shared.

He sat down across from you, unaware that this is the most surreal moment of your long, cursed life.

“David’s mentioned he’s been struggling,” he began, looking down at his son, and there was concern in his voice. “I’ve been worried about him. I thought maybe it had to do with his schoolwork.”

You forced yourself to focus, trying to push down the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. How could Marcus be here, sitting in front of you, unchanged yet completely different? He didn’t recognize you, he couldn’t. He had lived and died, while you had remained frozen in time. This man, David’s father, had no knowledge of the centuries of pain you had carried or the love you had lost.

“Yes, David has been a little distant,” you managed to say, your voice barely steady. You glanced at David, who sat quietly next to his father, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. “He’s a bright student, but I’ve noticed he’s been… struggling to engage.”

Marcus—no, not Marcus, David’s father—nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’ve had a rough few months,” he admitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve been working a lot, and it’s been just the two of us since his mother left. I think it’s been harder on him than I realized.”

The way he spoke, the cadence of his words, the soft concern in his voice, it was Marcus. Your heart ached with the familiarity of it, but the reality crashed down on you just as quickly. He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t remember anything about the life you had shared, about the love you had lost. To him, you were just another teacher, another stranger.

“I understand,” you replied, trying to keep your voice level. “Maybe we can work together to help him feel more connected. Sometimes, just having a consistent presence can make all the difference.”

As you spoke, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him, trying to reconcile the man sitting in front of you with the one who had held you centuries ago. He was so close and yet so impossibly far away. He had no memory of you, no recollection of the love that had once bound you together. It was both a blessing and a curse—he was free from the torment that had plagued you for centuries, but you were left alone in your knowledge of what you had once shared.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he said, glancing at David with a softness that made your chest tighten. “I want to make sure he’s okay. It’s been tough on both of us.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was your Marcus, but not your Marcus. He was a father now, concerned about his son, living a life you had never been a part of.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that. You offered some advice, discussed possible ways to help David, but all the while, your thoughts were consumed by the impossibility of the situation. As they both left the room, Marcus lingered for a moment by the door, his eyes meeting yours once again.

“I appreciate you taking the time,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, but… it means a lot.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. “Of course.”

He gave you a small, almost hesitant smile before he turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. And then you were alone, the weight of your endless existence pressing down on you once more.

As you sat there, staring at the door through which he had just walked, you realized the cruel twist of fate you now faced. Marcus had been given another chance at life—a chance to live without the burden of the past, without the curse that had chained you to eternity. But you, you remained the same, trapped in an endless cycle of love and loss.

As you sat there in the quiet, the memories of Marcus flooded your mind—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you all those centuries ago. You were lost in the whirlwind of it when you suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Your heart quickened, and before you could even turn, you knew who it was.

David’s father-Marcus- stood in the doorway again, hesitating for a moment. His brow furrowed in thought, as though something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. He cleared his throat, and when you finally met his eyes, your heart nearly stopped.

“I know this might sound strange,” he begins, his voice softer now, uncertain. “But… have we met before?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. For centuries, you had dreamed of hearing those words, of him somehow remembering you, but now that it was happening, you didn’t know how to respond. How could you explain what was beyond comprehension? That you had loved him deeply, that you had lived lifetimes while he had been reborn, oblivious to the pain you still carried?

You forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside you. “I… I don’t think so,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

He looked at you closely, his eyes searching your face, as if trying to pull a long-forgotten memory to the surface. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—the curse wasn’t as strong as you thought. Maybe some part of him did remember.

“There’s just something familiar about you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you remembered all too well. “It’s strange… like I’ve seen you before. Or… I don’t know.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

You felt your breath catch. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, to give in to the temptation of finally revealing who you really were. But what good would that do? He was living a new life, and you had no place in it.

“Maybe we’ve crossed paths somewhere before,” you replied, your voice steadying even as your heart ached. “The world can be small like that.”

He nodded, but you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at you. “Thanks again for everything. I really appreciate it.”

You nodded, offering him a smile that felt like a lie. “Of course. Take care.”

With that, he gave you one last look—one that made your chest tighten—and turned to leave. As his footsteps echoed down the hallway, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice in keeping the truth hidden.

For the first time in centuries, you weren’t sure what your future held. All you knew was that Marcus was out there again, living a life you could never be a part of. And once again, you were left with the memories, the only thing that time and the curse had not been able to take from you.

Alone in your office, the weight of eternity pressed down on you more heavily than ever before.

A few days passed, but the encounter with David’s father lingered in your mind like a ghost. You went through your routine, teaching classes, grading papers, keeping up the mask you had worn for centuries. But beneath the surface, the storm raged on. You could still feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken recognition that had passed between you. He didn’t know the truth, but something inside him remembered.

Meanwhile, across the city, Marcus found himself wrestling with a strange, unshakable feeling. It had been there ever since he met you at the school, a persistent pull that gnawed at him in quiet moments. He tried to push it aside, rationalize it as nothing more than stress, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

At first, it was just small flashes—your face as you had looked at him, the way your voice had trembled ever so slightly when you spoke. There was something familiar about you, something that stirred a sense of déjà vu he couldn’t explain. And then, the dreams began.

They started out hazy at first, fragments of images that disappeared as soon as he woke. A battlefield, the clash of swords, and always…you. Standing there in the distance, watching him. He couldn’t make sense of it, and every morning he woke with the same unsettled feeling gnawing at him.

It got worse with each passing day. He found himself driving by the school on his way to work, glancing at the building as if he might see you standing there. He caught himself wondering what you were doing, if you remembered him in some strange way too. It didn’t make sense, but the pull was real, undeniable.

One night, after tossing and turning in bed, Marcus sat up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The dreams had returned again, this time more vivid than ever. In them, you had been lying beside him, your fingers intertwined with his as he whispered something he couldn’t quite remember. The sensation was so real, so intense, that he had woken with his heart racing, the image of your face burned into his mind.

He couldn’t keep ignoring it.

The next day, after dropping David off at school, Marcus found himself walking back to the classroom where he had first met you. He didn’t have a clear plan, only a need to see you again, to understand why this strange connection existed between the two of you.

When he arrived, he stood outside the door, hesitating for a moment. What would he even say? He didn’t know if he was ready for whatever this was, or if you would even feel the same pull. But the need to know, to see you, overpowered the doubts.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door and waited.

Inside the classroom, you had been in the middle of organizing papers when the knock startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone, and your heart leapt in your chest at the possibility that it could be him. You took a deep breath before opening the door, bracing yourself for whatever was to come.

When you saw Marcus standing there, his familiar brown eyes looking at you with that same confusion and intensity, you knew this moment had been coming. His presence was overwhelming, and for a brief moment, it was as if centuries fell away and you were back in that palace with him, before the curse, before the loss.

“I’m sorry for dropping by like this,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered, though the same cadence was there. “I just… I’ve been thinking about our meeting the other day. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something—”

He trailed off, searching for the right words, clearly struggling to articulate the pull he was feeling.

You stood there, your heart pounding, knowing that this conversation was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t fully control.

“Something familiar?” you finished for him, your voice almost a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. “I know it sounds crazy, but since I met you, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I keep having these…dreams, and it doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’ve known you before.”

Your heart pounded at his words, the weight of centuries crashing down on you all at once. His admission felt like a thread connecting the past to the present, something fragile and dangerous. You had never expected this—Marcus remembering, even if only in fragmented dreams. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the confusion he was trying so hard to make sense of.

You tried to steady your breath, knowing you couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. It would unravel everything. But his presence, the way he looked at you as if he had known you for lifetimes, made it impossible to keep your emotions in check.

“I’m sure it’s just… coincidence,” you said softly, your voice betraying the turmoil inside you. “People get those feelings sometimes, don’t they? Like they’ve met someone before.”

He studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Maybe.” But he didn’t sound convinced. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not just that. It’s something more. And I don’t understand why, but I feel like… I should know you. Like I’m supposed to know you.”

Your pulse quickened. It was dangerous, this line you were walking. If he kept pushing, if he kept searching for answers, the curse could be exposed. Yet, the way his eyes searched yours made your resolve falter. It was Marcus standing before you, but not the Marcus you had known. This was a man who had been granted a new life, free from the past that had chained you both.

“I’m just a teacher,” you said, forcing a small smile. “We only met a few days ago.”

He nodded, but the crease between his brows deepened, as if he was debating with himself, wrestling with whether to leave things be or push further. He took another breath, as though on the verge of saying something else, but then stopped himself, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, almost to himself, his voice low, hesitant. “But… would you like to get coffee sometime? I mean, not as David’s teacher, but just as… us.”

The question hung in the air between you, and you felt the ground shift beneath your feet. You had lived through countless lives, avoided countless connections, and yet here was Marcus, in this new form, asking you to start something again. It was as if fate was daring you to test the boundaries of the curse.

You hesitated, your heart torn between the longing you had carried for centuries and the knowledge that this was a path filled with danger. If he remembered more, if the past began to bleed into the present, what would that mean for him—for both of you?

“I…” You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

His face fell slightly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. But then he smiled, trying to mask it. “I get it. I just—there’s something about you…”

Your chest tightened at his words. He was offering you an out, a way to walk away from this, to keep the curse at bay. But deep down, the thought of letting him go again, of walking away from the man you had loved for centuries, felt unbearable.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, almost afraid of your own answer.

He nodded, offering you a small, understanding smile. “Take your time.” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, searching for something he couldn’t quite find. “I’ll see you around.”

And then, he turned to leave, the weight of his unspoken questions hanging in the air like a ghost. You watched him go, your heart aching with the knowledge that fate was once again drawing you both into its web.

The door closed behind him, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. This was only the beginning, and you knew it. The past had a way of finding you, no matter how much time had passed.

A few days later, the school hosted a parent-teacher meeting. The hallways buzzed with the low hum of voices, the shuffle of papers, and the occasional sound of children darting between classrooms. You had prepared for a busy evening, but the thought of seeing Marcus again lingered in the back of your mind, an undercurrent to everything else.

You were speaking with another parent when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him. He was standing near the entrance, casually scanning the room. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugged at your heart. And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes met yours.

The world seemed to pause.

The warmth of his smile was immediate, softening his features in a way that was both disarming and comforting. It was as though, in that brief moment, everything else in the room faded away. The connection between you, the pull that had been simmering beneath the surface since that first meeting, was undeniable. His eyes lingered on you, full of recognition that he couldn’t quite place, yet something deep inside of him understood.

As the conversation with the other parent wrapped up, you felt Marcus slowly making his way toward you, weaving through the crowded room. Your heart raced, knowing that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be able to pretend that the past didn’t exist—not for much longer.

“Hi,” he greeted you, his voice warm and easy as he stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely steady as you met his gaze.

He glanced around briefly before looking back at you. “Busy night?”

You nodded, the weight of the moment making it hard to find words. “Yeah. A lot of parents to talk to.”

Marcus gave a small chuckle. “I guess I’m one of them.” But the tone of his voice suggested he had more in mind than just the usual parent-teacher talk. His eyes searched yours again, that same sense of familiarity clouding his expression.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admitted softly, leaning in just enough so that his words wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else. “I know it’s probably crazy, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other day. And… about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening at his words. He was so close now, and you could feel the intensity radiating off him, the same intensity that had bound you together in another life.

“I…” You hesitated, knowing the danger in getting too close, in letting yourself fall into the old patterns. But something in the way he looked at you, the softness in his expression, made it impossible to resist. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

His smile grew, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the same battle he was fighting inside himself—the inexplicable connection, the way the past seemed to bleed into the present even though he couldn’t understand why.

“I know we’re at a parent-teacher meeting,” he said, his voice a bit lower now, “but maybe after this, we could grab that coffee? Well, we could make it, a dinner. I’m still trying to make sense of this, of what I’m feeling, and I’d really like to talk to you… if you’re open to it.”

Your heart ached at the question, knowing that whatever happened, this was Marcus reaching out to you again, even if he didn’t remember the lives you had shared. You felt the weight of the curse pressing down on you, but for the first time in centuries, the idea of keeping your distance felt unbearable.

“I’d like that,” you said, surprising yourself with how easily the words came out.

His eyes lit up at your response, and he smiled again, this time a bit more confidently. “Great. I’ll wait for you after the meeting.”

And with that, he gave you a nod before moving off to join the other parents, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding with anticipation, fear, and hope all at once. You knew this meeting would be the beginning of something far more complicated than either of you could imagine.

++

The rest of the parent-teacher meeting passed in a blur. You were aware of the conversations happening around you, but your mind was somewhere else—focused on what was to come. Marcus had invited you for dinner, a simple gesture that felt monumental in the context of your tangled past. Every minute felt heavier with anticipation, knowing that after so many lifetimes of loss, this was your chance to be near him again, even if he didn’t remember.

When the meeting finally ended, you gathered your things and made your way toward the entrance. You spotted Marcus waiting by the doors, hands in his pockets, eyes searching the crowd. As soon as he saw you, that familiar warmth spread across his face, and for a moment, it was like stepping back in time.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile. “Yeah, ready.”

Together, you made your way out to the parking lot. David was waiting by their car, playing with a small toy in his hands. When he saw you walking with his father, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dad?” David asked, looking between the two of you. “Why’s my teacher coming with us?”

Marcus glanced down at his son, his smile never wavering as he reached over and tousled David’s hair. “She’s joining us for dinner tonight,” he explained lightly. “I wanted to say thank you for helping out with everything.”

David’s eyes widened, and he looked at you with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “Oh… okay,” he said slowly, clearly trying to process this new development. “So, like, you’re friends with my dad?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Marcus, both of you sharing a silent understanding of how complicated the truth really was.

“Something like that,” you answered with a gentle smile. “We’re just going to have dinner and talk about how to help you in school.”

David seemed to accept this explanation for now, though his gaze lingered on you a little longer before he climbed into the car. As you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts were swirling. You were entering Marcus’s home, a place that was both familiar and foreign to him—a life he had built without any memory of you.

The drive to their house was quiet, but the tension between you and Marcus was palpable. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, as if he were trying to piece something together, to understand why he felt this pull toward you.

When you arrived at their home, Marcus led you inside. It was cozy, filled with the warmth of a lived-in space—family photos, toys scattered across the living room floor, the faint smell of something cooking. It was so different from the life you had known with him centuries ago, yet the sense of care and love was the same.

“Make yourself at home,” Marcus said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll get dinner started. David, why don’t you help me set the table?”

David nodded and followed his father into the kitchen, but not before giving you one more curious glance. You settled onto the couch, feeling out of place and yet strangely at ease. This was Marcus’s life now, a life you had never been a part of, but somehow it still felt like home.

As they busied themselves in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but think about the enormity of what was happening. You were here, in his home, sharing a moment that felt so normal and yet carried the weight of centuries. It was a bittersweet reminder of everything you had lost and everything you still longed for.

After a few minutes, Marcus emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, his voice soft. “Thanks for… well, for coming. I know it’s kind of last minute.”

You shook your head, offering him a small smile. “It’s fine. I’m happy to be here.”

He sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier. There’s something about you… something I can’t explain.” His voice was quieter now, as though he was sharing a secret. “It’s like I’ve known you forever, but I don’t know how or why.”

Your heart ached at his words, the familiar pain of your curse tugging at you. He was so close, yet so far from remembering the life you had shared. But in this moment, it was enough just to be here, to feel his presence again.

Dinner passed in a warm haze, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of family. You enjoyed every bite, trying to savor the moment as Marcus shared stories about David's antics at school, his love for art, and the curious questions he had been asking lately. You felt a genuine connection growing, like the threads of your past weaving together with the present.

Once dinner was finished, David excused himself, yawning as he dragged his feet toward the living room. "I'm too tired to finish my project," he declared, and Marcus smiled, understanding that he was ready for bed.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you settled,” Marcus said, ruffling his son’s hair as David headed up the stairs. After a few moments, you heard the soft sound of David’s door closing, followed by the gentle hum of a lullaby drifting down the hall.

With David tucked in, Marcus returned to the living room, a comfortable silence settling between you. He sank into the armchair across from you, and you both took a moment to collect your thoughts.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

“I’m glad you did,” you replied, feeling your heart race under his gaze. “I had a great time.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look crossing his face. “David has been talking about your lessons a lot lately. He’s become really obsessed with the Roman Empire.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Really? That’s amazing to hear! What does he say?”

“Well,” Marcus chuckled softly, “he keeps mentioning this General Acacius as his hero. Apparently, he thinks it’s so cool that he’s a general and a fighter at the same time. I think he thinks he’s going to become a gladiator or something,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. “Marcus Acacius? He’s a fascinating figure in history. He had a complex life—fighting for honor and trying to navigate the politics of his time.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You really know your stuff, don’t you? It sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of research for your lessons.”

“I’ve always been passionate about history,” you admitted, feeling a warmth spread in your chest as you talked about your favorite subject. “Especially the stories of strong figures like him. I believe there’s so much we can learn from the past.”

“Do you think David sees himself in Acacius?” Marcus asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested in your opinion.

“Perhaps,” you replied thoughtfully. “Or maybe he sees a bit of him in you” you said.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprise etched across his face. “In me?”

“Absolutely,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “You’re a dedicated father, and you fight for what’s best for your son, just like Acacius fought for his people. The way you support David, always encouraging his interests and nurturing his passions—that's heroic in its own right.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his features. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I just try to do my best for him.”

“Exactly,” you said, leaning in a little closer. “Being a hero isn’t just about great battles or glory; it’s also about the everyday moments—the sacrifices we make for the ones we love. That’s what really matters.”

Marcus’s gaze softened as he listened, and you could see him processing your words. “I guess I can see that. I want David to grow up feeling strong and capable, like he can achieve anything he sets his mind to.”

“And you’re doing just that,” you replied, your heart swelling with admiration for him. “He looks up to you, Marcus. Your presence in his life is already making a huge difference.”

The weight of his vulnerability hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if the world outside faded away. “You know, I never realized how much I needed this conversation until now,” he said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands what it means to teach and inspire.”

“I’m glad,” you replied, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

Marcus nodded; his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of which, I actually bought a book for David the other day. It’s about Marcus Acacius—the general. I thought he might enjoy reading about a real-life hero.”

Your heart raced at the mention of the name, the connection striking a chord deep within you. “Really? I’d love to see it,” you said, your curiosity piqued.

With a spark of excitement, Marcus stood and walked toward a nearby bookshelf, scanning the titles. He pulled out a well-worn book, its cover faded but the spine intact. As he handed it to you, he said, “I thought it would be a great way to inspire him. The stories of bravery and leadership are so important, especially now.”

You opened the book and began flipping through the pages, the illustrations of ancient battles and heroic deeds instantly drawing you in. “This is wonderful, Marcus,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “David will love this.”

“I hope so,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you, watching your reaction with a mix of anticipation and pride.

As you admired the illustrations, Marcus leaned closer to look at the page you were on, his shoulder brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were back in another life, lost in a world where everything was simpler.

“This page really captures the spirit of what it means to be a hero,” you began, your voice soft yet earnest. “You know, once upon a time, a hero like Marcus Acacius fought not just for glory but for the love of those he held dear. It reminds me of the bond they shared—how love can be as powerful as any sword or shield.”

Your words hung in the air, the weight of history resonating in the silence between you. You continued, feeling emboldened by the moment. “In many ways, that love is what drove him, just as it drove someone else in a different time—someone who used to call her, mi dulce Cara’”

You glanced over at Marcus, watching as his expression shifted from curiosity to surprise. His eyes widened slightly, and he turned to face you fully. “What? How do you know that?”

The question echoed in the quiet room, and your heart raced at the realization of what you had just revealed. It was a nickname that only he had used, a term of endearment from a time long past, one that had been buried under centuries of memories and pain.

“I—” you hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to find the right words. “I guess I’ve always felt a connection to that name. It… it just came to me.”

Marcus studied you intensely, searching your eyes for answers. “But that have never been mentioned that to anyone. How could you know?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how the truth was slipping through your fingers, how deeply you yearned for him to remember. “Sometimes, memories linger in the air, even when we think they’re lost,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s like a whisper from the past.”

He looked at you, a mixture of confusion and intrigue swirling in his gaze. “A whisper?”

“Something like that,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. “Maybe it’s just… a feeling, or a part of a dream I once had. I can’t explain it, Marcus.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. You could sense the gravity of the moment, the delicate thread that connected your past with the present, and you couldn’t help but hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something that could bridge the gap between who you had been and who you were now.

Marcus leaned closer, his gaze intense and searching. “Dulce cara mia,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I spent years looking out for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the familiar phrase hung in the air, a sweet reminder of the bond you once shared. It felt as if the walls between your past and present were beginning to crumble, allowing the sunlight of long-buried emotions to seep through.

“Wait… you remember that?” you asked, your voice barely a breath.

His words were a balm to your soul, igniting a flame of hope that you had thought long extinguished. “How could I forget about you, my love?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I've lived a thousand lives trying to find you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the weight of his confession settled over you like a comforting blanket. “You really mean that?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Every word,” he replied, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Even in this life, it felt as if something was missing. A part of me always knew you were out there, waiting for me.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his admission, the love that had been lost in the ages flooding back to you. “I thought I would never find you again,” you whispered, your heart aching with the bittersweet pain of your shared history. “I thought the curse would keep us apart forever.”

Marcus shook his head, his expression fierce. “No curse can hold us back. It may take a thousand lifetimes, but we always find each other. Always.”

His gaze bore into yours, filled with a fierce intensity that made your heart race. The air around you felt charged with emotion, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down like the world had paused just for you two.

“Every word,” he reiterated softly, nodding as he leaned in closer. The distance between you evaporated, and your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. “I’ve missed you, cara,” he murmured, using that endearing name that sent shivers down your spine.

As he inched closer, the warmth radiating from him enveloped you like a comforting embrace. “I’ve spent so long searching for you,” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “And now that I’ve found you again… I never want to let you go.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and the tension in the air seemed to pulse with life. It felt as though everything around you faded into the background—the world, the past, the curse—all that mattered was this moment, this connection.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you leaned in, craving the touch of his lips against yours.

But then, just before your lips met, he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes with a mixture of longing and caution. “I won’t rush this. I want to savor every moment we have, to make it count.”

You nodded, your heart pounding as you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the reality of this second chance. “I want that too,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

++++++

You were standing in the dimly lit corridors of the palace; the cold stone walls a stark contrast to the warmth you felt whenever Marcus was nearby. The sounds of soldiers and servants echoed faintly in the distance, but here, in this hidden alcove, the world felt small and intimate. Marcus had pulled you into the shadows, his hand firm but gentle on your arm, his eyes filled with the same intensity they held now.

“We must be careful,” you had whispered, your breath catching as he leaned in close, the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounding you. “If anyone sees us…”

But Marcus had silenced your worries with a soft kiss, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made your heart skip. “I would fight the whole empire if it meant being with you.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His words had sent a thrill through you, but you both knew the risks. You were not just any woman; you were the emperor’s sister, and Marcus was the empire’s fiercest general. Your love, while passionate and real, was forbidden—an act of treason in the eyes of those who held power over you.

Yet, none of that mattered when you were in his arms.

“I can’t stay away from you,” Marcus had whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the curve of your neck as he held you close. “Every moment I’m not with you feels like torture.”

You had smiled then, your hands tangling in his dark curls, pulling him closer, as if you could keep him with you forever. “We will find a way,” you had promised, though neither of you knew how. “We’ll be together, one day.”

For now, stolen kisses and secret embraces were all you had, and in those moments, it felt like enough. The weight of your circumstances melted away, leaving only the raw, unshakable truth of your love.

As Marcus kissed you again, more urgently this time, the world outside your alcove seemed to disappear. His hands traced the familiar lines of your body, and you clung to him, desperate to make the moment last, knowing it would be hours—maybe days—before you could find each other again.

“I love you,” he had breathed into your ear, his voice filled with the kind of vulnerability only you ever saw. “In this life and every life to come, Cara Mia.”

++++++

As the memory faded, you were pulled back into the present, Marcus still inches away, his intense gaze fixed on you. The warmth of that ancient kiss lingered between you, and the weight of the moment felt just as powerful now as it had back then.

His hand, still gently resting on your cheek, was real, solid, warm, and the centuries that had separated you seemed to dissolve in the space between your shared breath. The flicker of recognition deepened in his eyes, and you saw it, the understanding, the knowing.

“Cara,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been searching for you in every life. And now, here you are, right in front of me.”

You could hardly breathe, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. “Marcus,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “All this time… it’s been you. I knew it, I felt it.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I never forgot. Even when the memories were blurry, even when I didn’t understand… something inside me always knew.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I met many women during my life, but it was always you. I was always looking for you.”

the years of searching, of waiting, finally melting away. You could feel his love, not just from this life, but from the countless lifetimes before. He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

“I won’t lose you again,” he whispered, his voice filled with the determination of a man who had lived a thousand lives in search of one thing, one person.

You closed your eyes, a rush of emotion flooding through you, knowing that, this time, neither of you would have to live without the other.

the reality of your curse loomed at the back of your mind, like a shadow waiting to resurface. You opened your eyes slowly, pulling back just enough to look into Marcus’s eyes. The intensity was still there, but now, mixed with something else—worry, doubt.

“But what about the curse?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the question. “We’ve found each other again, but… what if it’s not enough? What if we’re torn apart, just like all the other times?”

“I Will break it” he said, sealing a promise.

Marcus’s words hung in the air, a declaration so filled with determination that it made your heart ache with both hope and fear. His hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the moment as he repeated, “I will break it.”

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all you saw was a fierce resolve—a promise he intended to keep, no matter the cost. The weight of his vow pressed down on you, the enormity of the task, the centuries of separation, all coming to the forefront of your mind. “How?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “How can you break something that has kept us apart for so long?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted, his voice unwavering. “But I do know that I’m not the same man I was before. None of those lifetimes matter without you by my side, and I will tear down the heavens if I have to, to keep you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the intensity of his love for you overwhelming. You could feel the fear still lurking beneath the surface, the fear that no matter how much you wanted this, how hard you fought, the curse would come between you once again. But something in the way Marcus looked at you, the absolute certainty in his gaze, made you want to believe him.

“And if we fail?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, the question slipping out despite yourself. “What if we can’t break it?”

Marcus shook his head, gently cupping your face in his hands. “We won’t fail,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Because this time, I’m not letting you go. I’m not letting anything stand between us. I’ll break the curse or die trying.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, the promise of his love wrapping around you like a shield. For the first time in centuries, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, breaking the heavy tension that had settled between you. “People will talk again,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That hasn’t changed.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up, a playful glint dancing behind the intensity of his gaze. “Let them talk,” he said with a shrug, his voice full of warmth and mischief. “They’ve been talking about us for centuries. Let them have something real to talk about this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking through the lingering shadows of fear and doubt. It was a familiar feeling, this lightness that always seemed to come when you were with him, no matter how dire the circumstances. In a world that constantly threatened to tear you apart, these moments of shared joy felt like a rebellion, a testament to the strength of your bond.

“They’re going to say I’ve bewitched you,” you teased, leaning in a little closer, savoring the warmth of his presence. “Or that you’ve gone mad.”

Marcus grinned, his thumb still gently caressing your cheek. “Maybe I have,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “Mad with love for you.”

You rested your forehead against his once more, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Let them talk, then. As long as we have this, as long as we have each other, none of it matters.”

Marcus’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. “Forever,” he whispered back, sealing the promise between you with a tender kiss.

You kissed him as though every single one of the lifetimes you had lived without him was pouring into this one moment. The touch of his lips against yours ignited something deep within you—a longing, a love, that had spanned centuries. All the heartache, all the searching, all the endless years of waiting melted away as you gave yourself fully to the kiss.

Marcus held you like he had done a thousand times before, but this time, it was different. This time, the kiss was filled with the knowledge that you had found each other again, that no matter what came next, you were together now. His hands traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might disappear again.

You could feel the weight of all those years, all the love that had been lost and found again, in every movement, in every breath. His kiss was not just a promise but a reminder—a reminder of all the times he had loved you, all the moments you had shared in different lives, and all the moments you had missed. And now, here, you were living them all again.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you stared into his eyes, searching for the same fire you knew was burning inside you. It was there—strong, unwavering, eternal. “I’ve waited lifetimes for you,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his. “And I’d wait a thousand more if it meant I could be with you like this.”

Marcus’s gaze softened, and his fingers brushed tenderly against your jawline. “You won’t have to wait anymore,” he said, his voice steady and filled with love.

After the kiss, you found yourself in front of a mirror, your fingers lightly brushing over your lips, still tingling from the touch of his. The room was quiet now, the world beyond the two of you seemed distant, as though the very air had stilled to give you space for this moment. As you gazed at your reflection, a glimmer caught your eye.

There, among the strands of your hair, was a single grey hair. You reached up, gently twisting it between your fingers, a realization dawning on you with a surge of emotion. The curse. All those lifetimes, the endless cycle of living and dying, never aging, never truly being free… It was broken.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you had changed. The grey hair was proof—proof that time, real time, had touched you. Proof that you were no longer trapped in the endless loop of waiting, searching, and losing Marcus again and again.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you stared at the grey hair, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t a sign of loss or fear, but of life—of the future you could now build together. The weight of your immortality, the curse that had kept you apart, had lifted.

Marcus’s reflection appeared behind you in the mirror, his eyes soft but filled with a quiet intensity. He gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his warmth grounding you in this new reality. “You see it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to stop the tears from welling up. “It’s broken, Marcus. We’re free.”

His arms slid around you, pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the sound of it a reminder that you were no longer bound by the past. “I told you,” he whispered against your hair. “No curse can keep us apart.”

[miaoua3]

hii !! i'd like to request for "sitting in between wonu's thighs while he stimulates ur clit as u lay back on his chest" thank you <3

hii! sure, i hope you enjoy this!

Wonwoo, The Menace

Pairing: bf! wonwoo x f! reader

Genre: smut….just…smut

Description: wonwoo gets in one of his moods again, you end up being on the receiving end of it (not that you complain (well kind of))

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

so, here’s the thing. wonwoo, your beautiful and sweet boyfriend, was usually nothing more than perfect, always so sweet and caring to you. on any other day, you would describe him as nothing more than as an angel.

on any other day. but not today.

see, wonwoo sometimes gets into these…moods, where without any explanation whatsoever decides to make it mission to make you suffer (well not really but also kind of).

and he usually decides to do it by teasing you for hours to no end with the help of your little pink vibrator.

about an hour ago, wonwoo randomly pulled you with him to your bedroom, kissing you like he hasn’t tasted you in years, hands groping your ass and tits like his life depended on it.

gradually, his pace slowed down, the closer you two got to the bed. once the back of his knees hit the bed, he broke off the kiss in order to slowly lower himself down on it, keeping up with the eye contact, as well as letting his hands slowly slide down from your back all the way down to your thighs.

and his eyes? if eyes could talk his would say “i am going to have so much fun with making you scream and moan my name all night long."

the thought sent shivers down your spine.

ever so slowly, he moved himself so he was sitting in the middle of the bed with his back against the board of it.

with dark eyes looking at you, he patted one of his thick thighs that were now spread.

“strip and sit.”

that was an hour ago. an hour of agonising pleasure and hundreds of tears rolling down your cheeks, your hands holding onto his arms tightly, his dirty mouth whispering profanities and encouraging words all in the same breath in your ear from behind.

you have already orgasmed two times already, simply from him holding the little vibrator to your clit while his other indecisive hand restlessly went from playing with your nipples to playing with the entrance of your pussy.

something about the whole thing- him being fully clothed while you were completely naked, letting yourself be at his mercy, following all of his instructions to the t, him going from “oh, you want my fingers? does my little princess want my fingers inside her hungry little pussy? hm? beg for it then.” to “such a good girl, keeping her hands to herself. cum for me, make a mess for me.” all in the same breath.

something about everything was so hot to you, which made your pleasure increase by the suspense of hopefully finally having him fuck you.

wonwoo was currently working on the orgasm number 3 from you, his lips brushing your ear as he’s whispering naughty words into it, his hand gently resting against the base of your neck while his other hand is holding the little toy to your clit.

you can feel your legs shaking against his own, you can also feel your hands holding onto his wrists tightly, as well as the tears continuously falling from your eyes and sobs mixed with moans break out of you.

you can feel all this, and yet your mind is thousand of miles away, floating away from you that you’re not entirely aware of all your actions. the only thing that you can focus on is wonwoo’s firm chest against your back and the pleasure his hand is currently bringing to you.

trying to stop your legs from shaking so much, wonwoo reaches with his free hand to hold your thigh in place. focusing on his veiny hand squeezing your leg, you hear your lover murmur "fuck, you're shaking so much-does it feel good? hm? is my baby feeling so good that she can't control herself? fuck it- i want you to cum on my fingers" he decides on quickly.

turning the vibrator off, he throws it to the side before he starts rubbing your clit with the two of his fingers quickly, his mouth nibbling and sucking on the skin of your neck as you rapidly approach your end.

before you can even warn him, you feel yourself cumming, your moans filling the otherwise quiet room. you seemingly black out due to the immense pleasure, so much so that you aren't even aware that you just squirted all over your bedsheets.

with your head resting against wonwoo's chest, it takes you a few moments to come back to yourself. it is only then that you notice both the wetness of the sheets beneath you, as well as how quiet your boyfriend has gone, you slowly turn your head upwards to him, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

wonwoo's eyes are solely focused on your quivering legs and the wetness of the sheets, his pupils fully blown, making them look almost black.

unconsciously, you tighten the hold of your hand on his arm that wrapped itself around your chest as you were orgasming to keep you in place.

finally breaking out of his trance at your movement, he slowly moves his focus from between your legs to your eyes. in a blink of an eye, his hand moves from resting on your chest to grasping your jaw, tilting your head more to the back before he kisses you, his tongue entering your mouth with no manners at all, battling for its dominance against your own.

breaking the kiss briefly, he utters "fuck, that was so hot." before going back to kissing you again, only to interrupt himself again. "need you to do that again, around my cock."

gasping, you ask him "again?"

he pecks your lips gently once, twice, before he looks at you with lustful eyes.

"what, you didn't think i was done with you baby, did you?"

and the little sinister smirk told you that

he wasn't going to let you out of his arms the entire night.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

hope this is okay, i know it’s a bit short but that’s because i have 16 MORE REQUESTS TO ANSWER BLODDY HELL and also because i wrote this with shaky hands due to drinking coffee first thing in the morning😭 anyway love ya🫶

[whisperofwonder]

!!Very late timeskip spoilers!!

Kageyama told you a few days ago that he's joining Ali Roma - now you have a big decision to make.

(There's a chance this could become a small collection of drabbles - I have a lot of ideas floating around in my head.)

~ 900 words

These past three days have felt like the longest of your life. From the moment Tobio told you he'd received the offer from Ali Roma, you knew he'd accept. You wouldn't have expected anything different from him. The only thing that hung in the balance was your three year relationship.

He'd insisted that you take some time to think, and you have. You've spent these three days reliving the early days of falling in love with this quiet, intense, dedicated man. He'd surprised you by being earnest, attentive, even thoughtful. Alongside of his eternal love for volleyball, he's cultivated a deep love for you, and shown it in a thousand little ways. You'd moved into this apartment with him around this time last year, and some foolish part of you had thought that this might end up being forever. Now you're at a crossroads. These next moments will change everything.

"Hi," You say simply when he finally walks through the door. You've been orbiting around each other these past few days, him giving you some space to think and you grudgingly accepting it. You'd barely spoken, your schedules easily falling out of alignment with the sudden lack of coordinated effort. It had shocked you to see how different your relationship could have been if you both hadn't put in the time to make it work.

Now, your time to think has come to an end, and you're ready to tell him what you've decided. He carefully takes the seat next to you on the couch, angling himself so that his full attention is on you, but careful to leave a few inches of space between you. His gaze is intent on your face. "Hi," He finally echoes, when he's settled.

You take a deep breath. You've made your decision. "Tobio," You say his name slowly, and he leans ever so slightly closer to you. "I want to do this," You can't stop the smile breaking across your face, "I want to go with you to Italy." You watch him sag with relief, his knee pressing forward against yours.

"Really?" He breathes out, looking at you like you're too good to be true.

"Yes," You say, and you can't resist any longer. You throw yourself across the space between you, wrapping your arms around his neck as you feel his lips skim against your cheek before he presses his face into your shoulder. He's holding you tight, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of the feeling of you pressed against him.

This decision hadn't been easy, but in the end you think you've always known this is what you'd decide. You'd gone back and forth, lived with the thought of letting him go, but no matter what you envisioned, you could never quite imagine the rest of your life without him in it. Everything else will still be here, even while you're in Italy, but next to him is where you truly feel at home. The country you're in won't change that.

"You really want to go to Italy?" He's finally pulled away, now gripping your hands in his.

"I do," You confirm. "I want to be with you. And I think it will be an adventure," You add. You know Italy won't be forever, but it could turn into years, depending on how things go. "There's nothing here that won't be here whenever we come back - to visit or for good."

"Yeah," He agrees, the smile steadily growing on his own face. "I can't believe it," He admits. "I had to tell myself this was it. It didn't feel fair to you to let myself hope." You feel your heart clench at his words, the thought of him reconciling to the idea of life without you settling uneasily in your middle.

"Well, you can't get rid of me that easily," You say with a quiet chuckle, trying to keep the mood lighter, the weight of this decision settling heavy on you. His smile slips to a more serious expression, and you give his hands a squeeze.

"We should get married, then." He breathes out, the last words you'd expected him to say. "I want to marry you," He adds, and you aren't sure if your heart can take it. Finally, you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

"Are you proposing?" You ask in a choked whisper, "Right now?"

"Yes," He says firmly, though you're half convinced he'd made that decision half a second ago. He slides down to one knee in front of you, fixing his intense gaze on you. "So will you marry me?"

The last decision had taken three days, but this one takes three seconds. "Yes," You're nodding, a single stubborn tear slipping down your cheek. He reaches with his thumb to swipe it away, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he draws you into a kiss. You can feel him smiling into it.

"We're going to Italy," You say in disbelief when you finally pull away. "We're getting married."

"We are," He says, taking your face in his hands, his own face a picture of utter adoration. "I love you," He adds softly.

"I love you too," You breathe back, letting your eyes slide closed as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, soaking in this moment.

[v-arbellanaris]

u know what actually im gonna make one last srs post abt this whole thing and then im doneeeee i swear lmfao, so all of the anons in my inbox can finally shut up and fuck off and i'll put it under a cut so i dont ~ruin your da4 hype~ the way youve fucking ruined mine i guess.

watsonian justification for this: "decisions you made 10+ years ago in another part of the country simply will not affect the current story". hey isnt the entire story behind veilguard that a guy has been working for the last 10 years to rip down the veil. like. is the whole thing not a story that started 10 years ago. do you not have access to the eluvian network now because solas stole it 10 years ago from briala. is the blight not around because of the evanuris in some way. isnt the entire magisterium something that's been in place for thousands and thousands of years. like even within the context of da, the entire story revolves around things that happened thousands of years ago that have shaped the world that our characters exist in today. we, ourselves, as real people, don't live in a world where things happening on one side of the planet do not affect anything else. and that's not even touching on the fact that we have companions from the first game showing up. at the very least decisions that affect them directly should have been factored in????

doylist justification(s) for this: #1 "we only wanted to include worldstate decisions we could develop reactivity to" so the only decisions were.... whether or not solas is romanced? for me, it's the way that when you're playing dai, the entire justification for NOT being able to romance him as anyone other than lavellan is that you can have a deep and important and complex relationship with him even if you dont romance him, the fandom is always going on & on about how important friendship!solas is and how it shouldnt be underrated but the moment his ENTIRE CHARACTER (and ours?!) gets boiled down to whether or not you had a romantic relationship with him, we're going to celebrate it??? really??? REALLY??? what in the fucking amatonormativity is this, and how is this a step BACKWARDS from dai for solas???

#2 "the world was too complicated so they wanted to simplify it for new players" that's literally the problem we're discussing. the problem we're discussing is the complexity of the world, and the solution bioware came up with for it is to simply scrap it all, and surprise surprise! not everyone is happy about it??? you are just describing the problem that the solution fails to address???

i think the most annoying part of this whole thing is the fan response to it. literallyyyy am seeing things like "no one ever complained about the worldstates not mattering in the next games before da4" which is NOT TRUE. ever since i JOINED this fandom, i've heard so many things about people complaining about leliana defaulting back to a hardened state in dai, about alistair's characterisation in dai, about cullen's repeat appearances, about your boons/decisions in dao not carrying forward in the next games. people HAVE been complaining about it, for ages, especially in dai. it is explicitly a problem in dragon age, and has been for a long, long time, and the problem has only grown the more complex the worldstate becomes. that's why they tried to address the problem here by simply scrapping it all. i've also seen things like "well if youre only interested in callback references, this dragon age game not for YOU" which not only minimises and dismisses the issues and feelings at hand here, but also reeks of self-righteous, smug superiority of I Am The Sole Correct Enjoyer. who is this game for, if not for people who love dragon age?

i'm not here for rook's story - i'm here to save the world that i've built with my own two hands over three games. i am doing that through rook as a character, yes, but i have no cause or reason to care about rook at all going into this game except for the basic fact of this is my character that i am playing - rook is a character that i expect playing the game will make me invested in and care about them. but you know what i already cared about before going into veilguard? you know what i've saved three times over already, potentially even at the cost of my own life? thedas. MY thedas. OF COURSE I WANT TO KNOW THAT IT MATTERS. in world, solas himself wants to know what changes his actions wrought. THOUSANDS OF YEARS AFTER THE FACT. why is everyone acting like fans are insane for this????

i, for one, have not complained about the game "ruining" origins or da2 or even dai. i was excited about the changes, because changes were evidently necessary. i have been fully prepared for the differences, even if i've been apprehensive or cautious about it. do you think i'm disappointed now because i hate dragon age??? where do you fucking get off saying this game is not meant for me? because i dont agree with how bioware has chosen to resolve this issue, suddenly these games are Not For Me anymore?

and you know what, i already know they're not for me. the way this series, and this fandom, treats people of colour, and characters of colour, i am made aware every single day that dragon age is not for me. these games are for the liberal white girlies and white queers living in the west. i know damn well these games have never been for me, and any insistence that it should consider me will be met with vitriol and viciousness. and guess what? i am still here.

i was sooo ready to let this go until the fandom just kept acting like ppl are idiots for being unhappy about things AT ALL in da4. its so fucking annoying to me. i'm NOT going to complain about every single little thing in da4 possible, but i'm also not going to act like bioware is going to do and is doing everything right. what is WITH this fandom and extremes of thought and behaviour. is it because you're all american??? like. i'm actually so sorry that you live in a black-and-white world with no complexities or nuances because it must be so boring and sad.

in my opinion, i would not have minded slimming down the narrative choices to a select few that they could really hone in and focus on. i feel like the dragon age keep decisions can be a bit arbitrary, and i would've loved to see like 5-6 key decisions per game, ORRRR even for your worldstate to boil down to something like whether or not you generally supported positive change or upheld the status quo per game, and then specific character decisions regarding the inquisitor to be brought in, since they're the pc that actually shows up. i do think there's likely a lot of chaff that can be cut off or simplified as a sort of "lost to the times" kind of narrative telling. but boiling down these games to three fucking choices that are ultimately just 'did u romance and like solas or nah' is fucking INSANE. why is the answer to the issue of the quantum - which has been an issue for a long time!!!!!! - to just... scrap it entirely???

edit: adding this here since i said i wouldnt make any more posts abt this topic but i rly find it laughableeeee when fans eagerly parrot bioware insisting that just because those choices dont matter in THIS game doesnt mean they'll never matter in a FUTURE game (i guess we can expect the next one in 2034?). if they already scrapped those choices for this game, and you're all still buying it (some of you??? PREORDERED it???? i thought we agreed not to do that???), why would they bother. do you think the next dragon age game wont have the same line of logic for 'we need to make it accessible for new players!!!!!' that they had for this one and for dai? how willfully stupid are you that you think I'M the stupid one here?

im happy for you guys tho! i hope the new dragon age game where theyve removed all of those complexities instead of making ANY effort to address ANY of the existing dissatisfaction around feeling like any of your game decisions mattered supports your existing brainrot so you can continue believing in a black-and-white reality. really glad theyve simplified it for you guys just like you wanted into 3 choices all about sola/vellan.

i'm going back to my own sandbox, as epler has instructed me to, so i can ~imagine~ my own thedas lmfao

[fionaapplerocks]

The Long and Winding Road That Leads to Fiona Apple

By Tyler Coates 2012-05-31

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” So goes the oft-quoted line from William Faulkner’s Requiem for a Nun. Time is circular, and our relationship with our own personal histories is ever changing. This is a concept with which the enigmatic Fiona Apple is deeply familiar.

The 34-year-old singer-songwriter is about to release her fourth album—the first in seven years—aptly titled The Idler Wheel is wiser than the Driver of the Screw, and Whipping Cords will serve you more than Ropes will ever do. The spinning wheel of time cranks back and forth for Apple, who continues to re-examine her past while trying to keep up with the present. Like most artists, however, Apple finds that her fans cherish the past more than she does.

In 2000, a 16-year-old fan named Bill Magee approached Apple after a show in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania with a request: he told her he was a member of his high school’s gay-straight alliance and hoped that Apple could write a few words of support. “[I] was much more interested in interacting with a celebrity than building an alliance between gays and straights,” he admitted on his blog 12 years later where he posted a scanned image of the letter he received less than a week after requesting her response.

Apple wrote: “All I know is I want my friends to be good people, and when my friends fall in love, I want them to fall in love with other good people. How can you go wrong with two people in love? If a good boy loves a good girl, good. If a good boy loves another good boy, good. And if a good girl loves the goodness in good boys and good girls, then all you have is more goodness, and goodness has nothing to do with sexual orientation.”

“My brother was the one who told me about it,” Apple tells me just weeks after Magee posted the letter on his Tumblr, which was then picked up by various sites like Jezebel and Pitchfork. “I was like, ‘A letter I wrote to someone when I was 22 has made its way online?’ That’s the scariest thing I could possibly hear in my life. And the subject matter was so important—I know how I’ve always felt so I knew it wasn’t going to be a bad letter, but I was like, ‘What did I say?!’”

The letter’s sudden popularity online is indicative of how much has changed since Apple released her debut album, Tidal, in 1996.

For starters, she was then a 19-year-old singer-songwriter signed to a major record label and churning out emotional and dark odes at a time when her contemporaries were singing bubblegum-pop love songs.

She made headlines after appearing in the video for “Criminal.” Shot in a seedy apartment, the video featured a scantily clad and emaciated Apple, sparking criticisms of the exploitive quality of the images (and suggesting that she had an eating disorder). In 1997, when accepting her award for Best New Artist at the MTV Video Music Awards, Apple infamously shouted into the microphone, “This world is bullshit, and you shouldn’t model your life on what we think is cool, and what we’re wearing and what we’re saying.”

While the speech was replayed and parodied on TV for years following, Apple was lucky enough to have said those words before the days of blogging and YouTube; had she given the speech 15 years later, it may have turned into a career-damaging viral video and sparked a few thousand snarky tweets.

She also has the luxury of being a successful artist who doesn’t need to promote herself online. “They want me to tweet now, but I don’t,” Apple tells me of her label reps. “It doesn’t feel natural to me. But I do find it actually more interesting to see people posting ridiculously mundane shit. I like to hear about what people had for breakfast or what they did all day. It’s interesting because I don’t know how other people live.”

While Apple is hardly a recluse, she’s made few public appearances in the seven years since the release of her third album, Extraordinary Machine. The excitement following the announcement by Epic Records of the late-June release of The Idler Wheel speaks to the loyalty of her fan base. (And as for that long-winded title, it’s a callback to the much-maligned 90-word title of her acclaimed sophomore effort, universally shortened to When the Pawn…)

The Idler Wheel does not deviate from the familiar sounds of Apple’s earlier records; the songs are still layered with complex instrumentation, and her reverberant voice still takes center stage in each tune.

The album was produced nearly in secret over the last few years—a surprising move from an established artist with the resources of a major label at her disposal. But Apple explains that her experience with the label system is what allowed her to feel free to work on her own. “It was very casual, and I wasn’t fully admitting that I was making an album,” she says. “I got to use the time in the studio to inspire me to finish other things rather than feel like I was finishing homework to hand in. It wasn’t a lot of pressure. And the record company didn’t know I was doing it, so nobody was looking over my shoulder.”

Most might take that mentality as a reaction to the restrictions of her record label, especially after the drama surrounding the release of Extraordinary Machine. After collaborating with Jon Brion (who produced When the Pawn) to create an early version of the third album in 2002, Apple then decided to rework all but two of the songs with producer Mike Elizondo.

The original version of the album leaked online, and Brion suggested in interviews that Apple’s label had rejected the demo and forced her to rerecord the songs (a claim that Apple later denied). Still, it incited an uproar among her fans. An online-based movement called Free Fiona organized demonstrations outside of the Sony headquarters in New York, and protestors sent apples to the label’s executives.

The final version of the album was released in 2005 and received positive reviews and earned Apple a Grammy nomination. “I ran into the guy who started Free Fiona after a show in Chicago,” she tells me. “He apologized to me! They didn’t get the story quite right, but they did help me get my album out. I felt so bad that he had spent all this time thinking I was pissed at him—I had a physical urge to get down on the floor and kiss his shoes!”

It’s an intense reaction (she admits she didn’t bow to her fan because “it would be weird if I did that”), but Apple is still a very intense person. Dressed in a flowing skirt paired with several layers of spaghetti-strapped tank tops that reveal her slender frame (which seems healthier than in her early days, giving the impression that she must spend most of her downtime on a yoga mat), Apple fidgets in her seat during our conversation, often giving off an infectious giggle.

But she is surprisingly comfortable to talk to, not much like the somber young woman who sang of heartbreak and disappointment. “I don’t think I’ll ever have an idea of what I look like to the rest of the world,” she replies when I ask if she ever worries that her lyrics, which are sometimes in stark contrast to the up-tempo, progressive sounds of her songs’ instrumentations, give off the wrong impression of her personality. “It’s all your own perception. I could easily be concerned with how I’m taken and then have all the good stuff filtered through to me and choose to believe that. For the rest of my life it’d be the truth for me, but not the whole truth.”

Born Fiona Apple McAfee Maggart in New York City to Brandon Maggart and Diane McAfee, Apple’s musical destiny was settled at birth. The McAfee-Maggarts are, while not reaching Barrymore-level name recognition, an entertainment family; Apple’s father was nominated for a Tony for his performance in the Broadway musical Applause, both her mother and sister are singers, and her half-brothers work in the film industry—one an actor and the other a director.

She’s a third-generation performer, as her grandmother was a dancer in musical revues and her grandfather a Big Band-era musician. While Apple’s auspicious introduction to the pop world had critics calling her a prodigy, she crafted her early songs as a cathartic necessity. (“Sullen Girl” from Tidal, in particular, is about her rape at the age of 12.) “Over the years it’s transferred more into a craft,” she says. “I use myself as material because that’s what I’ve got. But these days I write less than half of my songs to get myself through things. I have to find other things to be meaningful— otherwise I’d just be miserable all the time.”

Her songs are still extremely autobiographical, which is perhaps their charm. Following in the footsteps of other singer-songwriters, especially women who emerged in the early ’90s and expressed their emotions in particularly vulnerable ways, Apple’s openness has always had an empowering appeal. Her songs seem to suggest that feeling a variety of emotions—sadness, glee, despair, insanity—is not only normal, but, like those self-reflective musicians before her, she also gives permission to her listeners to feel the same way.

Even for Apple, her older songs are relics of another time, and she now makes them applicable to her life in the present. “They all kind of become poems after a while,” she says. “You can take your own meaning out of them. It’s been a very long time [since my first albums], and I can apply those songs to other situations that are more current in my life.” She admits she has changed greatly since she started writing songs in her late teenage years, especially when it comes to how she portrays herself. “I don’t feel comfortable singing the songs that I wrote. I used to blame other people and not take responsibility. I thought I was a total victim trying to look strong.”

And she is much harder on herself in the songs on The Idler Wheel than she ever was before. Sure, she admitted to being “careless with a delicate man” in “Criminal,” arguably her most famous song, and in When the Pawn’s “Mistake” she sang, “Do I wanna do right, of course but / Do I really wanna feel I’m forced to / Answer you, hell no.”

On The Idler Wheel, Apple examines her own solitude and neuroses as well as their effect on her relationships with others. “I can love the same man, in the same bed, in the same city,” she sings on “Left Alone,” “But not in the same room, it’s a pity.” On “Jonathan,” a somber love song layered with robotic, mechanical sounds that’s presumably about her ex-boyfriend, author and Bored to Death creator Jonathan Ames, she urges, “Don’t make me explain / Just tolerate my little fist / Tugging at your forest-chest / I don’t want to talk about anything.”

But performing, as a central requirement of her career, still takes precedence. “Some nights I’m very, very nervous, and some nights I’m not at all,” she tells me. “I think, ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not a person who does a show, I’m a person who should be on a couch watching TV.’ But then it’s like I get knocked into another state of consciousness, and then I’m left behind, and the person that’s doing the show is there and there’s nothing else in the world existing other than the note she’s singing. It’s such a joy to do, but I forget about it until I’m on the stage.”

Apple has lived in los Angeles since Tidal’s release in 1996, although she admits that she’s “not an L.A. girl.” “I was supposed to stay in New York,” she tells me. “I remember being 17 and asking if I could record in New York. How did I end up here? It’s 15 years later… How did that happen?” Apple doesn’t seem to process time like other people. When I ask when she began recording The Idler Wheel and when she knew it was ready, she has a complicated answer. “It must have started in 2008. Or 2009. I don’t know! I have no idea. It’s weird to think that there was 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011.” Her big blue eyes suddenly look to her right as she furrows her brow. “Where’ve I been? What was I doing? What was that year about?”

Maybe the solitary nature of living in L.A. contributes to her aloof tendencies. “I’m not a social creature,” she says, “I don’t go to parties all the time because I’d probably just wonder why I’m there in the first place.” Her preference for being alone may also stem from the kind of personal criticisms that people tend to throw at female musicians. “I’ve gotten so used to being misunderstood. Nobody’s ever really said anything bad about my music, but when I’ve had albums come out there are always people making fun of me. ‘Oh, she’s back?’” She didn’t even expect the comments (mostly online) when the full title of The Idler Wheel was announced. “I didn’t stop to think that anyone would call it ridiculous, but people did. I thought, ‘Ahhh. My old friends.’ I’m not sure what’s ridiculous about it, but that’s what they’ve got to say.”

I cautiously mention the infamous acceptance speech from the VMAs, a moment early in her career that defined the public persona of Fiona Apple as an angry, ungracious woman. “I’ve never been ashamed of that,” she replies immediately. It was the first moment, she says, in which she felt like she could speak up—to break free from the shyness that defined her childhood and early teenage years. “I genuinely, naïvely thought that I was going to put out a record and that was going to make me have friends. I expected to give it to people and they would understand me; no one would say to me, ‘We don’t want to be your friend because you’re too intense or too sad all the time.’” It wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Do you still think the world is bullshit?” I ask when we talk about the VMAs. She laughs. “It’s not the world!” she exclaims. “Of course people think that ‘the world’ is the whole world. I felt that I had finally gotten into the popular crowd, and I thought, ‘Is this what I’ve been doing this for?’ I felt like I was back in the cafeteria in high school and still couldn’t speak up for myself.”

These days, Apple spends more time focusing on her own art rather than the reactions to it. With age has come calm and decreasing desire to pay attention to her detractors. “I’ve decided it takes too much energy to try to avoid it,” she tells me, brushing aside her freshly dyed crimson hair. “I’m not going to hide from the world.”

Source Archive.org:

https://web.archive.org/web/20120603033544/http://www.blackbookmag.com/music/the-long-and-winding-road-that-leads-to-fiona-apple-1.49114

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

Vespera Folend Lore Dump <3

[Vespera Folend Lore Dump]

tw: murder, death, sexual assault, child abuse, adult/minor stuff, mentions of suicide/attempted suicide(?), self harm

[tw: murder, death, sexual assault, child abuse, adult/minor stuff, mentions of suicide/attempted suicide(?), self harm]

none of the above is depicted in a positive light. i do not support any of it i'm just doing what i do best, giving trauma to fictional characters

it's vespera. of course it's not a walk in the park.

Vespera had a sister named Zyti, who was five years older than her. As a child, Vespera was not talkative. Like, at all. She didn't speak at birth like most elves do, and her parents made no effort to teach her to speak. The only one who did was Zyti.

When Vespera was four (and Zyti was nine), their parents left them outside the human/elvin city of Atlantis. They were told to wait for them to come back, but they never did. The two sisters stayed there together all night, until they were found in the morning by a half human, half elf who took them into his home.

He told them to call him Father, and he provided them with shelter, food, all the basic needs. But... he wasn't a good father. He reminded them that they were in debt to him, because he'd saved them from the streets and what would certainly have been their death. And because of that... they had to do whatever he said.

Father physically, emotionally, and even sexually abused them. He punished them for doing anything he didn't like - including normal child things, like playing around, or crying. It became safer for them to just do nothing at all. Suppress how they really feel. Now, Father spoke both the Enlightened Language and a human language that is long since extinct. The only ones who know it are Vespera and a handful of other ancients who may have lived in Atlantis before it sunk. But Vespera lost the little progress she had made in speaking when Father adopted her, and only became fully fluent at seven years old. It's also part of what contributes to some of her speaking habits she still has today - while some of that can be contributed to her being ancient and locked away for thousands of years, she does tend to not use contractions as much, for example.

Vespera and Zyti were not let out of the house, until Zyti was a teenager, and was allowed to run errands and such. While out, she met a human named Achim, who was... a generally violent guy. He was an adult, while Zyti was around fourteen.

While not quite numb yet, Vespera had been emotionally shut off since she was a child. She was extremely apathetic, living through the days just for the sake of it, enduring everything from Father, and when she was allowed out under supervision, she mostly just observed people. All kinds of people.

Light leaping hadn't been invented yet, and Atlantis was one of the most diverse places, species-wise. It was mostly humans, as they had founded the city, and elves settled with them, being the most similar in appearance, and even creating some human/elf hybrids like Father. (when atlantis was later sunk, those hybrids were cast out with the humans, meaning there are humans today with small bits of elf DNA. humans didn't used to have blue eyes before mixing with elves.) You'd also see a few other intelligent species passing through, there was a section of town where a few families of ogres lived, since they didn't really have one big land yet, and the world was less divided by species at the time.

Vespera could sit in one place for hours, so still that a bird landed on her once and she didn't even move. She observed everyone she saw. It was her only hobby. She was more invested in these people's lives than she'd ever been in her own - she would watch the same people come to the same places and learn about them, she'd know their habits and tendencies, she could make elaborate assumptions all without even knowing their names.

Zyti had begun to see how messed up everything with Father was, and frequently got into fights with him, insisting she was leaving forever and never coming back, and Father let her go, because he knew. He knew that every time her guilt would have her coming back after a few days at most. She couldn't leave.

Now, Zyti usually stayed with Achim during these days she left, but occasionally she would find someone else to stay with when Achim was away. One of these people was an elf who coaxed her into doing things she didn't want to. I won't go into detail, obviously, but... the result was, Zyti got pregnant. She was only sixteen, and she knew she couldn't hide it from Father forever. She felt like she owed it to him for him to know. Besides, while she hadn't meant to get pregnant, she cared about this unborn child. She didn't want anything that Father did to hurt the baby.

Vespera was in the room when Zyti told Father, and needless to say... it didn't go well. She kept her arms wrapped around her middle to do what she could to protect the child, and that night, she ran away to stay with Achim again, and when she explained the situation and what had happened, he was livid.

After three days of Zyti not coming back, Father took it out on Vespera. She took it all in silence, not once uttering a cry of pain or discomfort, she closed her eyes and imagined she was dying.

At the time, Vespera was eleven. She didn't cry. She wasn't truly there, in her mind. She had completely shut off.

That is, until, a few weeks later, Vespera heard a commotion downstairs. She slipped out of bed and watched as Achim, who had broken into the house with Zyti's help, brutally murdered Father. Father fought back, but Achim overpowered him. Zyti was the one to bring the blade to his throat when Achim had him pinned down. She was the one who took his life.

Vespera approached them, and they stopped. Zyti dropped the knife and backed away, fumbling to explain that they were finally free, he couldn't hurt them anymore. Achim insisted he'd deserved it. But Vespera wasn't listening to either of them. She kneeled by Father's body and began hitting him as hard as she could. Just punching his open wounds, returning a fraction of the hurt he had caused. Then she reached for the knife and stabbed him a couple times. After that, she began to cut off his hands. Like some way of making sure he couldn't ever hurt anyone ever again.

Zyti and Achim could only watch, until Vespera raised the knife to stab herself and end it all. Zyti grabbed her arms and easily wrestled it away from her, tossing it to the side. Vespera didn't react, and her sister helped her up. They began to walk further into the city to go to Achim's house.

On the way, Vespera suddenly started to cry. She couldn't take it anymore, she stopped walking and collapsed, she was crying that hard. It was tears built up over years and years of being disconnected from everything, it all hit her like a... well, trucks didn't exist back then but you get it. Achim picked her up and carried her from there.

When people eventually found the scene of Father's death weeks later, it was clearly a crime, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Father, Vespera, and Zyti had lived just on the outskirts of the city, and nobody really knew to connect them at all, and nobody could connect them to Father's murder. Not that anyone really missed him.

Months later, Zyti ended up having her baby, but she was barely making it through. The only reason she'd been holding on was for her child, but after it was born, she gave in and her mind broke from the guilt of killing the man who raised her. There was nothing Vespera or Achim could do. Vespera tried so many times to wake her sister up, but nothing worked. It was the most grief she'd ever felt and ever will feel.

Achim was almost just as devastated, and didn't cope with it well. He and Zyti had sort of maybe been dating, well, they had something, despite the age difference. He coped with this by sexually assaulting Vespera on multiple occasions, and she just took it. She accepted it. She hated all of it, her head was filled with such horrible thoughts, but she'd grown up to never say no to something like this, especially from the man responsible for keeping her sheltered and alive. After three years, however, when Vespera was fourteen, she snapped and shoved him out a window on one of the upper floors.

Zyti's son was somehow still alive, and how the baby managed to survive 3 years in the care of a violent human and a violent traumatized elvin preteen/teenager is beyond me, but he did somehow. Feeling incredibly Nothing, Vespera left him on the side of the road at night, not unlike what her parents did with her and Zyti.

He was later taken in by a different elvin family, who cared for him and raised him in a good way. At least someone gets a happy ending. He is still alive today, and knows nothing of his dark past and connection to Vespera, despite their resemblence. He is actually the [some amount of greats] grandfather to Councillor Oralie, making Sophie Foster and Vespera Folend very, very distantly related.

Vespera tried to build her own life, but she didn't know where to start. She lived in Achim's house, and when questioned, she told every single one of them that he had committed suicide. at least that got her their pity. but she never connected with any of them. She would sit on the very windowsill she'd told Achim to lean out of and watch the people going about their lives from a bird's eye view. She was notoriously "creepy." And when people passing by glanced up and saw her, they hurried away, not wanting to witness it if one day she followed what they assumed Achim had done.

Vespera also preferred to cover up as much skin as she could, ever since she killed Achim, she started only wearing sleeves up to her wrists, gloves, collars or cloaks that covered her neck, and skirts that reached the ground. sometimes she even went as far as to wear a veil, not only because of her aversion to touch, but also because it made her feel like she had no identity- which, she didn't. She felt more like a ghost, and she often wished she was one. The extra fabric also helped her to not become overwhelmed when she manifested as an Empath, which was a conflicting experience for her. Sometimes, she would hate to touch anyone at all, but in rare occasions, she would go out to pretend to bump into someone, just to get a brief feeling of something.

After a few years, she became less strict with herself by ditching the veil and the gloves, for the most part, and began slowly trying to ground herself by journaling instead of cutting or bruising herself (which she had been doing for years). She wrote about people she saw. she wrote about Father and Zyti. She wondered how Father and Achim could have been so violent while her sister broke under it all. Speculation about the potential strength of human minds, the seeds for what would later become a full on facility.

Things began to change very rapidly, with the invention of light leaping, elves Vespera had never seen before were popping up out of nowhere and settling here. And there was talk of a king? Well, she knew that a lot of the other species had rulers, but humans and elves both either had smaller leaders for different places, or just self-governed areas. But that was to change very soon.

One of the newcomers to Atlantis was Fintan Pyren, who she encountered when he was trying to push open a pull door. She hadn't laughed, like, ever, but it did make her smile. She might have even been amused. They began talking, and Vespera wondered if she was forming some sort of connection. they talked almost every day, he reminded her to take care of herself (that wasn't her strong suit), and she did what she does best- she sat in silence. But it turned out quietly writing with someone is much better than quietly writing alone.

However, the friendship she had with Fintan was nothing compared to what she had with Vespera. She began to open up to her, to genuinely trust her, prior to going numb. Luzia was truly enamoured of her, and Vespera had no idea if she truly felt the same, or if it was just her Empathy. And while they never fully undressed in front of each other, Vespera felt comfortable enough to show her arms and legs, which was huge for her. But then Luzia went and ratted her out to the council and stole her illusions and got her sent to prison.

the end <3

[nikki152006]

the letter | Hawks X Reader

oneshot; (wrote it some 3 yrs ago and edited the narration here)

(it was a result for a "write a letter to mha characters" quiz of mine)

.

"Calm down, will you?" Tokoyami says over the phone, "I can not believe it's me of all people who needs to console you."

"Well, it was your idea." you pace your room in stress.

"It was dark shadow's idea." Tokoyami doesn't sound happy at your accusation, "I even warned you against trusting him just like that. His maturity level is down in the drain. That all put aside, I really do think you should relax. Definitely, sensei wouldn't hate you."

"He wouldn't hate me?" you frown and take a deep inhale, "I wrote that guy a love letter and we left it in his office, Tokyo!"

"I do not see how that should make him hate you.. " Tokoyami sounds confused, "Hawks sensei has quite a following, it would only be normal to him if you ended up having feelings for him too. Relax, it's no big deal."

"Oh my God." you clutch your head, "Is this how you're consoling me? I don't know what to do– is there a chance he wouldn't have seen it? I really just want to bring the letter back now."

"Wow." Dark shadow's voice sounds, "That's really spineless of you," you gasp at that, "relax, (Name)-chan. Everything's gonna be fine. If Hawks sensei ignores you, I'll fight him for you."

You pause, "Ignores? You know what, I'll call you and Dark Shadow back later, Tokyo. The both of you are only increasing my anxiety."

"Okay." Tokoyami sighs, "And stop calling me Tokyo."

"No." you hang up right after.

Continuing to pace in the room, you begin to prepare yourself for the worse. It's true Hawks could just ignore you if he gets uncomfortable with the whole thing. If not that, he could just reject your feelings.

After all, he does get thousands of letters per day (though none are found at his table top in his office) and like Tokoyami said, it would be only normal for him to have a little girl crush on him.

You're two weeks away from your birthday and do not at all wish to be crying over his rejection on the day you turn eighteen. 

"It's alright." you try to console yourself, "There's a lot more beauty in this world to cry over just one guy." but it's easier said than done.

No matter how true your words are, they do nothing to ease the way your throat suffocates in anxiety."

Your phone buzzes with notifications on the side and you pick it up to distract yourself with whatever they're from only to find an unknown number having texted you.

__________________________

XXXXXXX

heyy

you really thought you'd 

send him a letter and BOOM

he's into you, huh

haha, bitch

stop daydreaming

look at this 

seriously

stop embarrassing yourself

there's other important ppl

in his life

__________________________

Your brain processes the texts way too slow. Once it does, however, you feel something in your heart shatter.

A picture of Hawks blushing and another of him covering his face combined with the texts you've received explain a lot. 

There's other important people in his life.

It makes sense– you don't know much about his person life. You only know Hawks the hero not the person who he is away from the limelight.

It makes sense, absolute sense, but it hurts. 

"It's okay." you mumble futile and empty words to yourself, one hand making way to your chest and rubbing it hard. The ache lying within overpowers even the peak of control you can exert over yourself.

A tear rolls down your cheek. At this point, you don't even know what else you were expecting.

"I am just another fangirl." you tell yourself, "It's alright. That's what happens, I'm no one special– I barely know about his personal life."

A ding brings in new messages from the same number.

__________________________

XXXXXXX

we've got some things to settle

fifteen minutes from now

on your dorm roof

lets fight

YOU

lets please talk it out

it's nothing serious

I guess I'm just a fangirl

XXXXXXX

ask me if I give a fuck

__________________________

It hurts you to reply this way but this is just the truth.

But how can someone enter U.A.? I don't think non pro heroes would be allowed to enter.

And this thought leads to the rather painful realization that the person texting you might just be Mirko, you know Hawks is good friends with her so there could always be things between them that you aren't aware of.

It's just best to go and talk to her and clear out any misunderstandings. Who knows what sort of ruckus might follow.

You violently rub your teary eyes and swallow hard, "Well then."

There's no one on the roof when you reach there. With a sigh, you walk over to the boundary and lean against it taking in the view of the night at your school.

The suffocating weight on your chest remains constant but the worry about what Hawks would think of you beats it.

It hurts to remember how seriously you had written the letter and poured all of your ehart into it. Now, you only feel like an idiot.

Why the fuck did I even think this was okay?

If you could, you'd make everything go back to before you'd written it. All the worry, all the nervousness and this painful rejection-- you sigh.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

You haven't paid attention to the view until now. At once, you blink focusing your gaze in front. A small smile rises up your face, "It's beautiful." and then you pause.

"You didn't even notice me sneaking up to you." the way too familiar from the snort makes a tsunami of heat crash against your body, you snap your head to where Hawks is leaned to the boundary by your side.

"Hawks." your jaw falls a mile below.

"Yup." he smiled, "I had to come, didn't I?"

On reflex, you look around to see if someone else has come with him but not another soul is around.

"You're.. " you swallow hard, a mountain of shame settling in your face, "Uhm... well.. "

Hawks hums, his face turned towards the school building in view, "I thought I'd just talk to you face to face. I was on my way to Musutafu anyways."

"O-Oh.. ?"

"So you wrote me a letter." there's the tiniest bit of tease in his voice, "You think I'm handsome, eh, (Name)-chan? Boy, I did not know that."

Your face falls into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole.

"Well," he hums a moment later, "I sort of saw the letter in front of Mirko and she urged we should prank you so she took those pictures of me while I was reading the letter. I don't know what she's texted you though. She said you'd be happy to see me in person."

It takes you a while to process the thing about the pictures.

You don't have it inside you to face him anymore but the relief you feel on knowing this was a pranks expresses itself as a sharp exhale.

Hawks' face turns to you again, a sly smirk rising to his face, "You weren't getting jealous, were you? Ahh, I really want to see a jealous (Name)-chan. Your little crush on me makes this so much easier."

With great difficulty, you manage to separate your face and hands and try to lift your head.

"Oh right," Hawks snorts, "it's not a crush, it's love."

"Come on." you whine, turning your face away.

Hawks laughs, "You're adorable, (Name)-chan. Don't you worry, you'll still be on my priority list of little girls crushing on me."

"Look at how proud you are about that." you roll your eyes hysterically, "Shameless chicken."

"Aw, don't you think being mean to me makes me not want to hang out with you?" he dramatizes, "I thought we get careful when we get a puppy crush."

You're honestly just glad he isn't hating or getting creeped out by you.

"You were on your way to Musutafu?" you try to change the topic, "For what?"

Hawks hums a little, his gaze focused on the distantly visible city, "Say, (Name)-chan. You're of age, right? Your birthday was three months ago so you should be eighteen already."

"I am, yeah." your gaze rests on him for a bit- Hawks looks beautiful in the low night light.

He turns to you, "I was coming to Musutafu for this date I have to be on. I realized I should confirm your age outside the school. Nezu looked pretty relaxed when I said I want to visit you so that was relieving."

You blink, "I'm sorry?" there's a darker shade settling on his face now that you focus.

"Takami Keigo." he hums, "That's my real name."

The sudden revelation takes you by surprise, "Oh? I.. wow. That's a nice name."

"Of course," he snorts though there is now something adorably nervous to his voice, "your crush on me makes everything about me nice."

"Other than your personality, yes." you pout, "Look at you insensitively teasing me. Are you wishing to see me cry later?"

"Ne ne, (Name)-chan, you really think I'd let you cry?" he turns you towards himself.

You blink, "H-Huh?"

Hawks smiles nervously, "D'you.. you know.. want to go out with me tonight?"

It takes an eternity for your brain to process it. Once you do, your jaw drop in shock only to tug upwards immediately into a smile.

"What? What.. seriously?"

"Of course." his hand rubs the back of his head, Hawks looks embarrassed, "I-I mean.. it's not important that your crush is one sided.. "

"You like me?" you don't remember when the last time you'd been filled with such pure thrill was. You're basically jumping on your feet.

"If you're going to behave like this, how do you expect me not to?" he pouts and speaks in a small voice.

"Wow." your gaze locks into his, "That's just... "

"Sweet?" his hand boops your nose, "It is. But anyways, should we?" he holds his hand out.

You're about to put your hand onto his put pause, "Has Aizawa sensei allowed you to take me out." you pause, "Shit, I'm not even dressed right." and you continue to freak out more in happiness than in worry.

Hawks chuckles, "You're being pretty reasonable for someone who gets to be with the sexy hot number two." and the sassy reply he expects doesn't come.

You wrap your hands around him instead, "I am."

A gush of red burns his cheeks, Hawks lips part, "Wh-Whoa.. okay." his eyebrows jerk, and his head turns to the side now radiating with heat.

"Shit." you step away from him, "I'm not making you uncomfortable or something, am I?"

"Not at all." Hawks's eyes lock into yours, "That's.. actually leave the date. Let's go to your room and watch a movie or something."

"Boys aren't allowed in our side of the dorm." you make a sad face.

"I'm a man if you haven't noticed." he frowns, "Take me down there, I'll make sure you never miss my manliness again."

Your eyes widen and avert to the side and a buzz rises up your skin. Hawks looks pretty dead set with his little tease and is happy to see the reaction he was expecting.

It's risky sneaking Hawks inside so he sends in a feather first. Thankfully, there's no one in the hallways at this hour.

You let Hawks inside first and enter after securing the area. Little do you realize you've pushed him right into the one wall full of posters of him. You thank yourself for not having pasted hearts or something of the sort around.

"Looks like you have a major crush on this pro hero Hawks." he looks smug but the warm red tint of his ears adds more to the story, "That's so cute."

Your cheeks flare up, "W-Well.. th-there's nothing to hide anymore.. I guess."

Hawks hums, "You'll be knowing me as Keigo no onwards." he leans forward and pulls a poster down, crushes it and throw it to the side.

"What are you doing?" you frown in confusion.

"There's a lot of other things you need space to stick on the walls." he says, "Things about Takami Keigo and not Hawks," a teasing smirk rises up his face again, "and then you can continue to thirst over a sexier side of your hero crush."

You pout and turn away, face now warming up the air all around, "You're so mean, Hawks." there's a silence, "K-Keigo-san.. "

"Good girl." he hums, making all hair on your body rise on their ends, "Try it less formal."

You swallow, "Keigo-kun.. ?"

"Yeah." his hand strokes your cheek, you feel your legs getting weak, "That's more like it, babybird."

"You're literally so mean." your gaze averts to the ground, "Coming all the way here just to tease me.. "

"And maybe also to see you get excited like a little kid when I say it's mutual." he winks, then plops onto your bed, rubbing his face into the pillow.

The thing about the number two pro hero is that the confidence seeps out of all pores in his body. Even if he is shy and nervous, Hawks would unapologetically spread around knowing it would not at all change anything about your feelings for him unless it makes them more intense.

He knows that because he has seen the expression on your face when the two of you would mess around and do weird stuff to annoy Tokoyami (although it was mostly you).

Hawks would have a bigger hand in verbal teasing.

"S-So... " you fiddle with your fingers, cheeks heating up more at the thought of his scent settling onto your sheets. Hawks turns to you.

"Movie?"

"I-If you want to."

"Or maybe we could just.. you know," he playfully winks.

You freeze momentarily, "What... ?"

Hawks snorts, his hand taking his visors and ruffling his hair. He beckons you to come sit with him while taking his shoes and jacket off.

You now find it hard to not stare at his torso.

"Should we have a photoshoot?" he turns to you, eyes full of adoration.

It's too bad that your dirty mind is not able to process anything rationally on being exposed to his biceps now. And it just so happens that you and Hawks are awfully comfortable with teasing and insults on being friends for so long (all thanks to Tokoyami).

That is why the words slip out of your mouth before you can realise, "If you strip, yes."

Hawks blinks, his ears visibly getting a hot shade of red but expressions forced to remain straight, "You really have some wild fantasies about me, babygirl. Tokoyami told me all of them."

You blink, "What?"

He smiles cheekily, "If I strip, you'll lose your head."

"No- Tokoyami did what?"

"Told me some stuff." he hums, "Told me I should get a spine to propose to you but then boom, you send the letter and it gets easier for me."

"He knew you liked me back?"

"Of course he did." Hawks pushes his boots to the side with his foot, "Don't you go getting mad at him," his hands plant on your hips, cheeks blooming red, "this is my payment for this request."

In another second, you're sitting in his lap.

"So, photoshoot." he clears his throat, unable to properly talk now that your body is pressed against his with your adorable eyes looking up at him in shock and embarrassment, "I-I'll use my phone."

[the-rad-pineapple]

magic whump prompts

Day 4 - 9/26: "Leave me alone!" / bonus: emotional powers

This is based off this loose X-Men First Class AU thing I’m messing around with. There is lore/backstory I have ideas for that’s hinted at in this little fic. It's also not as whumpy as I thought it would be, so sorry for such a lack of whump in this little oneshot thing.

~ ~ ~

Charles feels it farther away than he thought he should. It’s a series of emotions. Flashing quickly. Powerfully. Chaotically. Whatever is happening is big. And it’s hurting a lot of people. Their thoughts are too jumbled and strong for Charles to separate them. To find who each thought belongs to. He’s racing towards it before thinking twice. 

They’re all over there. 

The other mutants. All of them. His new found family. They can’t be gone. 

Not so soon. 

There's pain. Searing. Debilitating. So much. Too much. Who. Who is it! Is it someone Charles knows?? 

Raven?? 

Erik?

Anger. So white hot it feels cold. Like a blue star. The tip of a metal fire poker. The drop of a roller coaster a moment before the sharp descent. It’s the most dangerous form of anger. Calm and collected. Controlled and sharp, like a hidden knife, deadly only by the precision of its wielder.

And then…

Fear. It clutches at his chest. Cold. Suffocating. Paralyzing. His footsteps stutter, and he breathes in a ragged breath.

Oh, God, please. Let them be okay. Please. 

Charles doesn’t even believe in God. 

His shoes slap loudly on the pavement. And then he can see it. Smoke rising above the nearby buildings, difficult to see in the darkness of night. Charles reaches his mind out. Searching. Feeling. Desperate to find answers but afraid of what he might see. There’s so much pain and fear. And they’re such strong, primal feelings they’re difficult to sort through. It’s not the usual thrum of low-level, day-to-day thoughts he’s used to. 

People race around the corner, and Charles slams into one of them. He’s thrown to the ground, and his head smacks painfully onto the sidewalk. 

Shit. 

He scrambles up, heart in his throat, and races onward. He blindly reaches out with his mind as he races towards whatever is causing this mayhem. And then he feels him. 

Erik.

That tranquil anger. It’s usually like a river. Rushing steadily yet calmly. But now…now it’s a waterfall. Not exactly chaotic, but unceasing. Impossible to ignore. Loud. Overpowering. 

Beautiful.

Erik is floating in the center of the street. Cars and buildings—even lampposts and fire hydrants—are bent towards him as if he’s their center of gravity. Charles has never seen him use his mutation before. He still isn’t even exactly sure what it is. But it’s obvious that Erik is powerful. 

There’s a group of people huddled behind a car, hands gripping each other, eyes pointed at the sky, fearfully searching for Erik, despite being unable to see him from their position. With a careless gesture, Erik sends the car crashing into a building. The fear from the people skyrockets, slamming into Charles. He clumsily puts up his mental shield a few seconds too late. He’d let it down in his search for the other mutants, uncaring what he let in. 

Erik floats down towards the group of people, a thousand different images of their deaths flashing through his mind. It’s almost satisfactory. But it’s…not. Death is not satisfactory. These are Erik’s desires. He’s become so entangled with Charles, Charles is having difficulty separating his own thoughts from Erik’s. He’s never struggled with that distinction like this before. 

Then Erik’s feet soundlessly meet the ground. His rage thunders in Charles’ ears.

“Erik!!” Charles calls. 

Erik freezes. His shoulders straighten, and his back goes rigid. 

Charles takes this time to slowly approach. “Erik, listen to me. Please. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to hurt them.” He’s inching forward. 

Erik slowly turns. His eyes are cold. Distant. “You don’t even know half the pain they’ve caused me.” 

“I…” I do. 

But Charles can’t say that, can he? Because then he’d have to tell Erik he’s been able to read his thoughts this entire time. That he’s been a mutant this entire time. That he’s useless and pathetic and has gotten some of their brothers and sisters killed. That he’s worse than the humans that Erik hates. And that Erik should hate him, too. 

Erik will hate him, too.

“Erik.” It comes out breathless and weak. 

“I’m sorry, Charles, but this is who I really am.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You think you know me??” He suddenly advances, and Charles stumbles backwards. “I’ve killed people, and I will kill them again.” 

Images flash through Charles’ mind then. Erik’s murders. Blood, and its warmth and metallic smell. Eyes filled with fear. Bodies laying peacefully on the ground. Cold ruthlessness. Sick satisfaction. A sense of pride and justice. 

It’s a stab to the heart. Because it’s wrong. What Erik has done—what he’s doing—is wrong.

And Charles can’t—he can’t take it. He reaches a hand out towards Erik. He can almost touch him. “Erik—” 

“Leave me alone!” he shouts, shoulders moving from the harshness of his breath. It’s then that Charles sees his tears. They fall silently and leave twin tracks down his cheeks. “Charles, I—” His voice wavers. He grabs Charles’ outstretched arm and pushes it back towards him. “I am not who you want me to be. I am not kind. I am not nice. And I am not forgiving.” 

“You’ve been all those things to me,” Charles whispers, tears of his own spilling down his face.

“You are the only human who’s ever been kind to me first.”

And Charles cries harder, lip wobbling and tears falling, because he can’t even be that for Erik. He can’t be the kindest human Erik’s met. He can’t be his hope that there is good in humanity. He can’t be the reason Erik changes his mind about them. Because Erik will never believe it until he sees it. Until it happens to him. And he thinks it has. But it hasn’t. 

Because Charles isn’t human.

Yet he’s still everything Erik despises. Everything Erik claims all humans are: liars, weak…

The reason mutants are dead.

Charles is shaking his head before he even realizes he’s doing so. “Erik, I…I’m not human.” 

A beat. 

“What.” Erik comes closer. Just a couple steps. But now they’re close enough Charles can feel the puff of Erik’s breath on his face. “Charles…” He’s searching him, looking almost…wondrously at Charles’ face. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“I— W-what?” 

One of Erik’s hands gently cups Charles’ cheek. Charles blinks in surprise, shocked at how gentle Erik is. Shocked at the intimacy he’s sharing with him. Their closeness. Charles instinctively reaches out to Erik’s mind to see what he’s thinking. Why he’s doing this. Why he’s not upset. 

That familiar anger greets him. Not quite the waterfall it had just been, but not as calm as the usual river either. Almost like rapids. Bumpy and wild and bordering on uncontained. 

“Did they do this to you?” Erik asks. Steel is in his voice. Hatred.

“Do what?” 

Erik brushes the side of Charles’ face, the ghost of a touch just above his ear. 

Pain. Sudden and sharp. 

Charles recalls falling on the pavement. 

Erik continues, “Humans hurt you, didn’t they?” 

Charles swallows, throat suddenly dry. “They were running from you, Erik.”

Erik’s gaze hardens, and he pulls his hand away. “You cannot keep advocating for them, Charles.”

“And you cannot keep hurting them!” he exclaims. “You are the reason they are so afraid!”

“They are always afraid. They are always violent.” 

“Not all of them! Not all of the time!” 

Where the hell is Erik? I am not leaving without him. There’s not much time. Where the fuck is he??

They’re not his own thoughts, but the tone of them is familiar. It’s someone he knows. It’s—

It’s Raven. 

Charles immediately turns to where he can feel the tug of her consciousness. She’s panicked. She’s afraid. 

“Charles?” Erik asks, concern suddenly flooding his voice as if they weren’t just shouting at each other two seconds ago.

Charles turns back to Erik. “It’s Raven. She’s looking for you.” His tone is clipped and cold. 

“You heard her?” 

“She’s over there,” Charles says with a quick nod. 

But Erik is shaking his head as if he’s the one who can read minds. “Come with us.” 

“Erik, I—” 

“Please.” And then he steps closer. They’re not even a foot apart. “We need you, Charles.” 

I need you. 

“O-oh. Erik…”

“Please? We can do this together.” 

“No, no. Erik, I— Violence isn’t the answer, and I don’t want any part of that.” 

“Then let’s discuss it. Later.” He places his hands on Charles’ shoulders. “Once you’ve come with us.” He doesn’t look away.

I have to make him see. I have to make him see. Doesn’t he realize I don’t beg for anyone but him? That I can’t fucking do this without him?

“Okay,” Charles hears himself agree, ears ringing, heart stuttering at Erik’s thoughts. 

Surprise splashes across Erik’s face before he quickly conceals it.

“Now,” Charles urges. “Before I change my mind.” 

[solemnv0id]

Monsterverse au where almost everything is the same except Godzilla can just become a guy whenever he feels like it

some rambles about the au under cut

ok hai idk what sparked in my brain to come up with this idea but I just think it would be very funny to see how a guy who fucks up cities on the regular would deal with being in a city and trying to figure out how the fuck society works

in this au, whenever he either turns back into Godzilla or goes into guy mode (which is the term I’ve decided for when referring to him changing to his human form), a massive cloud of mist forms around him. So while people don’t know that this guy in particular is Godzilla, they do know that if a cloud of mist suddenly appears and you didn’t see Godzilla anywhere beforehand, it’s time to panic.

There’s usually 2 main reasons why he turns into a person

One is boredom. There’s a shocking lack of things for the king of the monsters to do when there’s no monsters to beat up, he’s not tired, and is fully fed so has decided to spend some of his free time figuring what the hell these humans are getting up to these days

Two is quick maneuvering. It generally throws other monsters way off guard when the guy they’re fighting just vanishes in a cloud of mist.

also for funsies here’s some facts about goji in this au because it’s funny

1) Very good at picking up languages,,,verbally. His ass canNOT read.

2) Doesnt understand the point of paper money and credit cards. Only thing he somewhat understands is coins because “at least they’re nice and shiny”

3) In this version of KOTM, when he was getting final wars’d by Ghidorah he briefly went into guy mode in order to get out of there but couldn’t stay like it for long because yknow he was about to explode

4) Sleeps in loads of different spots bc who knew there’s so many more places to sleep when you’re not the size of a wonder of the world, and like what people gonna do? Move him?

5) Pretty much all his prior knowledge of humanity before deciding that exploring cities is cool is from eavesdropping the humans that were in that weird Atlantis place in KOTM and still remembers how to speak their language, only problem is that that culture and language has been dead for several thousand years so it’s not super helpful these days.

6) Thinks straws are a top 10 human invention

7) Chilled in Japan for a bit before 2014 happened and was given the name Tamaki which is what he uses to introduce himself since he didn’t know for a while that people called him Godzilla and even if he knew, telling people your name is Godzilla or Gojira makes them look at you funny

8) He can still use his atomic breath in guy mode but it’s usually by accident, like he sneezes a bit to hard and lasers a bit of a building by accident

9) For some reason is always surprised when people guess his age because they usually guess like,,, late 30s, early 40s and not several hundred thousand years old for some reason (his ass has no clue how long human life spans are due to both his lack of knowledge on them and the fact his perception of time is kinda fucked, he thinks they’re at least 1000 years)

10) Knows about Monarch but just generally views them as annoying bastards that don’t leave him alone (except Serizawa, he thinks about that one moment a lot). Also Monarch knows about the fact he can go guy mode but they haven’t been able to identify which guy he becomes.

11) Can still breathe underwater in guy mode (he still has his gills on his neck but you can’t see them bc of his hair) and will sometimes chill in the ocean whenever he decides that humanity has pissed him off for whatever reason

12) Will never deny that he’s Godzilla, he might not admit he is but if someone asks he won’t say that he isn’t, he just might indirectly say yes

[tubbytarchia]

For the ranchers a bit more shleep i just really like charakters comfy and nice:Dc /nf

Eepies. Jimmy woke up to really sore wings but its okay because Tango

[zorosdimples]

knowing i should take a step back from tumblr for my own wellbeing vs. being emotionally attached to this app and the people on it

[rarilight]

one day I’m actually going to grab everything I went through last year and pour it into a raritwi breakup fic where they don’t get back together and I don’t do my usual thing where I hint there’s hope for them

And I think that will probably be a very emotional and good fic but also it’ll probably be incredibly crushing more than anything Ive ever done so honestly maybe we should all be grateful I haven’t written it yet

[clodiuspulcher]

today im thinking about malaria in ancient rome.

about the fact that P. falciparum (the most dangerous kind of malaria) was likely endemic at least from the 2nd century BC onward that Galen said semitertian fevers (P. falciparum infections) were more common in Rome than anywhere else in the Roman Empire that the most severe manifestations of P. falciparum (quotidian fevers + cerebral malaria) were most common in babies and young children, an epidemiological observation that indicates the transmission rate of P. falciparum was extremely high in Rome that Quintus Serenus said there was no Latin word for semitertian fevers (they used a transliteration of the Greek, 'hemitritaeos') because "no one, i think, could have named it in our language and mothers would not have wanted to"

[vryivs]

I always forget that monarchists exist and then I see someone with the username duchessofmyheartforever or williamisababe posting about how it's mean to giggle at an ultrarich economic leech experiencing just a fraction of struggle and inconvenience (because lets be honest, he probably wont kick the bucket—his doctors are paid to keep his corpse animated long after it ceases to be humane)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Lotd have mer y ADC looks so good with her new selfie. And she’s posting flowers as usual 🥹

And wearing a white shirt. I'll say this, you can't accuse the girl of not staying consistently on brand 🥴

I will say also, she's never escaping the Victoria Pedretti doppleganger allegations any time soon (although I guess it'd be the other way around since she's older. Whatever) Anyway they neeeeeeed to play sisters at some point cuz what the actual fuck are we doing here like what is the point of all this if that never happens

[smoosnoom]

incredible submission by @http-byler :) sobbing btw