#the roman widow

[alisfelia]

the pre-raphaelites brotherhood

[zoesshortstories]

All's Fair (part one)

Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!fem!reader

Words: 2.0k, probably going to have two more parts! Would write more if requested!

TW: slight discussion of reader's body and a body positive/neutral mindset

Seeing Earth through the window of your ship always took your breath away. Since you weren’t in open space while Earth was still in sight when you left four months ago, you couldn’t see it. But you made sure you couldn’t miss it this time. It only took an hour to make it to the United States, and half an hour from there to make it to the Avengers compound. 

Bruce called Steve from the comms console of the ship. He cleared you for landing and you found an empty dock. 

Seeing most of the Avengers standing at the waiting area was a shock to you and then you reminded yourself they were probably here from Bruce. You hadn’t known them that long before you went on your first mission, which was supposed to be only two weeks. It ended up being four months. 

Of course you already knew Steve; he was the one who had picked you for your promotion to Avenger. That and your water bending powers pretty much sealed the deal. And you knew Scott too. You had babysat his daughter through high school and a little bit in college when you were home. He was the one who wrote your recommendation for your application to SHIELDs Academy. Special forces, even. 

You had started regular training and “team bonding” with the Avengers in the week you were there before you left, but the team bonding felt more like team integration. 

Tony had reached out while you were on your mission, and in the long stretches between planets in search of the device, you had gotten to know each other. He was impressed by your academic resume but your comms thread turned into space memes not even a month into it. Nat you hadn’t even met at all. She was on an undercover recon mission for a month when you joined the team and neither of you had reached out to the other. All you knew was her reputation. 

Last but not least, you knew Bruce. You knew him pretty well, as he did you. There were typically at least three days in between planets where you could coast on autopilot after setting the route. You liked to read books you brought on your Kindle and he liked drawing up scientific theories. That’s not true, but he wished it was. He did draw up quite a few, but most of the time when he wasn’t actively working he was meditating or journaling. Or talking to you. After four long months on that mission you had talked about everything as mundane as favorite colors and first memories to deep questions like what happens after death and your respective nightmares. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up from a good sleep because the other was murmuring (or screaming) in their bunk. It was nice to wake him up and offer him some hot chocolate or coffee, as he often did for you. 

The door opened down and you stepped out with your duffle to walk down the path to the compound. The mid-December air was crisp and sharp against your face and bare arms. You had forgotten about local weather because it didn’t really matter when you were coming home. So unfortunately you were just wearing an athletic navy tank top and reflective but dark utility pants. You folded your arms over your stomach and shook in your place, shaking out each of your legs. In doing so you unknowingly pressed your boobs up against themselves and you were showing a considerable amount more cleavage than you had planned on. 

You ran back on to the ship to grab one of the bright green fur coats from planet Oregazze 4 and put it on. You followed the team, who had started walking without you, down the path. It wasn’t bad walking alone. It gave you the time to look around and really take it all in. The way Steve relaxed more when walking next to Natasha or Bucky, how Tony spoke with his hands and his watch flashed around. Natasha slowed down to walk in step with you. 

“Hi I’m Y/N Y/L/N” you said and stuck our your hand. She shook it. 

She said “I know who you are” with a friendly smile at the same time as you said: “I don’t think we’ve met yet” 

You exhaled through your nose, amused. 

“Well I’m Natasha” She said. 

“ I know who you are” you said in the same way, smiling a little. 

“So” she continued, clearing her throat. From what you could tell, something in her wanted to continue talking to you but she didn’t know what to say. “That coat is…” 

She trailed off and you jumped in. “Really something, right? We each got one on Oregazze 4 because that planet was way colder than we anticipated.” 

From there the conversation turned more natural and flowing when she shared a story about buying a really ugly coat on a mission just to keep eyes on her mark. You both let it drift whichever way it wanted after that and before and you were halfway back to the compound and in the middle of discussing your favorite breakfast foods (your was a bagel with peanut butter and hers was a granola bar with fruit) when the Sky clapped loud with thunder followed shortly by a strike of lightening. You both mutually took a step closer to each other as you watched the wind whip the leaves of the trees. Then came the downpour of rain. It was hard and sharp and pounding all around you. She started to jog towards the compound and you followed suit. 

Inside with everyone else you remember you had water powers. Well, after Bruce mentioned them. 

“Y/N, care to help us out here?” He asked and you nodded. You took in a breath and then with a slight flick of your hand you pulled the water off of everyone and into a huge blob in the middle. Another flick and you directed it towards the door, and just for fun you had an arm shape out of it and freeze so that it could open the door itself. You let it splat onto the already soaked concrete and the door closed on its own. 

The team was shocked silent. You already knew Steve had read your file and resume, he was the one who made the final decision on who could be promoted to this level. You smiled weakly as everyone stared at you. This was just plain uncomfortable. 

“Uh thanks” He said and the group started to disperse. 

“Welcome,” you told him and headed towards Bruce. You took your mission log journals out of your bags and followed him through the long, sterile hallways to the business side of the compound. In the middle it was a busy headquarters. And from the headquarters each department had its own section. There was a wing for desk duty and retired agents, a corporate and government wing, there was the department for new cadets and recruits, there was the average agents quarters, and then the Avengers portion. Of course there were also doors where you didn’t know what was behind them. But as you opened the glass ones from the Avengers hallway and into the lobby of headquarters, you felt at peace when it closed and you heard the lock click behind you. 

The meeting took hours. You pulled your knees into yourself in a spinning chair next to Bruce and talked through everything that happened, all the intel you gained, and put the device in the box. Then you had to digitalize every journal into electronic files (which was stupid because if told, you would’ve just made them like that in the first place). It was eleven o’clock when you made it back to the Avengers general living room. 

You headed down another hallway but it was less sterile than the last. Tony had made sure it was wooden floors with crown molding around the doorways and on the ceiling. The plaster walls were painted a warm, homey egg shell color. Everyone had their own room at the compound, but most people had their own apartment or house for when they wanted to spend time there. You had your own apartment but you didn’t want to drive all the way there now. 

In your room you found your duffle bag already sitting on your bed. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand and a welcome note from Natasha that quite literally just said “welcome. -Nat”. Before you closed your door behind you, you waved goodnight to Bruce. You couldn’t fall asleep. You tossed and turned and gave up all together. Next you tried to read but none of your books could hold your attention. 

“Screw this” you though and pulled the covers off of yourself. You pressed your bare feet into the cold wooden floor and left your room altogether. In the kitchen you took out ingredient after ingredient, making sure you had enough. Just as you started to mix together the batter, a silhouette appeared in the hallway. You looked at them and they took a few steps more into the light. Natasha smiled back when you smiled at her and took a few strides to close the gap between herself and the other side of the kitchen island. 

“Watcha making?” She asked. 

“Muffins. Do you know if we have muffin wrappers? I don’t necessarily need them but they would be nice.” You said and Natasha fished them out of a drawer for you. She placed them in your upturned palm but let her hand linger before pulling it back. You finished putting the muffins in their tins silently. You worked like a well oiled machine but you had really only known her for a day. For every tin she oiled you put the batter in and you sprinkled them with sugar before you put them in the oven. 

You sat back and hopped up on the counter, unafraid that your thighs spread out where you sat but the part off the counter didn’t. Natasha, who leaned against the counter with her forearms, looked at you. She stared at you. You pretended not to notice even though you felt like you were burning everywhere she looked. Despite your best efforts, you were softly blushing. 

Her eyes started at your torso and worked themselves up to your hair. You looked away when you thought she was staring at your chest and tried not to be self conscious about how low cut your tank top was. Or how it hung tight at the arms but crinkled in on itself at your waist, giving the impression of a curve you had gone years fine without. You, thinking you were going to sleep, had taken all of your minimal makeup off before you climbed into bed. 

Your lips fell open slightly as you kept your eyes trained to the wall clock when Natasha looked at your face. It wasn’t long, probably around three seconds, which you should’ve known from looking at the clock, before you looked at her too. You looked straight to her eyes because she was looking at yours. The twitch of upward motion in the corners of her lips was enough to keep your vision and focus trained on her. Neither of you said anything out loud and you didn’t need to. The silence wasn’t quiet, really, because of how loud your thoughts were. Because of how loud your heart was beating in your chest. 

Minutes later the clicking timer dinged and Natasha pushed herself forward off of the counter. She continued walking towards the the hallway where she came from (not the same hallway as your room) and you watched her walk away. The content swing of her hips led her to the doorway, where she turned to say goodnight and instead saw you checking out her ass. 

“Only fair.” She said with a shrug over her shoulder and a wink. “Goodnight, Y/N” 

It was most definitely a good night.

[sforzesco]

TRY AGAIN LATER

it's like. well. its several things.

(Plutarch's Crassus, trans. Warner)

and also this

(ibid.)

that compliment sounds like an insult, baby.

anyway, there's a fun kind of eroticism in being given everything, in taking things that aren't yours without any real consequence, in climbing towards becoming a Roman Alexander, only for one man to deny you, over and over and over again, at every turn. Sulla tried, Crassus did it better. who would put a butcher in their place? who else knows you well enough to do it? who else can match you step for step like this? doesn't it feel like a kind of intimacy, a kind of—

it's also about the 'even sulla kissed my sword/so you want me on my knees too?' innuendo was too good to pass up. that was actually the first line I wrote, I figured out the rest of this to justify making a comic with it

and finally! the sword line is referencing/playing off of Lucan's Pharsalia a little bit because it fucks hard

(Lucan's Pharsalia, trans. Jane Wilson Joyce)

EDIT: oh, and that's a public domain anatomical illustration of a heart. you know how it is with love and hate.

[catoswound]

im killing myself and its yours

[bucket-puns]

Whatever. More Eglantine because yeah💖

[five-bi-five-mind]

One-Shots:

Meeting the Family nsfw

[watchingroger]

Roger's ridiculous cartoon character laugh is everything you need

[alaynasansa]

She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly

Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry, yet the girl had seen her father's head lopped off and been forced to marry one of his killers afterward. If half the tales were true, the dwarf was the cruelest Lannister of all. If she did poison King Joffrey, the Imp surely forced her hand. She was alone and friendless at that court

“I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories”

Sansa Month 2023 : day thirty-one - sansa through other povs (free choice)

[deakyghostcosplay]

I'm in a cosplay slump right now so I thought I'd trigger some creativity which I did! My personal favourites are Monica, Roman & Wanda so I'll keep these in mind for future content. <33

Also as Comic Con is in November I wanted to do some spooky cosplay, I'm keeping GF in mind but my sister suggested Casey Becker which peaked my interest.

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Lea of Rome Died: c. 384 Feast Day: March 22 Patronage: Widows

Saint Lea of Rome was a noblewoman of wealth and privilege. After her husband died, she left her material world to support and join a convent of consecrated virgins. She was voted prioress yet did the most menial jobs in the convent. Her close friend St. Jerome described her as a blessed woman of austerity, obedience, and remarkable penances.  She died of natural causes.

Prints, holy cards & plaques are available for purchase here:  {website}

[blackhillverse]

do i want to play black widow in the background while studying for my ukrainian grammar lecture, only to get mad halfway through because of how poorly this movie portrays slavic people or should i just study in silence.

[sunflowerdigs]

If it's an open-casket funeral, they're going to have to pry Roman away from that body. Because by the time we get to Logan's funeral and Roman sees him, finally so peaceful among the lilies, Roman is going to want nothing more than to follow him.

He won't. But he'll want to.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Justice for Baird Kellman!

(Except not, like, on Cruises. Because uh… he’s going to hell for that. And so’s Ger-bear, probably. But my point is, we don’t need to character-assassinate Baird as a husband / sexual partner just so that Roman can compete. For all his myriad faults, Roman has one significant leg up, in that he is not dead. )

(And also, frankly, I don’t think it serves a stone-cold killer bitch’s interests to believe in an afterlife; because again, if there is one, it’s going to be a toasty experience for her. Like menopause all over again; but with more literal flames.)

One trope I really dislike in love stories (mostly common to fanfic and romance novels but it can be found elsewhere) is when the author goes out of their way to (a) establish that a protagonist had absolutely no significant positive feelings for their previous sexual/romantic partners and (b) presents this chiefly as proof that the other protagonist is uniquely Worthy and that the main romance is True Love. This is a pretty specific scenario; I’m not talking about, say, the hero who has no romantic or sexual experience, or the heroine who married young and her husband was shitty in a specific way, or the protagonist who enjoyed their past relationships but they never totally clicked. I’m talking about “the hero has slept with so, so many women, but don’t worry! He never felt so much as slight fondness for them or admired any of their non-physical qualities. He might as well have been using a blow-up doll every time.” Or “the heroine has only ever loved the hero. She has never looked upon another man with lust in her heart. If she ever dated anyone else, she never felt affection or respect or admiration for him. This is proof of true love, not the result of dating only shitty guys or maybe being kind of a tool.” I promise, it’s not going to ruin a romance if the hero is like “my ex-girlfriend was a good person” or the heroine is like “I enjoyed having sex with the guy I dated for five years.”

[sforzesco]

Need you to know how incredibly entertained I am whenever Crassus or Cassius make the 'i am unimpressed' face in your art!

I’m glad! they share a lot of body language similarities on purpose, but the ‘I’m not impressed with this,’ expression is my favorite

[kostantina]

Snow-White and Rose-Red

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48796564

Arthur had always wanted to see her in white...

They had both agreed that they were very beautiful—his queen's white veil and wedding dress.

Their hands had briefly touched; two rings had met, reminding them of the marriage vows they had exchanged throughout the centuries, with her never in white. 

There had been a glimmering longing in her eyes as they gazed upon the white veil and wedding dress, and so had there been in his, thinking of how fitting the colour would be in her; the colour of purity gracing her skin that was as pure as snow.

But, just like snow, her skin was cold; colder than it had ever been. 

Her eyes were closed, not glimmering as they should have been now that he was nearby, now that she was in... 

He swallowed a lump in his throat, tearing up and inevitably sobbing as his trembling hand touched hers enduringly and their rings met again, reminding him of the marriage vows they would never be able to exchange in the centuries yet to come, with her finally in white.

Instead, they were finally parted by—

Desperately, he grasped the ring in the chain around her neck, the one he had used to propose to her hundreds of years ago. 

A promise.

His grasp tightened, and he held on to it, just as she did, while caressing her cheek and kissing her soft lips, almost hopeful that his kiss would wake her up as the Königssohns had done for Dornröschen.

It did not. 

His heart painfully squeezed, not in the realisation of how lucky he was to have her but of how unlucky he was to lose her.

He smiled, however, and whispered to her in their little German dialect about how beautiful she was.

Her cheeks turned rose-red, as they had when he had kissed her, only for him to smile and whisper to her in their little German dialect about how beautiful she would look in a veil and wedding dress as white as Victoria's.

Or so he fooled himself into believing. 

They were already rose-red before he arrived with Hildegarde.

Their rosiness was merely cosmetic. 

Her people had beautifully prepared her, as if she were about to walk down the aisle, with her flowers and banners rising with her, and not about to lie down in a coffin, with her flowers and banners dying with her.

Hence, he fell into a delusion as deeply as he had fallen in love with her and told her to wake up, shaking her and growing hysterical when she nevertheless did not, especially with the sun shining warmly upon her. 

His tears poured like rain in his land, but this time, she never dried them as the sunlight would when it broke through the clouds, and she would never be able to do so again, as she was destined to be buried and out of his reach forever.

Breathe in...

...breathe out. 

His breathing became shallow.

Hildegarde or anyone else behind the locked doors did not matter to him any more.

He screamed in despair.

But it would never be enough. 

In the chapel, he remained bowed over death.

He mourned, mourning as Victoria mourned the loss of her husband and mother, mourning as his wife had mourned the loss of her children and siblings whom he would never be able to call his own.

All the while, he wore black, as black as Victoria's clothes these days, as black as the Heiliges Römisches Reichs eagles that would never fly again.

And she wore a white veil and wedding dress.

Their daughter told him that she had wanted one for herself.

She had agreed that they were very beautiful.

He agreed too.

After all... 

he had always wanted to see her in white...

in a white wedding dress and veil.

[nostalgicwrestlingrd]

https://geo.dailymotion.com/player.html?video=x8tmmi0&