federer's face of utter disappointment being aged 10 years fighting against the perma botox smile to let a real emotion seep through as he watches his pet son chosen heir project, world no1 team europe carlos alcaraz lose to team world taylor fritz in 6-3, 6-2 at his yaoi tournament
I just finished reading R. Dike's "Epistles from the Past", which is basically a collection of translations of personal letters from various individuals across civilizations; I kid you not I sobbed and swooned so ugly when I read the part featuring the letters of Marcus Acacius
Omg I thought this was your author's note or something and I thought this was a real book š I spent like 5 minutes trying to google it and I was so confused about why I couldn't find any books with that title lol
Summary: "Marcus Acacius is known as many things, but if you were to ask the man himself I'm sure that he would want nothing but to be known as the father to his beloved daughter who was born out of the love between him and his precious starlight. Historians have often debated over the identity of the mysterious starlight. Edward Gibbon once famously claimed in his magnum opus that Acacius' starlight was a vagabond princess from one of the Eastern kingdoms, but there is no concrete evidence to back his claim."
- Dr. C.C. Philip. 'The Roman Conquest of Numidia'.
A/N: No warning as such (not beta read). I have no idea what I just wrote but it was fun to do so. I hope that you guys will enjoy it as wellš„°
r/historyloreNgossip 6 days ago
Eudoxes4lyf
Letters of General Marcus Acacius
I just finished reading R. Dike's "Epistles from the Past", which is basically a collection of translations of personal letters from various individuals across civilizations; I kid you not I sobbed and swooned so ugly when I read the part featuring the letters of Marcus Acacius (a 3rd century CE Roman general) to his daughter which were written when he was out on a military campaign to Numidia.
The man is so Girl Dad coded. That one letter where he is worried about her favourite dolly getting misplaced, while he is out there pillaging entire cities and colonizing the eastern frontiers in the name of Romeš
Edit 2: I thought the person he is referring to as "starlight" was his wife Lucilla. Is there any extra info on the General's starlight?
Edit 2: I found a copy of Professor Philip's book in the college library. Thanks for the recommendation!
ptolemysiswife .5 days ago.
Omg yesss! The letters are so sweet. We had it on our reading list (it was a different book tho!) this semester and I kid you not I giggled like a school girl in love while reading the General's letters. Poor guy was missing his kid so much, you can't help but feel for him haha
SadguyRumi . 5 days ago.
Did you know that his daughter was born from a slave from the Orient and not his lawful wife?
It's so funny that a hardened war general was down bad for the mother of his child.
BanksofVaranasi .4 days ago.
I think the OP will enjoy C.C. Philip's "The Dawn and Downfall of an Empire: A War General's Musings". It dives deep into the celebrated General's personal life, and even gives us some clues about his beloved starlight (I'm actively refraining from calling her a slave out of respect for the general who seemed to hate it when others referred to her and their daughter as such) which is backed by actual archaeological findings and not hearsay that other contemporary historians of the time would have us believe.
Hamurabishabibi .3 days ago.
This sounds so interesting. I'm a sucker for feel good stories from the ancient world. Can anyone please upload some of his letters or few wholesome excerpts? I tried looking for the books that OP and u/BanksofVaranasi mentioned but they cost a really pretty penny in my country (damn you conversion rate!)š I really wanna know about this starlight person as wellšš
citethysources .2 days ago.
You're in luck cause some museum (I forgot which) recently uploaded a bunch of N. Maurice's translations of the General's letters (along with some other excerpts related to his life and times) under the section which they titled "Star Guided Letters to Home" on their website. You can check it out, they've curated all the letters in a nice chronological order
Hamurabishabibi .2 days ago.
omg the title!! I'm feeling violently sick ughhh! thanks a lot, I just found the museum's website and yes the section is curated so nicely. I think I'm in love with the web designer haha
Title: Star Guided Letters to Home: the letters of Marcus Acacius and other related documents from the 3rd century CE.
Translator: Dr. Nestor Maurice, MA, MPhil, PhD
Overview: The celebrated Roman general Marcus Acacius was once considered the darling of the Roman populi. Feared by the enemies of Rome, much of history knows him for his infamous exploits in the eastern frontiers of the Roman Empire, and for his brave defiance against the infamous co-emperors- Geta and Caracalla. The following letters were addressed by the general during his year long expedition to Numidia (in present day Algeria) to his only child and daughter Marcia (known fondly amongst the scholarly circles as "Marcia de la Stella"- Marcia of the Stars), and are a testament to a parent's love for their child, which transcends the temporal and spatial limitations imposed upon us by the natural flow of the Universe.
Given the age of Marcia de la Stella at the time that these letters were penned, there is a high probability that they were read out to the child by her adopted mother Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius and the legal wife of Marcus Acacius.
"The general had a surprisingly soft corner for his "slave" daughter, who was also his only known and acknowledged progeny. He could often be seen holding the wee babe in his arms within the confines of his domus.
It is rumoured that he had her manumitted in the early hours of her birth, and that there was an undertone of fear amongst the General's personal physicians that the otherwise healthy infant would inherit some of her slave mother's more peculiar cognitive functioning.
Nevertheless, it was evident to much of the Roman public that the child had the General wrapped around her tiny little finger; and anyone who dared to call her a bastard or a child of a slave would have to face the wrath of the otherwise austere and good-natured General"
- Cassius Dio, contemporary Roman historian
Letter 1: A Father's Prayer
"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My dear moonbeam, a few moments ago I received a correspondence from fair lady Lucilla. She seemed worried that you haven't been keeping well. Oh how I wish I could be there for you my little duckling. But alas, your failure of a father must fulfil his duty to Rome first.
May our household gods inflict all your pain and suffering onto me! Give my salutations to lady Lucilla, and to my starlight. As always, my days are filled with your worry, and my nights are spent praying for you. Farewell, my moonbeam, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you."
Document 2
"Lucilla to her Attia greetings. Dearest friend, I received your invitation. I would be more than delighted to attend the wedding of your daughter Julia. I still cannot fathom the fact that little Julia is now ready to manage her own household. It saddens me to think that soon enough my little Marcia too shall come of age and become someone's bride. The child is the light in my otherwise dreary existence. Blessed be her sweet mother who brought her into this world!
I fear that my lord Marcus Acacius will be the most agitated when such a time shall come. But above all, I fear for the sake of the man who will come and ask for Marcia's hand in marriage. Give my greetings to your Julia. You shall see me and little Marcia soon. Farewell, my dearest and most longed for friend."
- Lucilla, wife of Marcus Acacius in a letter to her friend Attia dated 215 CE
Letter 2: Birthday
"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My sweetheart, may you be showered with all the blessings that the world has to offer. Every year, on the day of your birth, I've taken the liberty to spoil you to my heart's content. Dearest, my good wishes are always upon you, but what has a father to offer to his dearest child from a battlefield?
Moonbeam, since the day that you were born to me and my starlight as our daughter, I've considered myself the luckiest man in all of Rome; but now, here in Numidia, I've started to appreciate the fact that I'm a daughter's father even more. May you never have to step foot in a battlefield, and may your dreams be decorated with happiness. Farewell, my dearest star child, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you."
Document 3
"Once at a party hosted by Senator Thraex, Lord [name erased due to erosion] made the mistake of mocking Marcus Acacius' paramour whom he decried as a whorish slave from the east.
Acacius in all his fury beat the unfortunate fool in unmitigated rage, and warned the onlookers that he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to anyone who dared to humiliate the mother of his child.
It was reported that the two co-Emperors, who were present at the gathering, had a good laugh over the misery of the man who had been the target of the general's wrath, and even offered the general to execute the "bumbling fool" as a gift to the general"
-Anonymous writer, 5th century AD
Letter 3: Dolly
"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My precious star child, who is dear to the sight, but dearer still when the sight is denied, I was informed of your melancholy by dearest Lady Lucilla! I know just how precious the dolly was to you. My starlight had made it for you when you were smaller than a fig in her womb. I too, cannot help but lament the loss of your dolly. I wish I could be there to assuage your grief and mine.
Moonbeam, I promise to help you look for your dolly once I'm back there with you. The very thought of seeing you again fills my heart with joy in these difficult times. You are always in my prayers my dearest. Farewell, my sweet, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you"
Document 4
"Lucilla to her husband Marcus Acacius greetings. Dearest confidant and husband , you've always been considerate of me and my feelings since the day the late Emperor Septimius Severus had us betrothed. You've been respectful of my feelings for him, and I've always admired you greatly for that. As such, I was elated when you found your love in the form of [name erased due to erosion]. She brought such joy and light to you; and even bore you the most precious of daughters! Little Marcia has helped me get over my grief for my own dear Lucius, and watching her grow swells my heart with happiness and a sense of pride.
But dearest of friends, I must confide in you that the sweet child has been asking some very curious questions about her own identity, some of which I find myself unable to answer. If you could, please help her quench her curiosity. I pray for the safe passage of your campaign. Farewell, my husband and dearest of confidants.
- Lucilla, in a letter to Marcus Acacius dated 216 CE
Letter 4: Starlight
"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My little Marcia, your poor father is troubled! I don't know how to begin this letter. I can start by describing the auspicious moment when I met my starlight or maybe I should start by describing her. Your mother, my starlight, hailed from a land somewhere in the far East of Rome. Her people called her [name erased due to erosion] but she was known in Rome as Macrina, for she worked in the household of Macrinus. You may know him as the man with the colouring of dawn who once came over, accompanied by his two adopted daughters, to offer you sweets. But you are too young to remember all that.
My starlight would sometimes play the lute at parties organised by Macrinus. She was so good at playing her instrument that you could swear that she had been blessed by the very gods of music. My starlight had a penchant for singing in her native tongue, but she would only so in private, and oh! how blessed was I to have been privy to her mellifluous voice. She would then try to translate them for me using her adorably weak command over the language that you and I are now conversing in. I'll tell you more about my starlight when I get back home to you. For now, I'm writing down a line from a song which my starlight once sung for me.
Thereās a desire, thereās a prayer
Both of them have touched the soul of love
Read it from the left or from the right
From the earth till the sky, only love is written
My little cup of honey, you remind me of my starlight so much! Farewell, my Moonbeam, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you"
Footnote: Hoii! I had so much fun writing this aiyaaaa! (totally not due on finishing my assignments and finishing my own reading list hahahah). I think the fic is pretty open ended (is it though?). I also chose the Orient cause it truly is a microcosm of the entire world (you get all shapes, colours and almost all race combinations)!! So the reader can customise the appearance of our dear starlight as per their likes and preferences. The orient part could also be my bias speaking cause I'm an aspiring historian whose field of interest lies in countries of the "Orient" (I'm also using the term Orient very veryyy loosely here).
I took a lot of inspiration from various historical sources and epistles, so if you come across some of them then do tell!
Anyways, I hope that you guys will enjoy the fic as much as I did writing it huh (It's my first time writing one so I'm sorry if it comes across as cringe)!! Do tell if I should continue this and make it into a series hehe and sorry for any mistakes that I make in advanceš½
Do like, repost and comment!! I love those hehe
That one line is from this song at the 2:35 minute mark
summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.
warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.
tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.
a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33
wc: 7.2k (not beta read)
It was he who woke you.
A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didnāt wish for.Ā
Youād never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most donāt think of how Gods can fade. Itās a physical process, one where youād notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you werenāt as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.
Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldnāt even begin to understand how long ago that was. When youāre immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple.Ā
The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich.Ā
You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But itās muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.
Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It canāt distract you from him though, he is striking.
Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. Youāre so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.
ā... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.ā
Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, youāve been given a respectful request and offering. It isnāt a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.
He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.
His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after heās disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.
ā
It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. Itās been a month now, and you are coming back to life.
Fading didnāt feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks youāve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.
In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didnāt interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that āYour wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.ā
Acacius.Ā
You still donāt know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.
You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.
Tonight heās dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but heās walking like heāsā¦ drunk?Ā
Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever youād like. Youāre a Goddess, and though you arenāt major, you are still very fortunate.
But this feels thoughtful.
The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.
āGoddess Felicitas,ā he begins as normal, āI am sorry I am later than usual. Though I donāt know if Goddesses sleep. I wasā¦ caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.ā
He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.
āI brought you this though,ā he gestures to the half burnt bun. āI wanted to bring you something different than meat andā¦ things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.ā
Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.
āYou have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.ā
He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wifeās worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help.Ā
āGoddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.āĀ
Then, he leaves.Ā
You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true youād have had many children by now,Ā
But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.
ā
You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they donāt need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but thatās only more reason for the distance.Ā
But today, you venture to meet another deity.
Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bitā¦dramatic, from what you remember, but wise.Ā
Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep.Ā
āMorpheus,ā you speak.Ā
His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.
āO young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?ā He questions.
Itās hard not to feel embarrassed. Youāve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but heās always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when heās the one giving them to people, itās hard to hide anything at all.
You donāt want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he isā¦ worthy of a visit.Ā
And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesnāt open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. Youāre only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.
āFelicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,ā he says jovially.Ā
Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.
āWhen you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,ā he describes to you.
The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesnāt repel you at all.
Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you.Ā
ā
Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.
He didnāt make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isnāt a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isnāt nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt.Ā
Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, itās been better.
Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.
He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.
ā
Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but itās weird because someone else is there.
Youāve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasnāt slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.
The appearance youāve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue thatās within your temple.
Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. Youāve never met with a mortal before, and you havenāt stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.
You will have to speak first. Youāre much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.
āGeneral Acacius,ā you speak firmly, though your hands shake.Ā
This is so unfamiliar to you. Youāve barely even seen his face, as heās usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time youāll see him at an equal level, the first time youāll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you.Ā
He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.
Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.
Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly.Ā
He recognizes you.
āGoddess Felicitas,ā he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isnāt how you want this.
Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.
He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you.Ā
āAcacius,ā you say softly, āI am not here forā¦ for ill reason. Please relax yourself.ā
You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.
An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear ofā¦ something.Ā
The identity of your anxieties isnāt something that you can figure out. Maybe itās too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe itās that youāre going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe itās humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals?Ā
The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment.Ā
āI wanted to thank you,ā you admit meekly, āfor your offerings. You have been very generous andā¦ devoted.ā
His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You donāt want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you arenāt significant like that.
āGeneral Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,ā you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.
It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.
āYouāve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.ā
And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious.Ā
āTo know me?ā He clarifies.Ā
You nod.
āI only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were moreā¦ personal.āĀ
Gods that felt awful to say. Youāre no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but thatās not what youāre looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that.Ā
He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldnāt want to lose that.
āThenā¦ yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.ā He responds stoically.Ā
And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples.Ā
Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.
ā
You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but itās worth it.
The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, heās confident for the sake of his wife. Youāve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time youāve gotten to know him, youāve gotten to know her as well.
It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesnāt he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could.Ā
After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too?Ā
Worship isnāt enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.
Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.
Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.
ā
You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.
And then you are there, and he is waiting.Ā
It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and heās sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice howā¦ down he appears to be.
āShe is not happy with me,ā Marcus confesses before you even sit down.
You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.
āLucilla?ā You ask softly.
He nods.
A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing.Ā
And so you listen.Ā
Itās one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesnāt cry, but he seems truly upset. Heās been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much.Ā
He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this.Ā
The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isnāt something you can fix, you arenāt familiar with love and its intricacies.Ā
His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but theyāve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.
Touching is notā¦ something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated.Ā
That is why it doesnāt surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist.Ā
āMarcus,ā you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.
āDonāt,ā he replies swiftly.
At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes arenāt glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.
Theyāre soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.
It doesnāt soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you arenāt alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.
Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesnāt have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldnāt have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isnāt married, where he could be yours and you wouldnāt feel like a spectator to his heart.
Maybe you want that, but you wonāt get it.
Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly.Ā
The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though itās the same one.
His eyes donāt move from yours, so you move from his.
The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcusās dream.Ā
āWhen do you leave?ā You ask softly.Ā
You will not follow him into whatever battle heāll win. Donāt embarrass yourself, Goddess.
He tells you two weeks. You say youāll see him before then.
Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.
ā
Marcus wakes alone.Ā
Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didnāt tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.
Itās easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.
In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy.Ā
He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.
Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.
A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. Heās scared, and exhausted.
Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm.Ā
At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.
If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isnāt unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didnāt.
Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning.Ā
Marcus doesnāt fall asleep again, afraid that heāll see her.Ā
ā
You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle.Ā
The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached.Ā
āEnough is enough,ā you had thought to yourself.Ā
But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how heād always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to.Ā
However, you can only distance yourself so far.Ā
It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isnāt bowed like before.
āMarcus,ā you greet, your voice muted.
He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.
Tonightās visit isnāt vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how heās preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.
It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. Heās so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you donāt fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. Itās breaking you apart.
This is the last night youāre able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.
āWhat is ailing you, General?ā You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.
To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.
āYou,ā he responds quietly.
His words donāt hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you donāt.
āMe?ā You ask, āwhat have I done?ā
Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.
āYou have made my life difficult, Goddess.ā
Difficult? You have made his life difficult?
You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that youāve done for him, all the safety youāve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.
Thatās what you should think, thatās how most of you should feel.
But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that youāve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.
But instead, heās telling you youāre difficult.
It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos youāve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.
āI am sorry,ā you manage weakly.
Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.
The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you canāt hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.
There is no luck involved with love.
Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.
āI am sorry too,ā he says. Thereās a finality in his tone that makes you ache.
So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together.Ā
This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since itās too complicated to continue on like this.
Thatās why he doesnāt move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least thatās what youāll believe.Ā
ā
Time moves weirdly when youāre immortal, but it all happens so quickly.
Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didnāt feel right, not when you and him werenātā¦ friends anymore.
But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?
You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.
The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.
That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.
Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.
You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob.Ā
Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh.Ā
You were supposed to keep him safe.
Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.
Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. Itās where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You donāt even care why heās here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.
ā
Itās where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.
And itās where you find him.
His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucillaās home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.
Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and youāre sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife.Ā
Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small.Ā
He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.
The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. Itās an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know youāre down here anymore, but what does it matter?
Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.
You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten.Ā
It didnāt matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now itās more. Is he forgetting you?
ā
Youāve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldnāt have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.
You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldnāt tap his shoulder if you tried.
Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attachedā¦ it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that wonāt leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal.Ā
The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. Youāre glad that youāre such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.
āFelicitas?ā Marcusā voice asks.
Itās so hesitant that you think youāre imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to doā¦ whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.
Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.
You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what youāre doing here, hidden away in him and his wifeās home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you arenāt here would be ridiculous.
His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.
Something in you wants him to turn away, so you donāt have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesnāt.
His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.
āDulcissima,ā he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.
You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.
What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.
āIām sorry,ā you manage, āI was supposed toā to keep you safe.ā
Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.
āNo, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldnāt control myself and I caused this,ā he argues.Ā
It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and itās as if he hears you.
Marcus places a hand on his cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.
āI saw you,ā he claims, āwhen I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.ā
Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods.Ā
He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.Ā You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted.Ā
All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems heās not upset.
For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.
āI told Lucilla of you, before I died. Notā not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.ā
A blessing in many ways.
Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.
āGoddess, I have missed you,ā he admits.Ā
Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.
āFelicitas,ā he says quietly, ādo you come here for ill reason?ā
You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.
āThen relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.ā
Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.
āI will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.ā
Itās the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but itās everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again.Ā
Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon youāre embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend.Ā
You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close.Ā
āYou will keep me safe here?ā he asks jokingly.
It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.
āYes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,ā you assure.
The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more.Ā
You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.
please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33
tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)
@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie
(3) Also, Logan knows that sheās pregnant and in that scene where theyāre all together and start to give names to whoāll be sacrificed, someone mentions her and Logan immediately shuts them off āoh, thatās nice, throw the baby whoās pregnant and was never involved in the company as the sacrificial lamb!ā but in a colorful, Logan Roy vocabulary. Youāre a gem and I adore you!
Porcelain and the Shark: The Sleeping Lamb
Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Porce (f) Roy Reader
Word count: 3.1K
Prompt: Combined with above and L to the OG's other prompt "Ken and Logan see Stewy at the end of S2. Porce is sleeping and he dismisses them, he's fuming as neither ask how she is."
Warnings: Established relationship, children, anxious reader, reader is sick but pregnancy isn't confirmed, cursing, canon Succession family dynamics and angst. Roys being Roys! Some fluff. No descriptions of reader - you can imagine her as adopted, affair baby, different mother etc.
A/N: We're so back... Happy Succession Sunday! L to the OG anon I hope you're still here! I'm so sorry how late this is, I promise the L to the OG request will be dropping shortly š I can't believe this is the first Porce and the Shark fic of the year! I'll drop more I promise! I hope everyone enjoys this! Comments and reblogs are appreciated š«¶
The warm sun was meant to help, all the fresh air out of the concrete jungle gym should be doing more for you but you were laying in bed at the glamorous hotel with the doors wide open and a large glass filled with water and electrolytes. Youād felt ill for a couple of days now. Migraine, nausea - all of it.Ā
Jonathan was next to you colouring in and singing some song from the childrenās film heād watched last night and Tillie was fortunately napping. Youād hated feeling faint but itās how you felt so you curled up more and watched Jonathan, your eyelids starting to feel heavy.Ā
āHere, honey.ā Stewy says as he walks over with a cold compress and gently places it on your forehead.Ā
āThanks.ā You whisper and squeeze his warm hand.Ā
Stewy leans down and kisses your cheek, despite feeling ill your lips quirk up with a smile at the feeling of his facial hair brushing against your skin. Itās a guaranteed, natural response now.Ā
Anxiety normally simmered throughout your body and fogged up your mind but feeling nauseous and had clouded over that for once. It also helped that youād changed your anxiety medication a few months ago and that seemed to be helping but being away from your family as they were on some overpriced boat that some pod of orcas had their eye on helped. But you still couldnāt help but worry about Roman, that stress definitely wasnāt helping the nausea flipping around in your stomach.Ā Ā
Under other circumstances youād cross firing lines to text him and make a joke about the orca pod watching them, heād have found that that funny. If youād sent it in the cursed Roy sibling group chat, Kendall would take the joke too far and Shivās white woman neoliberalism would be offended at being lumped in with those rich people. She was different of course.Ā
Connor had called her when they knew Roman was safe and was coming with them, something you were deeply grateful for. Youād texted Roman, the youngest of your older brothers, and just been met with a thumbs up emoji and then two minutes later a middle finger emoji.Ā
āHeard anything from Romey?ā Stewy asks as he sits down on the bed next to you, he caresses your arm gently, the touch of his fingers so soft against your skin. He still makes your cheeks heat up and skin tingle.Ā
āNo.ā You whisper as you shake your head slightly against the pillow. āJust the emojis.ā You sigh and as your head shifts so does the compress, Stewy gently fixes it and just nods. He looks out the window.Ā
He leans back slightly, laying on the bed. Stewy tilts his head back to watch you and smiles. He rubs your leg gently as he watches you.Ā
āDraw a chicken, mommy, please!ā Jonathan says after a moment holding the paper out for you and a red pencil.Ā
You smile at him and Stewy smiles and scoffs. āCome on, mommyās not feeling so great, can I draw a chickie for you?ā Stewy asks, looking at Jonathan, the little boy, a younger mirror to his own face.Ā
Jonathan giggles and shakes his head, his dark curls bouncing as his small face screws up in cheeky delight.Ā
āNo! Mommyās chickens are better!ā Jonathan says and giggles, and blows a raspberry at his father. Stewy chuckles and blows a raspberry back and then looks at you.Ā
āYou donāt need to draw, love.ā Stewy says gently as you take the piece of paper.Ā
āItās fineā¦ā You say smiling at Stewy and then giving your biggest smile to Jonathan who raises his shoulders up and smiles back.Ā
You chuckle and quickly sketch a chicken and some other animals for Jonathan to colour in, itās been one of his newest hobbies. Requesting you and Stewy to draw things for him to then replicate and sketch in.Ā
āThanks, mommy.ā Jonathan says as he presses his face near yours as he watches you draw, his eyes widening in excitement as you finish up his chicken. He loves it and as heās made clear, youāre more artistically inclined than Stewy.Ā
Jonathan starts to colour in the chicken, his tongue is stuck out as he does his best to stay in the lines. Itās a cute sight to see. Stewy watches too, he chuckles and ruffles Jonathanās curls as he then looks at his phone.Ā
Itās a text that Kendall and Logan want a meeting, his eyes scan over each word, gaging how fucked Kendall is. Your tired eyes flick over to Stewy, noticing how quiet heās gotten.
āEverything okay?ā You whisper softly, reaching your hand out to Stewyās, he fully accepts the gesture and you intertwine your fingers together.Ā
āYeah, uh, Ken and your dad. Theyāre apparently coming out, want to meet.ā He says, looking away from his screen to your face, giving you a small smile.Ā
āOh? Ohā¦ā You answer. He rubs his thumb over your hand and you give him a smile that doesnāt quite reach your eyes as you take that in. It seemed like a red flag, a major red flag being waved off of a boat. You werenāt sure what to make of it all.Ā
āDonāt worry, I can tell them to leave. To not even bother, babe.ā Stewy says, giving you a reassuring smile, he loves you, he can notice any sign of anxiety coming out and he can see your brow starting to slightly furrow.Ā
āNo-no- itāsā¦ itās fine. Just, peace yeah? Olive branches, all that stuffā¦ And, see how Ken is?ā You ask softly, blinking frantically as your mind travels all over the things to worry about and think about.Ā
āYou sure? Youāll be okay?ā
āYeah, weāll just nap, sleep. All the fun stuff for bonding.ā You smile.Ā
The proxy battle had been an adjustment, one that had made the already tense and unstable Roy dynamics a million times more complex.Ā Ā
Stewy blinks for a second and then nods. āYeah, yeah sure.ā He leans over and kisses your lips softly, he doesnāt care if this nausea is from some bug youāre going to pass to him. If so, he hopes it somehow reaches Kendall and your father. āYouāll be good?ā He asks and you nod.Ā
It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm and this was not how Stewy wanted to be spending it.Ā
āThanks for meeting man.ā Kendall puts a hand out as if everything is water under the bridge.Ā
āPlease. Please, please, please.ā Stewy immediately goes into the hospitable host mode he was raised to be second nature. āCome, come, come. How are you, Sir?ā He puts his hand out for his cold father-in-law. āPlease take a seat.āĀ
āYou guys need anything?ā
āYeah, donāt wait for us or anything.ā Stewy laughs and Kendall laughs for a brief moment too.Ā
āI waited, but I was really hungry, so I ate with my family. Precious, precious moments.ā Stewy tilts his head, giving them a smile that feels smug but never reaches his eyes. His brown pupils that you adore burn with proud frustration.Ā
His words are pointed. All three of them are fathers but the words donāt really register for Kendall who is just looking for a lifeline but they ring loud in old Loganās ears. And they piss him off.Ā
āYou guys good? You need anything?ā He says as he blinks and shifts back into a generous host for the Roys and toes the fine line between this shit show.Ā
āUh maybe in a minute.ā Kendall says.Ā
Logan doesnāt say anything and looks unhappy to be there. Kendall gives his father a look and jumps right into business. āWell uh look,ā Kendall flicks his hand, Stewy flicks his tongue, his face focusing on Kendall and the good humour gone. Itās serious now, nobody thought this would be a friendly visit after all. It never is with the Roys.Ā
āWe both know itās a- itās a knife edge. You may have it, we may have it. Our proxy advisors tell us we probably have it.āĀ
āMm-hm.ā Stewy hums as he nods and picks his wine glass up. Neither Ken or Logan have reached for their glasses.Ā
āAnd, umā¦ā Kendall looks at his father and smacks his lips, Loganās completely unresponsive, acting oblivious to the whole thing. āDad?ā
āYou look a little sweaty, dude.ā The subtle indicators of a smirk slowly start to form as Stewy says it to Kendall. He wipes it as he turns to face Logan and sips from his wine glass.Ā
āOkay. Okay. So Iāve come to make a deal. This isnāt a negotiation. Itās a one-bang final-deal offer and itās generous. So donāt insult me with a counter.ā Stewy listens to Logan speak with an almost blank expression on his face while he places the glass down and picks up a piece of lavender from the arrangement on the table and lifts it to his nose.Ā
Jonathan had been doing that earlier, it had been pretty cute when Jonathan noticed the smell and then he had to wave them around and press it to everyoneās nose. Stewy doesnāt let the joy of that memory come through, but itās so much nicer to think about than this. āI say this, we eat some octopi, we shake hands. Okay?āĀ
āOkay, I love that. I really do.ā Stewy says as he puts the lavender stem down and drops it in front of his plate and pushes it forward a tad, he has no intention of sharing a meal with Logan and Kendall. Why do such a thing when the past exists?Ā
āThree board seats, including Kenās.ā Stewy shares a very loud knowing look with Ken who is silent. āYou get a codified say in the appointment of our next CEO. We remove our poison Bill, conduct a strategic review on terms co-set with you, dismiss all our litigation on the proxy battle. Spin off cruises, okay?ā
Stewyās looking less impressed now, even less so than how he felt when the message for this conversation made it into his inbox. He pauses and looks over his shoulder as if thinking, as if he was ever going to say anything different. āNo, I donāt think that works.āĀ
āThe fuck do you mean?ā Kendall immediately blurts out.Ā
āBullshit. Are you fucking stupid?ā Logan takes his sunglasses off and looks pissed. āYou have to consider that. You have to ask Sandy. That is a good fucking deal.āĀ
āIt does not work for us, Sir.ā He uses sir to still be respectful, even with this vile monster of a man. But he enunciates and pauses between each word to let them all sink in like rocks being thrown into water.Ā
āDude, I mean, are-are you fucking for real? I mean you-you need to fucking make it work. Okay? Or I will personally fucking destroy you. I will come to you at night-ā
āKen, it does not work.ā He enunciates each word again to really hit Kendall in the face with it.Ā
āWith a fucking razor blade and I will cut your fucking dick off.ā
āFucking dick off.ā Stewy says at the same time to finish Kendallās sentence.Ā
āAnd I will feed it-ā
āAnd then push it up your cunt until poo poo pops out of my nose holeā Stewy shakes his head a little to give it a dramatic flourish. āDude it doesnāt matter, it doesnāt mean anything. You can threaten to stuff a million severed dicks into my ball bag but the actual fact is weāre persuading more and more shareholders every day that we offer them just a slightly better chance for them to make a little bit more money on their fucking dollar. And thatās all that this is.āĀ
Loganās silent with his elbows at the table, staring at his son-in-law. Stewyās fuming internally but he doesnāt let it show, heās not impulsive like the Roy children but itās rude. Itās terrible manners to have your elbows on the table like that and Stewy canāt help but imagine a younger you getting scolded for something like that.Ā
He chews on the inside of his cheek and he canāt help but add it. They havenāt once asked about you, the daughter, the sister. Nothing, no concern, not even fake bullshit niceties. Itās an offence that they canāt even pretend to care for a second. Especially when he knows for a fact that Connor wouldāve made some comment about you feeling ill, the nausea, the terrible headache and vomiting.Ā
Even if you werenāt ill, they still shouldāve asked. Itās the bare minimum. Stewyās eyes flick down to the table for a second and he picks the lavender stem back up. It smells peaceful, the opposite of this. Heās sure that when you go back home you and Jonathan will want to have lavender planted on the balcony and holiday home.Ā
āReally sweet of you both to come out and you know check on your family.ā Stewy says as he twirls the lavender in his hand almost absentmindedly. He thinks about picking it apart, biting it. āSheās - your sister and your daughter - sheās doing just great. Nauseous and fatigued beyond your imagination, which Iām sure youāre both worried about. But Jonathan and Tillie are well, thank you for asking.ā He stops twirling the lavender and tilts his head, he looks at Kendall for a moment, what a shadow of a man. āThe Roys really know how to mix business and pleasure, right?āĀ
It was a stupid suggestion. Something unsurprising from cousin Greg but still mind boggling, heād really outdone himself this time. When all the Roys and evil henchmen had sat around the cursed table of fate, Greg had panicked more than usual when Roman had suggested adding āGreg sprinklesā to the Waystar Royco ā¢ guillotine.Ā
Greg had fumbled over his words and messily brought you up as a suggestion to be the sacrificial lamb. He weakly argued that you were a traitor for being Stewyās wife and that was motive enough. None of it was plausible and before Greg could even string a full, coherent sentence together it had already brought a hyena laugh out of Roman, Kendall had just looked down and shook his head.Ā
āFucking great! Hats off to that, have you seen her? Throw my own weakling daughter off - whoās probably fucking pregnant again - the only one who has actually given me some fucking grandchildren!ā He spits out with venom.Ā
Itās a pointed shot at all of them, not a single Roy is truly in Loganās good books. Tom stays silent but side eyes Shiv but she keeps her composure. She will not let them reduce her to a mother, itās a pigeon hole sheāll avoid at all costs to keep the seat sheās only just clawed out for herself at the table. Kendall looks down because the blow hits him the most. Roman stops laughing and watches his siblings.Ā
āBut oh willy-nilly-ā Logan waves his hands, mocking them all. āLets throw her, my fragile fucking blood thatās never been involved with the company as the sacrificial lamb on the rock. Iām not some fucking Abraham.ā Loganās eyes are wide and brimming with anger, he smashes his fist onto the table and glares at them all. All of the Roy children are looking down like theyāve been scolded, even though it was Greg.Ā
āPorce did have an internship in the publishing press during college, didnāt she?ā Frank asks, thinking heās somewhat more untouchable than Roy blood.Ā
āGerri,ā Loganās tone is icy. āHow does Frank look? Whatās the angle there?āĀ
āHow did it go?ā You ask Stewy, sitting up and sipping some more water, starting to feel more and more human as the day went on but still nauseous.Ā
āYeah, super! It was great, got to hear a lot of bad words from uncle Ken we canāt let his little ears hear.ā Stewy says as he playfully puts his hands over Jonathanās ears. You sigh and playfully roll your eyes.Ā
Jonathan giggles and squirms to move away from his fatherās hands but Stewy just chuckles and starts to tickle Jonathan.Ā
It isnāt long after this that your phone starts to vibrate with notifications. Shiv has texted you asking what the fuck is going on, that Ken and your father wonāt tell her what happened after visiting Stewy and she only found out from Roman that they saw Stewy. Sheās scared about Tom. Then thereās a call from Connor. You answer him before thinking about replying to Shiv. You donāt want to be petty but your peace is worth protecting, itās the first text from her in 6 weeks.Ā
Connor relays the sacrificial lamb conversation back to you. Youāre kind of surprised that your father defended you but youāre not surprised that it was nasty and took shots at your siblings. Especially when the subject of Kendallās fertility and children is a tense and sensitive one thatās weaponised often and feels heavy even in the subtle moments.Ā
Jonathanās napping when this happens, you have the phone on speaker. Stewyās listening quietly, gently rubbing your thigh as he concentrates. Itās easier to hear as Connor is whispering, he isnāt even sure if heās really meant to be talking about this with you but it canāt wait for next Tuesdayās brunch and heās also giving you whiplash by occasionally interjecting with his anxieties over Willaās Broadway debut.Ā
You tell him it canāt be that bad and that you and Stewy will see it when youāre back in New York. You try to reassure him and after a while you rub your forehead and hang up. You turn to look at Stewy and sigh.Ā
He scrolls through his phone and then looks at you with raised eyebrows, a bemused expression.Ā
āIt canāt be that bad, Willaās not terrible.ā You say, tilting your head and snuggling into his side. Stewy raises his eyebrows at you and smirks.Ā
āWanna bet that for a smooch?ā He teases and smiles more, his eyes are clearly saying itās terrible.Ā
āNoā¦ It canāt beā¦ā You quickly take his phone to go through the review and you swear youāve just gone through most of the phases of grief and several other emotions reading that. You look up at Stewy and then chuckle. āShitā¦āĀ
āYeahā¦ā He says and then lifts your arm up to his lips. Stewy starts to kiss from the tip of your index finger to your hand and then along your wrist and up your arm. You smile, feeling your cheeks heat up as he presses tender kisses up your arm.Ā
āIām just cashing in on that little bet as much as I can.ā He teases.
Lovingly tagging people who have interacted in the past (if you want to be removed lmk :)) : @ateliefloresdaprimavera @nadja-antipaxos @thegildedblogger @peachhiz @coocoolahh
Okk so as a fellow "Armand is Alice" conspiracy theorist hear me out! As we all know Armand has been running his Vampire theatre/coven for centuries- the twink is basically a theatre kid through and through.
We also know that he has a flair for the theatrics cause the man literally cosplayed as the servant Rashid (I'm not judging your kinks you beautiful man)
And, and the fact that there was that one SRK easter egg when Daniel calls Armand Shah Rukh Khan. Any Bollywood fan worth their salt will tell you about the myriad of movies King Khan has acted in which he assumes someone else's identity to fool their significant other. Lemme give you some examples:
In the movie Paheli, SRK who is a lovestruck ghost assumes the identity and appearance of a young bride's workaholic husband and even has a baby with her.
(It's actually crazy just how many roles the man has done in which he is Gaslighting, Gatekeeping and Girlbossingšš )
So yeahhhhh... thanks for coming to my TedTalk guys.
While this theory may get debunked in the future, it was fun to make and read other people's opinions on it!!
Armand: Daniel is an impudent interviewer, blah blah blah... Daniel is a drug addict, blah blah blah... Daniel revels in his manipulations, blah, blah, blah...
Also Armans: Looks at Daniel like he's the love of his life.
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