#left atrium
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The Science Diaries of S. Sunkavally, p438.
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a-fibfriend · 4 months ago
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Q&A: How do I know if I have an enlarged left atrium and what does it mean for A-Fib patients, if it is?
When in A-Fib, your left atrium has to work harder than normal and tends to stretch and dilate over time. Obstructive sleep apnea (OSA) and high blood pressure can also contribute to an enlarged left atrium. Consequences of an Enlarged Left Atrium: One study showed that Persistent A-Fib was associated with left atrium size (but not the number of years that a patient had A-Fib). Left atrium size…
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inciting-incident · 4 months ago
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r0semultiverse · 10 months ago
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Mr. 6 made you do a good show to be released?? 👀 um....
This is already giving serious eye vibes.
A whole show dedicated to public humiliation?
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The Mr. Bonzo suit started moving??? 👀 Serious stranger vibes. 🤡
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"It actually became a sort of ritual"
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I've seen people being like "don't cross tag" but buddy... the writing cross tags itself here I mean c'mon! 😂 Something something ritual of the stranger- okay, I'll keep listening!
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Hey, what's with the music?? Hey, who is Terrance Menki???👀
"The police said there were eleven bodies in total and his wardrobe was full of all sorts of homemade costumes." BRO IS ACTUALLY MAGNUSPOD WILLIAM AFTON-
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"It certainly had a profound effect on the Mr. Bonzo brand." Oh I'm sure it did, holy fucking shit. 👀
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Oh, me using this image is rather ironic now.
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"In a lot of ways I’m more his prisoner now than I ever was on my show." WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? 👀
"The witness statements from three murders over the last five years that claim a person in a Mr. Bonzo costume was at the scene? Do you think there could be a copycat?" Has the fear of clowns manifested as an actual clown-guything?
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"Don’t contact us again." "Us?" "Why am I still trapped dealing with all this this- Why won’t he let me go?! Why-" So Mr. Bonzo is absolutely a clown cryptid of sorts with some sort of hold over Nigel.
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Oh no, Gwen's about to fuck around & find out, isn't she? 👀
Hey, is Colin still himself & is he supposed to be back?
Hmm, okay, I guess that's him (hopefully).
"Maybe don’t tell them I’ve been on their terminals. They’ll only get the wrong idea." "If Lena asks, I wasn’t here." Seems like everyone's got their own little secret investigations going on, fun! This can only go well! 🙃
One of the episodes absolutely no one shows up to work except Lena is there & is like "where the fuck did everyone go?"
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"Time to get some new hires again I guess."
Let's go!! Ruin exploration gang!!
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"Like, it’s Saturday night and I’m choosing to hang out in a hole with you. A wet hole. And not the good kind either."
Alice with the absolute best quotes. lmao
That sounds like something with giant wings like a bat or some sort of cloth flapping in the wind. Let's hope it's the latter!
Oh a rusty old filing cabinet! Wait tetanus- 😭
"That carved floor in the big atrium – I don’t know what’s going on with that." Ah so we're just gonna breeze past that then. 😶
These are probably the remnants of old avatar creation test areas like mentioned in the Gerry & Gertrude episode. I'm just assuming here.
A key? Big find! Let's go!
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AS I WAS SAYING-
Gwen, it was nice knowing you. 🫡
"Now get out of his house."
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Archivist! 👁👄👁
"symbols of ancient otherworldly power"
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Wait could this be a timeline where this universe's Jane Prentiss actually did manage to invade the building & succeed? I'm thinking out loud.
21:10 that sounds like critters, insects specifically 👀
"I have memories of weird stuff I saw here, but no context. I want to know what was happening, why they chose us… why they didn’t choose me. Maybe find the bit where everything started to go wrong." I am so captivated & intrigued please recount said memories to us- I mean Alice so we can learn more. Please. 👀
EXCUSE ME, WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?!? WHO IS "[ERROR]?"
WHY DO THEY SOUND DISTORTED AS FUCK?? ARE THEY FROM THE PRIME TIMELINE OR IS THIS A NEW THING?
ARE WE GAZING OUR EYES UPON A WRETCHED THING FROM THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES?!
edit:
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Is Lucia Wright an avatar of The Flesh now (in this universe or from the original timeline somehow)? Because it sure fucking sounds like it! 👀 Well, at least that key was put to good use! 😂
Also, supposedly Mr. Bonzo is a reference to Mr. Blobby.
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Gwen, I'd be quaking in my boots too. That thing is terrifying!
Late observation but this universe & story seems to focus a lot on the cryptids & I like the direction it's going in! Loving this plot of cryptid hunters, childhood avatar experiments, a strange institute where our main character has past trauma, & just all of it is so good! 💜
Amazing episode, 10/10, I was at the edge of my seat the entire time! 💜 That Bonzo scene & the sound design were absolutely horrifying, thank you! The ending too! 🔥
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survivalxofxthexfittest · 1 month ago
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Who: @hannahxinterrupted
When: April 1st
Where: Atrium
Oscar had been struggling to get his tie right with only one hand, his nerves exacerbating his frustration as he yanked it off for the thousandth time with a huffed grumble. Emily couldn't help but smile to herself as she watched him. He was acting just like he had when he and Liz first started dating. For all his worldliness, he sure was inexperienced when it came to women. But it was endearing to see. She was quietly happy he found someone who brought this side back out though.
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"Who is it?" Em asked knowingly as she walked over and took the tie from him, draping it around his neck and starting to knot it - the scene reminiscent of their parents. Oscar shot her a look of confusion and shook off her question, going back to his reflection as her fingers looped the fabric around itself.
"Come on," she urged, glancing up at him with a smirk. "You never get nervous unless there a girl involved," she teased him gently, finishing up. She stepped aside and behind him, straightening his tie a bit more in his reflection. She smoothed out his jacket and moved back in front of him, leaning against the wall by the mirror. "So, who is it?" she asked again.
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Oscar glanced her way as he fidgeted with his appearnace a bit more, trying to hide the arm brace as best he could. Em gave a gently demanding look in return. He sighed and rolled his eyes a bit, letting his gaze find himself in the mirror again. "Hannah," he admitted, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Really?" she asked rhetorically, her excitement showing as a wide smile spread across her face. "She's cute," Em said approvingly. "Don't take this the wrong way Oscar, but how did that happen? I didn't even know you guys knew each other."
"She, uh, she was at the beach, and was also who helped me find your sketchbook and that copy of Alice in Wonderland," he continued with another glance her way. "She brought us some gifts and there was a note saying she'd see me at the party," he further explained, clearing his throat of his rising nerves.
"Well you look amazing," she complimented her brother. "I think she'll be very happy to see you," she teased with insinuation.
Oscar chuckled freely, finishing up his last few adjustments. "I could say the same about Zach," he volleyed back, finally giving her his full attention. Emily could only smile in return knowingly. That had been her plan. "Be careful," he warned lovingly.
Be careful? It's Zach, O.G. Not some random Tinder date," she joked, linking her arm with his and leading him out of the apartment. "I'm safe as can be with him," she assured him as they walked to the elevator, although he hardly needed it - he had no doubt Zach would protect Emily should the need arise.
"Good luck," she wished her brother as she left the elevator for the W and Hannah could be seen setting up her caricature station. The world seemed to slow and drift out of focus until only Hannah remained. Insecurity seemed to quickly drown out what little conifdence he'd had back at the apartment. His heart started to beat faster. What was he doing? This was too soon. Right? He should just go back upstairs and blame his arm for not attending the festivities. There was still time to get out of this.
And he very well may have if Liz's voice hadn't drifted through his thoughts telling him to find his new happy, followed by the focus breaking movement of the doors starting to close. He shot a hand out and stopped them, finally taking the step and heading over to her.
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"Need any help?" he offered once he got to her as she worked.
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aliettali · 2 months ago
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trying to design skills for my de oc ft. my shitty doodles... this is "allure" it has to do with deeper forms of love
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sdmsims · 11 months ago
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LUNAIRES ~ the heavenly moon palace above all else
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smudgedeyeshadow · 9 months ago
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Echo is tomorrow very scared of what they might find
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comatosebunny09 · 18 days ago
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carpe noctem [ preface ] | sylus
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— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, assassin!reader, unrequited feelings, mentions of burned bodies, mentions of blood & injuries, jealousy, stream of conciousness, mdni — notes: shout out to @alfredosaws, @cheshireworld, and @midiplier for inspiring this! thank you for reading! here's a playlist to keep you entertained! edit: part 2 can be found here. — now playing: abracadabra - brown eyed girls
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“Did you see that?!”
A smirk crooks your lips. 
You watch the source of excitement in your periphery, her mirth infectious. You pat the space between her shoulder blades, the other hand stuffed in your pocket, pride swelling in your chest. The SUV eases into focus, a sleek outline of black, haloed by the sun’s deceptively innocent glow.
“I did.”
Her eyes brighten like stars shining in the inky night. She punches at the air—a reenactment of the moves she displayed during your scuffle inside the warehouse. It burns a pretty blend of orange and yellow behind, flames licking a cyan sky, smoke billowing from squealing metal. Carnage you left behind after a deal gone sour, structure and bodies turned to cinder, courtesy of one nefarious mafioso with a bomb fetish. 
She flexes her bicep, fixing you with a grin that’s all canines. “I was pretty badass, huh?”
You quirk a brow, quietly giving her props. 
A chuckle erupts from behind you both. You don’t look back. His presence is ever-looming. Imposing, towering over your shoulder, oozing smugness. 
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kitten.” 
He says it to humble her. To keep her head from overinflating, but you don’t miss the affection surfing in the undercurrents of his voice. It always lives there when he chides her. 
You can’t blame him. She’s come a long way: Ms. Hunter. 
Initially, she feared being roped in with the lot of you. Rejected the lifestyle of doing very bad things to equally bad people. She eventually found her niche, and you unconsciously took her under your wing, treating her like something of a sibling—a friend.
You knew she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Sylus made that clear. Cryptic as ever, forcing her onto you, refusing to tell you everything. Only that she owed him a debt, and he brought her around to collect.
At first, you despised the arrangement. She was a thorn in your side, the bane of your existence. Her very presence threatened the hodgepodge life you constructed with your makeshift family—Luke, Kieran, Mephisto, Sylus.
She was too nice. Reckless. Too self-righteous, where you were calculative. A manipulator, a killer. Your hands dripped red while hers were delicate as orchid petals. But she had Sylus wrapped around her finger—a feat you struggled to conquer for years. The man was playing Kitty Cards and sneaking plushies into the manor, for crying out loud. Besides, you couldn’t deny how she squirmed her way through the fissures of your own heart, nestling between atriums and ventricles like she’d always belonged there. 
You found yourself quietly rooting for them—your big, bad wolf of a boss and his precious little lamb. The affection blooming between them was palpable, like datura petals drifting in an errant breeze. Though an official title never revealed itself to you, you sensed whatever bond they shared was cosmic. Something you couldn’t touch or disrupt no matter how hard you tried. So you wordlessly conceded, bowing out of a competition you constructed in your mind. 
You were content with protecting her. Showing her the ropes, knowing in the back of your mind she would one day replace you. You were slowly becoming old news, no longer the center of Sylus’ orbit. It was fitful, but it was nice to see him smile like that for a change. To see this side of him, smitten with his defenses buried beneath the rubble, and you supposed that was enough for you. 
At least this way, you could remain by his side. Fulfill your own obligations, continuing to serve him, even if it means watching the world you’ve grown so accustomed to slowly fall away from your feet. 
“You did a good job,” you say, disrupting the slurry of your thoughts, a fond hand ruffling her hair, eyes creased at the corners. 
You usher the hunter into the passenger seat of the SUV. She’s still buzzing in the aftermath of your fight as you shut the door, a chuckle roiling in your chest. You turn to ease into the backseat, but Sylus is there, wearing that customary smirk, holding the rear door open for you instead. 
“You both did well.”
The look you toss at him is suspicious. Raised brows and a sardonic curve to your lips. There’s more to his praise than he lets on, handing it out like a rare bouquet, usually reserved for her. Sylus merely shrugs, feigning innocence, his intentions shielded behind dark lenses. You ease into the chilled leather seat, the swell of noise from the fire traded for Ms. Hunter animatedly recounting the day’s events when the door shuts beside you.
You lapse into monotony, watching plumes of smoke fade in the rearview mirror as the three of you ease onto the highway. Sylus’ hand is tight on the steering wheel. Long, spindly fingers wrapped around coarse leather. His voice is bold like black coffee, warming your innards on a wintry day, as he and Ms. Hunter exchange words you can’t be bothered to follow up front. Occasionally, scarlet eyes catch yours in the mirror. It’s as if he’s keeping tabs on you, ensuring you’re still here. Like you’re poised to tuck and roll out the backseat, driven by how comfortably they speak with each other.
Physically, you’re present. Mentally, you’re drifting off. Watching power lines skate by, blurring with the skyline and mountains as the vehicle slides downhill. Maybe you’re more exhausted than you initially thought. You’d taken a hit or two in the fray earlier. Have blood speckling the ivory collar of your shirt, a scrape lining your jaw, and you’re sure you’ll have pretty splotches of blue and purple staining the corner of your mouth come tomorrow. 
Pain is usually an afterthought. You’re so used to shielding, so accustomed to recklessly throwing your body around, and the adrenaline’s ebbing, making way for the dull throb of a migraine and sleepiness dangling like sandbags from your upper lids. You lean against the door, propped on your elbow, temple roosted on swollen knuckles. You blink slowly, your heart beating steady until the scenery beyond the window makes way for darkness. You won’t be at the hotel for another hour. A little catnap won’t hurt. 
Before you fully relinquish yourself to the pretty girls of sleep, an enthusiastic voice peels through the inkiness. Static against a violet backdrop, tugging a quiet smile onto your lips. Ms. Hunter.   
“We should celebrate!”
We should, you muse, sinking below the shadowy depths of sleep, lured there by the bumping of the SUV against the road and Sylus fondly teasing the source of your envy.
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masterlist | conflict
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survivalxofxthexfittest · 3 months ago
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"Brothers, huh? I'm sure you and Em will have plenty to talk about since both of you deal with older brothers," he joked. He started making a secondary list of connections, however, her family the top of the tree being the first confirmed alliance with the community. "How many of you are there?" he asked genuinely curious.
He took note of each location as she pointed them out. He already knew where he'd be able to find Emily if not back at the apartment - the diner or game room. He had a feeling they were here for good after seeing all of it. Or at least as long as they would need. But there was no way his sister was going to willingly leave behind somewhere that had everything she loved in one space. The only thing that would make in even more obvious The Wexley was home would be if they had an art studio.
"Guess I better start getting comfortable here," he mused as he glanced between the spots. "There's no way Em will ever leave if you do. I never got into them myself being more of a chess man, but video games are, were, a huge part of her life, so there is no way she's going to leave it behind," he told her, the sliver of the Lockmoore's past slipping through.
She always said they made her feel less alone after their mother died - he and his father often away for work leaving her by herself. Oscar regretted his absenteeism and guilt clenched at his chest every time he thought about it.
"The Wexley's pretty luxurious," he commented honestly. It was now making sense why they thought it had only been New York that was affected. They had everything they could need right here. He doubted they'd ventured outside of the building often unless absolutely necessary. "You have everything," he added, impressed.
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"Yea. We're great friends," he commented with a chuckle over his physical with the doc. "She is thorough. I'll give her that," he quipped further. "I'm guessing no one here secrets from her," he continued to joke.
Oscar held no shame for the check- up. He'd been through more invasive exams during his time in the service. Although they'd rarely been from their side. And Val's hadn't been close to traumatizing him, but he could see how some might take it that way. Emily had been less than enthusiastic about hers and Oscar had heard as much once they'd both been released.
"You know this place pretty well," he went on as they walked down the steps, more seriously this time. At the bottom he held the door once more for her, stepping to the side to allow her passage to lead on. "Been here long?"
He couldn't help but wonder just how many people she'd welcomed here. Or if most of these people were original residents and supremely lucky to have been home at the time of the outbreak. And he had a suspicion that if anyone knew the ins and outs of this place, it was her - despite the more official rankings of the others.
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blueiscoool · 3 months ago
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Tiny House with Elaborate Frescoes Unearthed at Pompeii
Archaeologists have uncovered a tiny house in Pompeii that is filled with elaborate – and sometimes erotic – frescoes, further revealing the ornate way in which Romans decorated their homes.
Situated in the central district of the ancient city, the house is smaller than normal and unusually lacks the open central courtyard – known as an atrium – that is typical of Roman architecture, the Archaeological Park of Pompeii, which oversees the site, said in a statement Thursday.
This change could have occurred due to shifting trends in Roman - and particularly Pompeian - society, during the first century AD, archaeologists said.
Pompeii was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in AD 79 when its buildings and thousands of inhabitants were buried beneath layers of ash and pumice. This coating perfectly preserved the city for millennia, making it one of the most important archaeological sites in the world as it offers an unprecedented insight into Roman daily life.
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This latest discovery spotlights the ornate decorations that rich Romans enjoyed in their homes – several frescoes depict mythical scenes and others are decorated with plant and animal motifs on a white background.
One small square painting set against a blue-painted wall depicts intercourse between a satyr and a nymph, while another shows Hippolytus, son of the mythical Greek king Theseus, and his stepmother Phaedra who fell in love with him before killing herself when he rejected her in disgust.
One fresco likely portrays the Judgement of Paris, though it has been damaged by previous excavations, and another shows Venus, the goddess of love, and Adonis, her mortal lover.
Erotic and elaborate frescoes like this have been uncovered in Pompeii before. One house covered in erotic frescoes reopened to the public in January 2023 after being closed for 20 years while another fresco depicting an erotic scene from the Greek myth “Leda and the Swan” was uncovered in 2018.
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Elsewhere in this newly excavated house, the last ritual offerings left before the eruption still remain at the household shrine, known as a lararium.
“We have archaeologists, restorers, archaeobotanists here to understand exactly how the ritual of the last sacrifice was carried out before the eruption,” said Gabriel Zuchtriegel, the park’s director, in a statement. “There are still the burnt remains of this ritual, there is the knife that was used.”
This excavation, Zuchtriegel added, “takes place under the eyes of the public” who can access the site on suspended walkways and watch archaeologists working.
By Issy Ronald and Sharon Braithwaite.
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tierras · 8 months ago
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UAL students for justice in Palestine protest at the Central Saint Martins BA Fashion Show 2024
"Protesters lined the balconies on the floors above the atrium where the show took place, dropping a huge patchwork banner directly above the catwalk. Across it, messages including ‘Stop Genocide, Free Palestine’, ‘Ceasefire Now’, and ‘Money for jobs and education NOT for war and occupation’ had been stitched, alongside the Palestinian flag and watermelons.
Throughout the show, the students shouted ‘Free Palestine’, while calling for boycotts of L’Oreal, which sponsors the CSM BA show annually and supports three winning designers with funds as they graduate from the school. L’Oreal is currently listed on the BDS boycott list. Later, they dropped messages calling for UAL to ‘Divest our money from banks and businesses funding Israel’ and highlighting that there were ‘No universities left in Gaza’" x
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pillowspace · 1 year ago
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why make moon and puppet fight. why cant they be the bestest friends. a daycare attendant and ten yr old spirit who are insane about protecting children. they would be a power duo. the loveliest killing machine mix. also cuddles and hugs for moon and puppet. the comfort. please. on my kne
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I like to imagine Charlotte just showed up in the Pizzaplex one day to silently keep watch of the place for danger. When she got to the Daycare, Sun saw her and was like, "that's... strange! We never detected the door or slide. No guest profile either..." then disregarded all of that because goodness, the child is crying! Perpetually, but he doesn't know that. He sends an alert to a guard to help the lost girl get back to her parents
It is written off as a bug, as there is no child. This sends Sun into a very confused crisis of repeatedly glancing back at this unknown girl that no one else acknowledges throughout the day, because glitches do happen, and he has no idea if this quiet child is even real or not. It would be easier to ignore if the child had left after the guard's arrival, but she just lingers until the Daycare closes. Again, no door detection. Just gone. She doesn't show up the next day
A week later, Moon spots the same girl lingering around the atrium past closing and Sun's internally like, "THAT'S WEIRD, RIGHT??"
Oh she also ADORES DJMM btw. Post uhhh re-possession, please imagine her puppet hands softly whacking together in an attempt to clap for DJMM after a song. Please also imagine that I have any idea how this AU even functions, I'll figure it out
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survivalxofxthexfittest · 1 month ago
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"I was not," he admitted with a laugh, caught red-handed in his fib. "We were never in one place long enough for me to join, but you have my word I will start p.t. soon," he assured her.
It was somewhat refreshing to have someone other than Emily worrying about him. And while he knew his sister's heart was in a good place, she could be very suffocating when Oscar was injured - of course she had seen him in much worse states than what happened at the beach and her concern was more than valid. Especially with his stubbornness.
"He's lucky to have you," he told her honestly. "Wanna take bets on how long before he gets rid of it all together?" he gently teased knowingly of his friend over his tie.
Since the shit had hit the fan back in November, Oscar had only been concerned with one thing and one thing only- survival. Even after he and Emily found the Wexley he still pushed aside any sort of life emerging from the ashes of the world before. But there was something about the festivities and the general mood of the building that pushed his focus to all the good around him (Ruth included). Emily would have been proud.
"Well, color me impressed. Jewelry can be very complicated" he chuckled. Ready as he was to mingle and have some fun, he was rusty. He almost cringed at his poor excuse of an attempt at flirting. "Have you tried any of the macaroons yet?" he asked, motioning to the piles in the diner. "I was on my way over to get some if you want to come with. Em has been going on and on about them so I owe it to her to try at least one," he added playfully in unnecessary explanation, his nerves still a little rattled.
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"Well, I was trained to be a ghost," he joked in response to her difficulty of finding him. He smiled gently and shook his head knowingly. Emily snitched. She had to of told Ruth he hadn't even tried his exercises. But it was for good reason - no matter what his sister believed. "My shoulder is just taking a little longer to come back this time is all. Moving it too much still hurts pretty bad," he admitted of his therapy. "But soon. I promise," he added holding up three fingers in a scout's honor.
He glanced down at his jacket and gently shifted it over his shoulder more. "A pain in the ass, but I managed," he admitted honestly. "The tie on the other hand is all thanks to Em. I would have left it back at the apartment if she hadn't saved the day," he joked lightly with a small chuckle over the frustration the piece of fabric had given him. "You look good," he complimented genuinely. Her look was minimal, but he liked simple. "Have any trouble with your necklace?" he teased gently of her own possible struggle with getting ready for the party.
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chilling-seavey · 4 months ago
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Dreamland (ln4) - Epilouge
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↳ A/N And finally, Lando's little fairytale will have its happily ever after...
↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex
↳ Word Count: 2.4k
↳ Warnings: NONE 
PART EIGHT
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Two Years Later
The multi-story bookstore was nestled in the heart of Monte Carlo's most prominent shopping centre and the customers bustled about contently through the aisles and up the escalators like it was their second home. In the centre of the spacious atrium of the sizeable store, a few employees were finishing setting up a brand new display table with the filled cardboard boxes of new stock piled beside them. A few customers drifted by curiously to see what the most recent release was and the employees were happy to answer questions. On the other hand, a few well cultured customers lingered around the store just as a way to pass time until the display was ready. 
With an Exacto knife in hand, Oscar approached said table and slit open the tape that sealed one of the boxes, ordering the employees sternly but politely, “Time is running out. Let’s try and get as many of these on display as possible, as soon as possible, okay?” 
The underpaid employees nodded frantically and increased their speed to please him. He pulled out his phone and answered the incoming call with a huff and a half-stressed ‘hello’ that had Charles glancing at him as he rushed past.
Holding Max’s hand, Charles left Oscar to his own devices as they approached the display table themselves next and he reached for one of the books inside. It was heavy in his hand but he smiled at it proudly and tilted it side to side to watch how the hardcover sleeve shimmered in the artificial lighting of the store. 
He looked up at his boyfriend, “Well?”
“Beautiful work as always.” Max answered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. 
“My first time with one of my photographs on the cover of a book.” he said proudly. 
Max praised him without a second thought, “It’s what you deserve.” 
They shared a proper kiss and then Charles pulled the book to his chest, announcing, “I’m gonna keep this copy. I need to get it signed later tonight.” 
Max reached into the cardboard box for a copy of his own, agreeing to Charles’ idea himself, and they left the employees to their work. They crossed the book store’s atrium to the carpeted clearing of the main floor where a few bar tables were set up and covered with white tablecloths and little floral centerpieces. Along the windowed wall that looked out towards the street was a rectangular table of hors d'oeuvres and refreshments at which Alex and George were setting out cans of soda and arranging the plates and napkins just so. 
Sneaking up behind him, Max tapped George on the opposite shoulder so George turned his attention in the opposite direction, allowing Max to sneak his arm past him to grab a taste of one of the appetizers, undetected. Alex snorted in light amusement at Max’s slick move and Charles, with his hand in the crook of his boyfriend’s arm, guided him away with a smile. George looked back at Alex dumbly. 
“What was that?” he asked. 
Alex shrugged, “Ghost, maybe?”
George looked over his shoulder again. 
The sound of a camera shutter going off had the both of them turning the other way where Lily stood at the end of the table with Charles’ DSLR camera in hand. She snapped another photo and then sent them both a smile from behind the camera. 
“Smile!” she instructed. 
George put his arm around Alex’s shoulders and they broke into grins together to pose for another picture. 
“Beautiful.” Lily nodded once in approval, lowering the camera as she stepped around the table to join them, her eyes focused on the screen to skim through a few recent shots. 
“I know you are, but what am I?” Alex nudged her. 
She shot him a little unimpressed glare and nudged him back, answering quietly, “Incredibly breathtaking.” 
He dipped down to kiss her cheek with a cheesy grin that had her turning away from him bashfully, especially under George’s close presence and the way he stared at them with an amused smile. Alex just wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her close again despite her silent shy protests. 
“Does Charles know you took his camera?” Alex asked her.
“Not yet.” Lily chuckled. 
Changing the subject, George gestured to the neatly organized table of food as he asked her, “Do you like our spread?” 
“Yeah,” Lily nodded, raising the camera to take a haphazard picture of it, “It looks great.”
“Thanks.” Alex stretched dramatically, “Took a lot of work. Someone should write a book about it.”
George offered jokingly, “Hey, I have just the person in mind to do that for you!” 
Lily silence them with her hand up before pointing out the large display window directly in front of them that opened out to the bustling streets of Monte Carlo, “Look who’s back.” 
George and Alex broke into excited grins and the three of them drifted their eyes to the nearby double entry doors as they were opened and the last of their little group arrived into the air conditioned book store from the Monaco summer humidity.
Regardless of the twenty-something-degree weather outside, Lando still wore dress slacks with a button up tucked into them, the fabric neatly ironed and smooth but only getting wrinkled where the toddler sat on his hip. She wore a little dress and sparkly shoes that hugged her dangling stockinged feet on either side of his torso, although her entire body was almost completely taken over by the bouquet of pastel peonies she clutched in her little arms. 
“We made it!” Lando told her sweetly as he stepped over the threshold into the bookstore. 
She grinned at him, showing off her little gummy toothy smile that was half blocked by the cellophane wrap around the flowers in her arms. Just out the way of the door, he crouched down to set her on her feet and she whined softly and tried to climb back in his arms.
Lando’s gentle hand rested on her back as he spoke to her in the gentlest voice, crouched at her level, “Cuddles are for later, okay? We gotta go surprise Mommy with her pretty flowers now.”
With her fingers in her mouth, the toddler leaned into him casually as if to try and persuade him to pick her up again. He gently pulled her hand away from her mouth and then pointed across the bookstore to the other rectangular table donning a white table cloth that was set up nearby the display table. There, you stood as you arranged your few items among more of those cardboard boxes that seemed to fill the clearing space in the bookstore. She followed his finger. 
“See, look! There’s Mommy. Wanna go give her the flowers?”
The little girl smiled up at him again bashfully and reached her tiny hand for his larger one with a whispered, “Okay.”
Lando stood up from the ground and let her wrap her hand around his pinky to lead the way across the clearing. Although he was walking at a calm pace, she was tugging at his finger at an attempt at a run, her little brunette curls bouncing as she ran messily across the carpeted floor towards your table, half struggling to see past the bouquet. 
“Mama!” she called. 
Instantly, her voice had you looking up from your cue cards and your anxious expression settled into a tender grin and you stepped around the table to greet her. Lando could always feel his heart absolutely soar every time he saw you and your little girl together…he just held so much love in his heart for the both of you that it was almost unreal. Like he had always once dreamt of, your baby was the spitting image of you and he loved every second of it; now he had two beautiful things to stare at until the end of time. He thought himself to be so, so lucky.
“Flowers, Mama.” your daughter announced excitedly, offering out the bouquet to you and almost dropping it in the process while you crouched right down in front of her. 
“Oh, thank you, buttercup.” you kissed her chubby cheek when you took the flowers. “These are my favourites. How’d you know?”
Lando gave your daughter’s hand a little tug, “What else did we want to say to Mommy?”
She looked up at him and then back at you with an angelic smile, offering you a simple “congratulations” that was horribly butchered by her two-year-old vocabulary and pronunciation, but it was the cutest thing you had ever heard nonetheless. 
“Oh my!” you beamed with pride and pulled her close for more kisses to her cheek, “Thank you so much, my sweet girl.” 
She wrapped her arms around your neck and you gladly took that as incentive to lift her up onto your hip, much to her glee. With a toddler in one arm and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in your other, you met Lando halfway for a quick kiss and a quiet thank you to him too. 
“Did you get the Sharpies?” you asked. 
He held up the small white shopping bag to show you before placing it on your table, “Yep. Of course. Got the biggest package they had too because I am expecting hundreds of people flooding in here tonight and I don’t want you running out.”
“Thank you.” you sighed in relief through a smile that formed at his compliment. 
He kissed you once more before you were interrupted by Charles’ friendly call,
“Quick picture!” 
The three of you turned your attention to him as he walked over with his trusty camera in hand - stolen back from Lily - and Lando slid over to your side so you were all facing him. Lando wrapped his arm around your waist and set his other hand sweetly around your daughter who was perched on your hip and he gave her a little tickle. 
“Say ‘cheese’!” 
The toddler pulled the biggest smile and shouted “cheese!” across the echoey bookstore as loud as her little lungs could allow. You all laughed lightly - even Charles - as the picture was taken.
Max came over to join your little group, Alex approving the post with a statement of, “Instagram worthy, I think.”
“Definitely.” you agreed. 
“You haven’t even seen the picture.” Charles countered.
“If you took it, I already know it’s great.” you shrugged, earning an agreeable nod from Max. 
Your well-trained daughter agreed easily, “Yeah!”
Alex and George joined you too, easily drawn by the adorable little girl on your hip whom they swooned over together. And, knowing his job well, Oscar also came over and took your flowers from you to tuck them away safely before the event, exchanging them for your cue cards without needing to be asked. Lando glanced over your shoulder at the cards that you had been pining over for multiple weeks to make your speech perfect; pulling late nights in bed spent writing by the light of your bedside lamp or scribbling out lines in the passenger seat of his car on the way to toddler swim class. 
“All set for your big speech?” Charles asked. 
You scoffed, “Way to ease my nerves there, Charlie.”
Lando’s hand rubbed over your back, “You’ve done plenty of these. You make them look easy.” 
“Well this is my first one without being in that contract so it feels a little weird being so free with what I’m allowed to say.” you admitted. Your daughter rested her head down on your shoulder with her arms around your neck and you set your cheek on top of her little head, finding comfort in her. 
Max offered you a half cocky smile, “And now you have a much cooler manager.”
“Of course.” you agreed, just to make him feel better although you were wholeheartedly telling the truth. He had always acted like your confidant and your big brother in the industry anyway so having him as your informal manager after you got yourself out of your previous contract only made sense. 
“Your first book release as an independent artist.” Oscar gushed, “That’s an accomplishment.” 
“And it’s an autobiography at that.” you chuckled, “That’s so weird. Who am I?”
Lando replied without missing a beat, “A multi-talented author, that’s who.”
You shared another quick kiss that Charles managed to snap a picture of. 
Your little girl reached a tiny hand out for your cards but you moved them just out of her reach, distracting her with a kiss to her cheek instead. You then looked to Lando with a quiet request, “I wanna sign one for you first…before the event starts.”
He smiled warmly at you, “Okay. Now?”
You nodded. 
Your friends dispersed as there were still things left to finish setting up before the event and Lando took the toddler from you to give you hands free to fish a crisp copy of your book out of one of the cardboard boxes beside your signing table and you sat yourself down in front of it. Your Sharpie was uncapped and you flipped the hardcover book open to the first page, pausing to glance up at Lando standing on the opposite side of the table with your daughter in his arms. They both stared back at you with matching small smiles and the little girl dipped her head into Lando’s neck for a cuddle all while keeping her eyes on you. 
It reminded you of the day you met him not that long ago; just a shy boy from Bristol who’s only true passion in life were the worlds you created in your pages. Only three years earlier he had stood on the other side of a table from you in another Waterstones, similarly to how he was now, both of you clueless at the time of what lay in store for you. Now, there he was holding your daughter you had together and the life you were paving together, watching you prepare for your book release party for your autobiography that contained chapters upon chapters with his name in them. 
Sharing a loving smile with the fanboy from Bristol who managed to weasel his way into your heart in the most genuine way, you took a second to think of what you wanted to write to him. You might have been a published author but sometimes it was hard to figure out how to put your feelings towards him into words. 
Finally, you set the tip of the fresh black Sharpie to the page and began to write in your neat, experienced printing:
“To my Lando, my biggest fan and my most treasured inspiration, always, …”
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notjustjavierpena · 6 months ago
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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I
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Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator
A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 
Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 
Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)
Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.
Word count: 7k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770
Chapter I: In these tumultuous times
You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 
The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.
You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 
It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 
“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”
Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 
“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”
General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 
Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 
When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 
You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 
You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 
Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 
You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 
You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 
“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 
You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”
You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”
“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 
Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 
“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 
“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 
A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 
“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”
Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”
When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.
“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.
“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 
“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 
Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.
“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.
“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”
“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.
“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”
He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.
As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 
Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 
Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.
You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 
“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 
“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.
“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.
“Never mind that, Carissima…”
There’s that name again. 
“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 
He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.
The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 
“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”
You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 
“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 
Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”
Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.
Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 
With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 
The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”
“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 
You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 
“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.
“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 
When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.
“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 
If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 
Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  
“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 
He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 
It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 
“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.
Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.
But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.
A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 
An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.
It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”
You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”
You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 
“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”
“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 
“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.
You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 
You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 
You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 
“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 
“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”
“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”
“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”
“That’s why I wanted to—“
“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”
Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 
“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”
You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 
Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 
You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”
“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.
“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”
“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”
“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.
“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.
A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.
“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.
“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.
“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 
“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 
“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 
“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”
You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”
Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”
You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”
It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”
“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 
“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 
“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.
“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 
You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”
“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”
“Cassius…”
“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”
“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.
Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 
With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 
You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.
Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 
It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 
As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 
It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 
You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.
You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?
You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.
You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 
Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 
Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?
“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 
Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—
No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 
You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 
It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 
You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 
You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.
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