#ambition of Caesar

[maybeworlds]

Warrior of Rome (aka Ambition of Caesar) (SEGA Genesis) (Micronet Co.) (1991)

[polepositioned]

AYRTON SENNA / ALAIN PROST / THE MEDIA x mark antony's "friends, romans, countrymen" monologue from julius caesar by william shakespeare, act III, scene ii

[ @nicaeno , @sebsonism , @l0vagrend , @dafunzies , @28ms28 , @schumi-honey \ if you'd like to be tagged in stuff like this, tell me! ]

[oldgamemags]

Mega Play Vol. #2 No. #4, July '91 - An early look at 'Ambition Of Caesar 2' on the SEGA Genesis.

[aurianneor]

Julius Caesar: politicians use ideals in order to manipulate naive politicians and the pleb into doing what serve their personal interest or quest of power

The play

Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare is based on Sir Thomas North’s 1579 translation (via a French version) of Plutarch’s Bioi parallēloi (Parallel Lives), the drama takes place in 44 BCE, after Caesar has returned to Rome. 

Fearing Caesar’s ambition, Cassius forms a conspiracy among Roman republicans. He persuades the reluctant Brutus — Caesar’s trusted friend — to join them. Brutus, troubled and sleepless, finds comfort in the companionship of his noble wife, Portia. On the fifteenth of March, Calphurnia, Caesar’s wife, alarmed by prophetic dreams, persuades Caesar to stay home because she fears for his safety. Decius Brutus, arriving to accompany Caesar to the Capitol, convinces him that the senators plan to crown Caesar that day but that they may never renew their offer should they suspect he is afraid. “ This dream is all amiss interpreted”. Decius is flattering. Caesar changes his mind and decides to go. Caesar ignores the bad omens: the dead have climbed up from their graves, his wife Calpurnia has dreams, there was no heart in the sacrificed animal. His ideal is that he has no fear and that is why he goes. He is joined by Brutus and the rest of the conspirators, as well as by Mark Antony. Then, as planned, Caesar is slain in the Senate on March 15, “the ides of March.” His friend Mark Antony, who has expediently shaken the bloodied hands of the conspirators, gives a stirring funeral oration that inspires the crowd to turn against them. Octavius, Caesar’s nephew, forms a triumvirate with Antony and Lepidus; Brutus and Cassius are eventually defeated at the Battle of Philippi, where they kill themselves to avoid further dishonour.

Julius Caesar is not the main character but he is the central motif around which the others operate. The story is about the power struggles around him. He has around 100 lines and dies half way through. This is unlike most of Shakespeare’s tragedies where characters die at the end. This is repeated throughout history and historical tragedies: a tyrant is killed because he does not defend the interests of the people and leaves his place not to the people but to another tyrant. Julius Caesar defends the interests of the people and yet, he is killed. In this play, the conspirators, who only care about their own power, die at the end. We can conclude that Julius Caesar is the tragedy of the Roman Republic. Order is restored in the final scene when the conspirators are defeated and Octavius is named the successor.

In Antony and Cleopatra, Antony also dies before the end, after blindly following Cleopatra’s boat and abandoning battle against Rome, thus choosing Egypt before Rome. Cleopatra dies at the end, poisoning herself with a snake. She is not mentioned in Julius Caesar. The order is restored by Octavius at the end of the play. Rome wins. Octavius becomes the first Roman emperor.

When Caesar says ‘Do this,’ it is performed”; such authority is the mark of a powerful leader (I.ii.12). Julius Caesar  represents the ideal, the people, the embodiment of Rome. He is very noble. He stands for Rome. People love him. The first scene is a triumph of Caesar. Caesar is a good ruler. In this way, Shakespeare pleases Queen Elizabeth I because the ruler is noble and virtuous. There is chaos after the murder of the ruler, even poets are killed. That should dissuade anybody to kill the ruler. Elizabeth is old and with no heirs, so she is in a difficult position.

Julius Caesar embodies the Republic – which means you can kill him and kill the Republic doing so. He is “one only man” and there is corruption around him. If there is a crown, there is a dagger that can destroy the political power.

There is no sign Caesar may become a tyrant in Brutus’ eyes. Yet, Caesar has crossed the Rubican, he is dictator for life, he’s been offered a crown, he bosses Senators, he refers to himself to the third person, he calls the senate my senate, he even says “I don’t need to give you any reason my will is enough”.

He says he constant like the North star which reveals his sense of invulnerability but there are different interpretations for Calphurnia’s dream, he is manipulated and Julius Caesar does change his mind and goes to the Senate.

He has weaknesses: he is epileptic, he had to be saved from water by Cassius, he is deaf on the right ear. He is human. Caesar is playing the role of a constant man who cannot be moved by prayers, he aspires to be a God. But each time, Shakespeare shows his weaknesses, undermining his declarations.

“The question of Caesar’s own ambition is raised in Casca’s account of the triumphal procession. In describing how Antony offered Caesar a crown three times, Casca makes sure to point out Caesar’s reluctance in refusing the crown. Since the incident is related from Casca’s anti-Caesar perspective, it is difficult to ascertain Caesar’s true motivations: did Caesar act out of genuine humility or did he merely put on a show to please the crowd? Nevertheless, Casca’s mention of Caesar’s hesitation suggests that, no matter how noble his motivations, Caesar is capable of being seduced by power and thereby capable of becoming a dictator, as Brutus fears.” Sparknotes

Julius Caesar gains in momentum becoming a colosse, divine and a ghost. 

“And this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake–‘tis true, this god did shake” Act 1, Scene 2.

“Then fall, Caesar!” are his last words. Order falls with him. Caesar narrates his own fall on the 3rd person. As a man he is fragile but as a spirit, he is constant. By killing the man, the spirit is immortalized. He becomes like a God after his death.

While the body may lie dead, the true Caesar, the leader of the people, lives on in the pleb’s hearts—as he does in the anxious minds of the conspirators: Brutus will soon encounter Caesar’s ghost near the battlefield.

Cassius is the leader of conspirators. He is motivated by envy and greed of power. He uses the argument of the fear that Julius Caesar would become a tyrant in order to manipulate the others. He is ambitious while he blames Julius Caesar to be. He is not a noble who acts for the common good of Rome, he would be a bad ruler. 

He is perceived as dangerous by Julius Caesar. Cassius has a practical reason. He praises Brutus with flattery. He is a great manipulator.

Cassius is motivated by envy. He refers to Brutus’ pride and lineage. He needs Brutus to make his action look like a tyrant slaughter. He turns a private conspiracy in the shadows to something that appears to be asked by the general will. They want to appear as liberators.

Shakespeare shows that most politicians are self-centered and motivated by ambition, greed, envy and hate. They do not care about what is best for Rome. They oppose Julius Caesar’s kingship not because he would make a poor leader, but because his leadership would preclude their own.

Marc Antony and Caesar are champions of the people.

Mark Antony is a good speaker and is powerful. Mark Antony’s speech after Julius Caesars death is incredible. It is a rhetorical tour de force. He is manipulating the pleb to defend Caesar by playing all the emotions. Rhetoric is used to acquire power. He uses inclusive terms, “Friends, romans, countrymen”, repetition “ambitious”, “honourable”. He lies when he says he saw Caesar’s reaction to Brutus’ killing as he wasn’t there. He is ambitious and sees the opportunity to gain power. He appeals to the noble ideas to get power. He stands that Caesar was the noblest man, while the Caesar we’ve seen in the first act is an old man, frail, easily confused and human. By saying Brutus was “an honourable man,” he uses the power of insinuations, like Iago saying Cassio is not honest in Othello. Antony says that they should not be stirred to mutiny against such “honourable men”.  He pretends he agrees with the conspirators and then he moves the crowd against them. He is an actor, he lies, he faints emotions. He speaks in verse and repeats again and again that Brutus and the conspirators are honorable men; the phrase “Brutus says he was ambitious, / And Brutus is an honourable man” accrues new levels of sarcasm at each repetition. He effects the exact opposite of what his words say. Thus he accuses the conspirators not to be honorable. He claims that Julius Caesar has refused the crown thrice and that in his will, he gives money to the pleb thus demonstrating there was no good reasons to kill him. “I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? ” Act 3, sc 2. The crowd is convinced. “tis certain he was not ambitious”.

Antony wants to show himself as a man of the people. He needs the consent of the crowd. Antony can not criticize the conspirators openly and he makes the pleb ask him to read the will.

Julius Caesar (1953) – Mark Antony’s Forum speech (starring Marlon Brando): https://youtu.be/101sKhH-lMQ?si=Ky2O0ODk9FJLzWg8

Brutus is the main character of the play. Brutus is considered noble and pure and he seeks the common good but he is manipulated by the other characters. He loves and is loved by Caesar. He has the most reasons to love Caesar: he is a father figure and Caesar forgave him about fighting on Pompei’s side.

Brutus is wrong when he thinks Mark Antony can do no harm. Cassius reasons better than Brutus does. Act III, scene ii evidences the power of rhetoric and oratory: first Brutus speaks and then Antony, each with the aim of persuading the crowd to his side. They show the power that words can have even when they claim that they do not: “my weak words”, “no orator like Brutus”.

Brutus makes the mistake of not including Cicero and Mark Antony because Brutus can’t bear being commanded.

Brutus’ nobility brings him to his crash because he is too innocent. He thinks Julius Caesar must die for the good of the people. He thinks too much power will change Caesar. He wants to “put a sting in him, that at his will he may do danger with””a serpent’s egg”. Angelo in Measure for Measure has excellent reputation, and yet he behaves poorly once he’s got power. How can we know if Caesar will be the same? Brutus is led by fear of what Julius Caesar could be. With this reasoning, everybody could be killed by fear of what they could become.

It must be by his death. And for my part

 I know no personal cause to spurn at him,

 But for the general. He would be crowned:

 How that might change his nature, there’s the

 question. Act 2 sc 1

The ancestor of Brutus was a tyrant slaughterer.

Brutus is turned into doing something that is bad for the people even if his intent was to do good.

Cassius wants to kill Mark Antony too. Brutus disagrees because he sees them like priests before gods: “Let’s all be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius”. He clearly sees himself as a savior. Brutus cares about appearances rather than saving the republic: “purgers, not murderers”. After Julius Caesar’s death, his speech is full of facts and logic and he shows the noble aim he has. 

He acts on his passions, he does not gather enough evidence to make reasonable decisions, and is manipulated by Cassius and the other conspirators.  Brutus is manipulated by other people’s envy, to kill who he loves, like Othello. To know whether or not Caesar will be corrupted by his power, there are false evidences: Brutus is given forged letters. It is the equivalent of the handkerchief in Othello.

He did not kill Caesar out of a lack of love for him, he says, but because his love for Rome outweighed his love of a single man.  “Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,” Act 3 sc 1

He cannot sleep after killing his ruler, like Macbeth. Contrary to the Macbeths who wash blood from their hands, the conspirators plunge their hands into Julius Caesar’s blood. The Macbeths’ motive is their personal interest, and they hide the crime. The conspirators of Julius Caesar are proud of their killing. They say that it is for the common good and present themselves as saviors. “Let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood (…) Let’s all cry, “peace, freedom and liberty”” But they real motive, apart from Brutus, is personal interest, like the Macbeths.

Brutus says one does not see himself through his own eyes, but through the viewpoints of others.

“Cas. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? Bru. No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself But by reflection, by some other things. Cas. ‘Tis just, And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard Where many of the best respect in Rome (Except immortal Caesar), speaking of Brutus And groaning underneath this age’s yoke, Have wish’d that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar’d to hear; And since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of.” Act 1 sc 2

At the battle of Philippi, while Brutus claims that his honor forbids him from raising money in unscrupulous ways, he would still use such money as long as it was not he himself, but rather Cassius, who raised it. Brutus asks Cassius if they should now allow themselves to descend into the very corruption that they tried to eliminate. Brutus speaks against corruption, but when he has no other means of paying his army, he quickly consents to unscrupulousness, if only indirectly. “There is a tide in the affairs of men (. . .)And we must take the current when it serves . . .” Act 4 sc 3

Brutus cares about appearances, about how his actions would look like rather than acting for the common good.

Brutus:”Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,

 To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,

 Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;

 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.

 Let’s be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.180

 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,

 And in the spirit of men there is no blood.

 O, that we then could come by Caesar’s spirit

 And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,

 Caesar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends,185

 Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully.

 Act 2 sc 1

This shall make

 Our purpose necessary and not envious;

 Which so appearing to the common eyes,

 We shall be called purgers, not murderers.  Act 2 sc 1

The gohst of Caesar is avenging himself. Brutus realises he made a big mistake. His nobility is aknowledged. He has been played. Brutus takes his own life.

Is Brutus a hero who saved the Republic or a villain traitor? Brutus can be seen either as a selfless fighter against dictatorship or as an opportunistic traitor.

The pleb represent the audience who is moved back and forth thus showing how easily moved we are. They are manipulated by the politicians with ideals while these politicians only seek personal power. The naives are crushed.

“The first scene of the play clearly illustrates the fickleness of the multitude, which hastens to cheer Caesar’s triumph over a man whom it once adored. Surely the conspirators run a great risk by letting such a fickle audience listen to the mournful Antony. Yet, blinded by his conception of the assassination as a noble deed done for the people and one that the people must thus necessarily appreciate, Brutus believes that the masses will respond most strongly not to Antony’s words but to the fact that the conspirators have allowed him to speak at all. Because he feels that he himself, by helping to murder a dear friend, has sacrificed the most, Brutus believes that he will be respected for giving priority to public matters over private ones. We will see, however, that Brutus’s misjudgment will lead to his own downfall: he grossly underestimates Antony’s oratorical skill and overestimates the people’s conception of virtue.” Sparknotes

The mob is fickle, they follow the last one who spoke.

History

The Roman Republic was installed after the Roman kingdom was overthrown in 509 BC and lasted until 27 BC. But over the last 50 years, landowners had become extremely wealthy. They owned so much land that they could control the price of wheat by hoarding it when it was cheap and selling it at inflated prices when it was expensive.

As a result, a large part of the population was much poorer. There were revolts. The plebs began to win elections. So the ultra-rich took up arms and appointed a general named Pompey. (The same thing happened in Spain in the 20th century when the Republicans won the elections and the rich went to find Franco). Caesar was leading the fighting pleb and Pompei the rich owners. Ten years of civil war followed, with numerous massacres. Because of the war, the plebs needed a military champion. Caesar became the defender of the plebs and the Republic. Caesar won.

When he returned to Rome, the elected representatives of the popular parties had become bourgeois and no longer wanted to implement the social reforms for which they had been elected. Caesr was frustrated that the new elected elites behaved like the rich before them. He expressed his frustration and will to use his influence to push for the Gracchi laws to be adopted to limit how wealthy a citizen could be. He was faced with the issue that the senators wouldn’t probably vote against their own interests. The Republic was unable to solve its problem with the rich. Caesar was very popular among the Roman public who saw him as an effective leader and the senate as a corrupt aristocracy.

The Republic weakened during the Civil War. The civil war left Caesar in a position of near-unchallenged power. Julius Caesar’s rise to the powerful position of consul, years of military triumphs had made him the wealthiest man in Rome. His power was at its peak. The title of dictator gave him temporary emergency powers in wartime. In early 44 BC, he was proclaimed “dictator for life” (dictator perpetuo), dictator for unlimited time. Dictator at the time meant leader of the executive power, who can rule by decree but cannot contradict the laws of the senate; like a president in a social democracy.

Caesar was accused of becoming a tyrant. Fearful of his power, domination of the state, and the possibility that he might make himself king, a group of senators  assassinated Caesar on the Ides of March (15 March) 44 BC. Leading them were the senator Gaius Cassius Longinus and Brutus, his brother in law. Brutus who had sided Pompey during the civil war and for whom Caesar had intervened to save his life, Brutus who had become a close advisor to Caesar. Brutus claimed descent from Lucius Junius Brutus who had helped overthrow the tyrannical king known as Tarquin the Proud. The elder Brutus led the people in a rousing oath to never again allow a king to rule. No one man should hold too much power.

It was the senators, who supported the ultra-rich, who assassinated Caesar. It was a group of conspirators who called themselves the liberators. He has been stabbed 23 times. The assassins barricaded themselves on the Capitoline Hill. Mark Antony, who was co-consul, delivered a passionate speech at Caesar’s funeral, days later that grieved the crowd. The liberators were forced out of Rome. The triumvirate of Lepidus, Octavian and Mark Antony were given dictatorial power by the senate as successors of Julius Caesar as chief of the executive branch.

This led to chaos in the country. It was the end of the Republic. The ensuing power vacuum led to a series of civil wars.

Julius Caesar – Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar

“A new series of civil wars broke out and the constitutional government of the Republic was never fully restored. Caesar’s great-nephew and adoptive heir Octavian, later known as Augustus, rose to sole power after defeating his opponents thirteen years later. Octavian then set about solidifying his power, transforming the Republic into the Roman Empire.”

All the social reforms that the plebs wanted were implemented by Caesar’s adopted son, Octavian, who succeeded him and became Augustus, the first emperor. The head of state was the head of the army. He collected taxes and redistributed the money. He appointed some of the senators. The citizens appointed the others.

Augustus carried out the agrarian reform of the Gracchus brothers to limit the amount of land that could be owned. In effect, this limited wealth.

Ideas

Each time people defend the common good, they are attacked by a strong reaction which leads to periods of chaos. A champion is then needed to defend the country. The republican ideal is that the nation doesn’t belong or rely on a specific individual and therefore lives with its people. Choosing a champion weakens the republic.

Julius Caesar faced the same dilemma when defending the interests of the people. Julius Caesar concentrated power in his own hands to defend the people’s interests, but thereby weakening the republic. How can we escape this dilemma?

The French Revolution was followed by chaos: terror and beheadings, but in the long run its ideas won by gaining ground. The French army needed Napoleon because the monarchies of Europe wanted to kill the Revolution. A leader was needed to defend the country against the aggressions of the other countries.

After the revolution in Russia, other countries armed the counter-revolutionaries, which created a civil war. The Bolshevik Revolution was met with resistance from the White Russians, which led to years of civil war and the establishment of military rule. Staline became the champion with non-democratic consequences. He did not defend the will of the people.

Since George Washington introduced himself as the father of the nation in the United States, he weakened the new republic by making it more reliant on an individual.

De Gaulle saved the republic from dictatorship but established the notion that the head of state is a monarchical figure. The republic was weaker because it needed a savior.

Général de Gaulle :”Je ne commence pas une carrière de dictateur” : https://youtu.be/eIreF_5GM0U?si=USaxS9ynBcRiRLkD

The Arab revolutions and the May 1968 movements created democratic, pacifist, and environmentalist aspirations that survive today but generated a very strong reaction of repression, and it is too early to see the fruits of these movements. In people’s minds, this desire for change still exists.

But ideas progress despite everything. There is more and more democracy, even if the reactionaries try to stifle it. History moves forward in fits and starts, but democracy progresses.

If you saw one man gaining too much power, would you try to stop him? Even if that man was one of your closest friends and allies? Absolute power can often corrupt people, change them, but it is not automatic. Chaos follows when a leader dies and there is no clear successor. A champion is then needed to restore order. How can you guarantee that the leader will defend the people’s interests? How do you know if power will change him? How can you have a republic that does not need to be embodied in order to defend itself?

The play is an examination of the dangers of desiring power and how it can change politicians. It is also an example of how people who hold power should act by serving the people’s interests. How can we know if a politician will defend ideals to serve the people or of he will only care about his own power?

The people has to be brave enough to vote for the candidates who defend the people.

Swiss direct democracy seems to prevent a minority from acquiring too much wealth or power, at least not to an extreme degree. This results in greater stability, which helps to prevent internal crises.

Can direct democracy help the leaders to defend the people’s interests while defending the country against selfish tyrants? Shouldn’t we debate ideas rather than choose a leader who may betray his promises? Can we share power? Would a referendum initiated by popular initiative enable the people to control their leaders so that they implement the ideas of the people? Then, ideals will be voted for.

-----------------------------

Julius Caesar Power Theme Analysis (Shakespeare Today Series full lesson)| Schooling Online: https://youtu.be/6Kldu9PFn_8?si=

The great conspiracy against Julius Caesar – Kathryn Tempest Ted Ed: https://youtu.be/wgPymD-NBQU?si=a1UKkhy3MNAKQC1H

Recommended performances:

Julius Caesar 1953 with Marlon Brando as Mark Antony

– National Theater live Julius Caesar 2018 with Ben Whishaw as Brutus

Recommended Analysis

– Épisode 1/4 : “Jules César” ou le désir impossible de pureté de l’acte politique – Radio France: https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceculture/podcasts/les-chemins-de-la-philosophie/jules-cesar-ou-le-desir-impossible-de-purete-de-l-acte-politique-8820324

– Shakespeare Julius Caesar explained – Tristan and the Classics: https://youtu.be/uooY3vw1aEo?si=SyK55S9h1lp95pYp

– Julius Caesar – Sparknotes:  https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/juliuscaesar/

– Julius Caesar (play) – Wikipedia:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar_(play)

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The Good tyrant ?: https://www.aurianneor.org/the-good-tyrant-tyranny-can-legally-exist-in-a/

Cicéron, De la République: https://www.aurianneor.org/la-liberte-ne-consiste-pas-a-avoir-un-bon-maitre/

“A multitude is a better judge of many things than any individual”: https://www.aurianneor.org/via-httpswwwyoutubecomwatchv-ar8s6vircwm/

The leader? WE: https://www.aurianneor.org/the-leader-we/

The power of speech: https://www.aurianneor.org/the-power-of-speech-words-words-words-hamlet/

The power of a King’s Speech: https://www.aurianneor.org/the-power-of-a-kings-speech/

Quelle démocratie voulons-nous?: https://www.aurianneor.org/quelle-democratie-voulons-nous-a-multitude-is-a/

Electing is not voting: https://www.aurianneor.org/electing-is-not-voting-oui-au-referendum/

Yes to the popular referendum!: https://www.aurianneor.org/yes-to-the-popular-referendum/

Solidarité Helvétique: https://www.aurianneor.org/solidarite-helvetique-democratie-semi-directe/

Vth Republic, still there…: https://www.aurianneor.org/vth-republic-still-there-pour-lire-ceci-en/

Reflection II: https://www.aurianneor.org/reflection-ii-reflexion-ii-wikitionary/

I can’t be a tyrant without you all: https://www.aurianneor.org/i-cant-be-a-tyrant-without-you-all-la-historia-de/

Change Othello: https://www.aurianneor.org/othello-and-change/

Shakespeare and his Juliets: https://www.aurianneor.org/shakespeare-and-his-juliets-feeding-a-multitude/

How Juliette met Shakespeare: https://www.aurianneor.org/how-juliette-met-shakespeare/

13: https://www.aurianneor.org/13-2/

Vision au réveil après un cauchemar: https://www.aurianneor.org/vision-au-reveil-apres-un-cauchemar-ce/

Maths: https://www.aurianneor.org/maths/

[certifiedcoffeeaddict]

going absolutely feral over julius caesar by shakespeare

[bennytheredonethat]

Oooo I see

[daimonclub]

Queen Cleopatra of Egypt

Cleopatra queen of Egypt Queen Cleopatra of Egypt, a short article that narrates the story of Cleopatra and her life with references to her famous career in literature, theater, and film industry. Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going, But bid farewell and go. When you sued staying, Then was the time for words. No going then! Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows’ bent, none our parts so poor But was a race of heaven. They are so still, Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, Art turned the greatest liar. William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra Cleopatra occupied a dangerous position in the ancient world, a position that is still dangerous in modern society: a powerful woman. Roman leaders launched a smear campaign against her, and its enduring success stained the image the world had of Cleopatra. Instead of brilliant and powerful, she was cast as evil, lustful and wild. Mallory O'Meara If you find him sad, say I am dancing. If in mirth, report that I am sudden sick. William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra Apollodorus came, Caesar saw, Cleopatra conquered. Stacy Schiff Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love; we cannot call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report... William Shakespeare As a famous historian once said, in all its history, Rome deigned to fear two people; one was Hannibal, the other was a woman. Karen Essex Queen Cleopatra of Egypt was one of the most important figures of antiquity. Born in 69 BC, Cleopatra was the daughter of King Ptolemy XII and Queen Cleopatra V. When Cleopatra's father died in 51 BC, she and her brother Ptolemy XIII assumed the throne together. However, their relationship was turbulent, and in 48 BC. Cleopatra was forced to flee Egypt after being challenged by her brother and her advisor Pothinus.

Statue of Cleopatra Seeking allies, Cleopatra met with Julius Caesar, who was in Egypt at the time, and she is said to have seduced him to gain his support. Caesar helped Cleopatra regain the throne and the two had a love affair which resulted in the birth of their son, Cesareion. After Caesar's death in 44 BC, Cleopatra returned to Egypt and teamed up with Mark Antony, a Roman general who was in control of the eastern part of the Roman Empire. Their love affair was highly publicized and Cleopatra became an influential figure in Roman politics. However, their alliance against the new Roman leader, Octavian, resulted in Antony's defeat at the Battle of Actium in 31 BC. Cleopatra, fearing capture by Octavian, decided to commit suicide. She is said to have died by poisoning herself with the venom of an asp. Cleopatra is remembered as one of the most intelligent, ambitious and seductive women in history. Her relationship with Cesare and Antonio has inspired numerous literary, artistic and cinematic works over the centuries. Cleopatra, the last queen of ancient Egypt, had also a strong connection to the pyramids of Egypt. However, it is important to note that Cleopatra lived several centuries after the construction of the pyramids, so she did not play a direct role in their creation. One of the ways in which Cleopatra was connected to the pyramids was through her family's history. Cleopatra was a member of the Ptolemaic dynasty, which ruled Egypt for several centuries after Alexander the Great's conquest of the country in 332 BCE.

Cleopatra portrait by Midjourney The Ptolemies saw themselves as the legitimate heirs of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt, and they made a point of associating themselves with Egypt's ancient culture and heritage. As part of this effort, they sponsored the restoration of several ancient monuments, including the pyramids. One of the most famous stories about Cleopatra and the pyramids involves her relationship with Julius Caesar. According to legend, Cleopatra smuggled herself into Caesar's palace in Alexandria by being wrapped up in a carpet. When she emerged from the carpet, she presented herself to Caesar as a gift from Egypt. Some versions of the story claim that she did this in the Great Pyramid of Giza, although there is no historical evidence to support this claim. Overall, while Cleopatra did not play a direct role in the construction or maintenance of the pyramids, she was a member of the royal family that saw itself as the inheritors of Egypt's ancient heritage, and she was closely associated with the pyramids through her family's patronage of ancient monuments and her famous connection to Julius Caesar. The figure of Cleopatra is also a character of great importance and fascination in world literature, and in particular in the two tragedies by William Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar" and "Anthony and Cleopatra". In Julius Caesar, Cleopatra appears as a secondary character, but her presence is central to the plot. The love relationship between Cleopatra and Caesar, in fact, is one of the triggers of the Roman civil war that leads to the fall of the empire. In the drama, Cleopatra is presented as intelligent, ambitious and seductive, but also manipulative and impulsive. In "Anthony and Cleopatra", however, the Egyptian queen is the main character and she is presented in a more complex and multifaceted way than in the previous tragedy. Here, Cleopatra is described as a mature, intelligent and passionate woman who has a strong influence on the Roman general Mark Antony. Their tumultuous and tragic relationship is the focus of the piece, which explores the themes of love, politics and death.

Caesar and Cleopatra In Shakespeare's two tragedies, the figure of Cleopatra represents the charm of the East, beauty, seduction and ambition, but also the strength and intelligence of a woman who tries to protect her homeland and her people since the Roman conquest. Cleopatra represents the essence of Shakespearean tragedy, in which the characters are challenged by their passions and ambitions, and their downfall is inevitable. In general, the figure of Cleopatra in Shakespeare's plays has been interpreted as an embodiment of female beauty and seduction, but also as a symbol of political power and resistance against the Roman conquest. Her figure has influenced many subsequent writers and artists, becoming an icon of popular culture. Furthermore Cleopatra has been the protagonist of numerous films, some of which have become famous for their grandeur. Here are some of the most famous films dedicated to the Egyptian queen: "Cleopatra" (1963), directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz and starring Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra, Richard Burton as Mark Antony and Rex Harrison as Julius Caesar. This film was one of the most expensive in the history of cinema and tells the story of Cleopatra and her relationship with the two Roman genres. "Anthony and Cleopatra" (1972), directed by Charlton Heston and with Heston himself in the role of Mark Antony and Hildegard Neil in the role of Cleopatra. This film is based on Shakespeare's tragedy of the same name and tells the tumultuous love story between Cleopatra and Mark Antony. "Cleopatra" (1917), directed by J. Gordon Edwards and starring Theda Bara as Cleopatra. This film is one of the first to have represented the figure of Cleopatra in cinema and is considered a classic of silent cinema.

The ancient pyramid of Cheope "The Great Colossus" (1962), directed by Sergio Leone and starring Rory Calhoun as Mark Antony and Georges Marchal as Caesar. Although not a film specifically dedicated to Cleopatra, this film tells the rise and fall of Caesar, with an important presence of Cleopatra. These are just some of the most famous films dedicated to Cleopatra, but there are many other productions that have told her story or represented her as a secondary character. To find out more about women you can also read: Women’s quotes Thoughts on women Essays with quotes Men and women quotes Quotes on feminism Quotes by Arguments Quotes by Authors Thoughts & Opinions Read the full article

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter I)

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex…

chapter II chapter III chapter IV

chapter V final

warnings: 18+ minors dni, noncon, dub-con, when the emperor is a bit insane, he’s cute tho

word count: 9k

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor’s curiosity.»

—Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

As a proper Roman matron, she trailed behind her husband’s broad back, head lowered, careful not to make unnecessary eye contact. Tiberius—three times her age—had only recently become her husband.

Once a great general, a member of the council, and a close companion of the legendary Maximus, Tiberius was now but a shadow of his former self.

The Senate had broken men far greater than him, and his appointment to the imperial court, along with their move from the provinces, had only deepened his sour temper and disturbed mind.

Her father, once a formidable man in his own right, had grown frail with age, which was why she obediently followed behind her husband. She had been given to his household and now belonged to him, for his success meant her family’s success—her father’s, her sisters’.

That was enough for her. After all, Cassandra had never craved ambition.

And yet, her heart pounded so violently that it seemed to throb in her throat. Fear wrapped around her, squeezing tighter with every step as she stood in the grand halls of Senator Thraex’s villa.

Nervously, she adjusted the folds of her white matron’s gown, smooth and chaste as tradition demanded, her palms damp with anxiety. But as she glanced around, a quiet bitterness stirred in her chest. Tiberius had insisted on white to emphasize her innocence and purity as a young bride, but what good was it when around her swirled women draped in crimson silks and glistening gold?

Her cheeks flushed as she met the gaze of a dark-haired beauty—bare-chested, unashamed. Tiberius noticed, too. She saw his lips curl into a sneer, and the grip on her wrist tightened, pulling her through the crowd.

"Senator!" Tiberius’ demeanor shifted instantly. When necessary, he could be charming—Cassandra knew this well.

"Has Acacius arrived yet?"

She knew better than to intrude on men’s conversations; her husband despised even the suggestion she might show interest. So she remained silent, observing. Senator Thraex, host of the lavish affair, was nothing like Tiberius despite their shared senatorial rank. Thraex was effeminate, painted, adorned in a way that seemed theatrical, and yet Tiberius smiled, nodding politely.

"The general does not attend such gatherings, alas, my friend," Thraex said, blinking theatrically. "But we have no less important guests tonight, Tiberius—the emperors are here!"

Her heart fluttered, a mixture of awe and terror. The emperors! In the midst of mere mortals! But her excitement was not shared by Tiberius, whose features grew harder. Since Marcus Aurelius’ death, no emperor had earned her husband’s respect. Though he was careful not to voice his opinion publicly, in private, his bitter thoughts often bordered on treason.

"Do emperors often grace your home, Thraex?" Tiberius asked coldly, his voice heavy with disdain. Thraex shifted uneasily.

"Well, no, my dear friend. But the return of General Acacius has stirred us all, hasn’t it? All of Rome celebrates—and the emperors, too!"

"It certainly looks expensive," Tiberius remarked bluntly.

"Indeed, but what can one do?" Thraex hastily changed the subject, his eyes landing on Cassandra. "Ah, what a delightful child! Tiberius, do introduce us!"

"My wife, Cassandra. You know her father," Tiberius muttered as Thraex took her hand, pressing a theatrical kiss to her fingers. The senator praised her beauty and virtue while Tiberius, clearly enjoying the flattery, beamed with pride.

"Please, come in, eat, drink—everything here is yours!" Thraex declared before being swept away by a dark-skinned man draped in luxurious robes.

Cassandra craned her neck, intrigued. Such sights were unfamiliar to her. In her homeland, foreigners were slaves, not men of wealth and power.

"A gathering of useless spendthrifts and sycophants," Tiberius muttered under his breath, steering them toward the exit. "Acacius isn’t here; we have no reason to stay."

"Let’s stay a little longer, I beg you," Cassandra found her voice, pleading for a few more moments in the glittering crowd.

She was young and curious, and their new villa in Rome did little to satisfy her curiosity.

Tiberius didn’t have time to answer before the dark-skinned man they had noticed earlier threw an arm around his shoulders.

"Tiberius, you old grouch!" The man laughed, clapping him on the back as if they were old friends. "Leaving already? You bring a young wife and then run off? Afraid someone will steal her?" He winked playfully at Cassandra, making her smile despite herself. His casual demeanor was refreshing.

"Macrinus! What brings you here?" Tiberius asked, his mood softening. To Cassandra’s delight, it seemed they would stay after all. Unlike Thraex, Macrinus appeared to be someone her husband genuinely liked.

As they strolled through the opulent halls, Cassandra’s eyes darted greedily from one decoration to the next, drinking in every detail to hold onto later when the gloom of their villa returned.

"The new fighter is something else, Tiberius," Macrinus said. "I’ll wager my right hand he’ll best Thraex’s gladiator, and the senator will owe me a hefty sum."

A gladiator? Cassandra’s heart sank. Could her husband truly be interested in such gruesome spectacles? Though he was stern, she would never have called him cruel.

"Stand here," Tiberius ordered, pointing to a spot behind him.

Obediently, she stood behind her husband, still listening to Macrinus’s chatter. The hall was already buzzing with the hum of a dozen voices, but even through the noise, a shrill, high-pitched laugh cut through like a blade.

She rose on her toes, straining to see where it came from. A little farther ahead, an even larger crowd had gathered in the center, blocking the source of the laughter. Cassandra craned her neck higher, and finally, she saw them. Her throat went dry instantly.

She had never seen the emperors before, only heard whispers of their youth, debauchery, and cruelty. But even without knowing their faces, she knew. No one else in Rome could look like that.

Red-haired, pale, surrounded by half-naked men and women, they stood out. They had to stand out. People called them twins, but it would be hard to find two people less alike. Only their fiery, curly red hair tied them together.

"Which one is Geta, and which is Caracalla?" she whispered to Tiberius.

"The one in silver is Emperor Geta, and the one in gold is Emperor Caracalla, my lady," Macrinus answered with a smirk, beating her husband to the response. Her excitement at seeing such noble figures must have been plain on her face.

Cassandra continued to study them hungrily, hoping Tiberius wouldn’t scold her later for inappropriate behavior; Geta was taller, broader—it was obvious even though they were seated. Caracalla, on the other hand, was shorter, all smooth lines and delicacy. It was his laugh she had heard.

For a brief moment, she caught Emperor Geta’s bored gaze, but he quickly looked away, his piercing dark eyes utterly uninterested. Caracalla didn’t glance their way at all. His gaze was unfocused, cloudy, as if he were staring straight through the crowd. From this distance, she could see the golden shadows framing his eyelids, making his blue eyes appear even more languid.

At his feet, a man smiled obsequiously up at the emperor, his hand gently stroking the bare knee beneath Caracalla’s toga. Cassandra’s cheeks burned, and she quickly turned away, afraid of being caught staring.

When Senator Thraex solemnly announced the wager with Macrinus, and two men were brought into the hall, everything fell silent, only to erupt into an even louder roar. She didn’t want to watch the fight—soft and gentle, as her father and husband had said, Cassandra hated violence, but now she was in Rome, where blood flowed every time the emperors snapped their fingers.

As if reading her thoughts, Emperor Caracalla lazily stretched his words, playing with them, as if he weren’t talking about human lives at all. Anxiously, she pressed closer to her husband’s shoulder.

"Swords! Bring them swords, and let blood be spilled!" the emperor commanded, sprawling on the couch. His brother didn’t object, only nodded.

And the spectacle began. She tried not to look at the fight, focusing instead on her breathing, attempting to calm herself. The crowd roared in delight, gasping and shouting encouragement to the combatants. The noise became unbearable. People swayed and scattered, dodging sword points or the splinters of a broken table where one man—representing Macrinus—was thrown.

She didn’t notice when the fighters came too close to them, forcing her husband to step awkwardly back, pushing her against the wall. Struggling to keep her balance, she leaned against a small side table, knocking over a porcelain vase. No one paid any attention, not even her husband, who was too absorbed in the spectacle.

A dull pain pierced her hand, and to her surprise, Cassandra realized she’d cut her palm on a shattered piece of the vase.

"A deep cut… it’ll scar," she thought absentmindedly. A shard had sliced across her palm horizontally, blood flowing steadily even as the pain subsided. She wanted to leave, to tell Tiberius about the injury and return to the villa; but then, the hall fell silent, and the air was suddenly heavy with the metallic tang of blood.

Too much blood for one day.

Her stomach churned as the body of a slain gladiator was dragged out by the legs like a sack of grain. Neither the presence of emperors nor the distinguished guests around her brought any comfort- even the bold words of the victor, who dared to argue with Emperor Geta, failed to impress her. All she wanted now was to leave.

She cradled her injured hand like a child, unwilling to stain her white clothing. Tiberius would surely be furious.

If the audacity of the barbarian didn’t move her, her husband and Macrinus were visibly enthralled. Quietly exchanging a few final words, Macrinus left the hall with his gladiator in tow.

"Let’s go. It’s time," Tiberius finally said, still oblivious to her wound.

She pressed her lips together and followed him.

"Senator!" They were stopped again, and this time, simply leaving wasn’t an option.

For a moment, she noticed her husband’s face pale, the hard crease between his brows betraying his fury. Yet when he turned to the voice, he was smiling. Emperor Geta’s smile was equally false.

"We were informed of your return, but seeing you here is truly a gift," his voice was low and smooth. "Surely, you weren’t planning to leave without greeting us?"

Her heart froze as she watched the emperor extend his pale hand, adorned with rings. Tiberius bowed, brushing his lips against one of the jewels. The emperor’s thin smile deepened, while his brother, standing behind, burst into shrill laughter. There was nothing amusing, yet the guests followed suit, grinning along with their ruler.

Caracalla, judging by his expression, barely grasped where he was. He swayed slightly, struggling to remain upright.

"You’ve always been like this, haven’t you? Even back when our father was around," Caracalla rasped, his voice hoarse, his gaze unfocused, and a faint smile curling his lips. "No fun, just work, work!" He laughed again, and the guests eagerly followed suit.

Cassandra felt a wave of fear.

Her husband’s pride was limitless, and even a teasing public remark—though lighthearted—could push him into actions with dangerous consequences, ones that would inevitably affect her.

"Join us, Tiberius," the young emperor taunted, still grinning.

Cassandra caught a flash of gold and soon realized—one of his teeth was gold. The emperor was practically drowning in luxury, and his wide smile proudly revealed the golden tooth. Hardly anyone in the empire could boast such a thing.

"Boys, girls, whoever you like! Let’s see if you’re as serious in bed as you are in politics!"

"Thank you, Caesar, but I am married and loyal to my wife," Tiberius answered with calm dignity.

It felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her when he mentioned her. Both emperors immediately looked past Tiberius, their gazes landing on her. She had no choice but to step forward.

Brown eyes studied her, more bored than intrigued, and Emperor Geta quickly looked away. Caracalla, however, stared longer. She thought to herself that it must be difficult for him to focus after drinking so much… but no, the piercing blue of his eyes wasn’t fixed on her face. His gaze lingered lower, where her hands clutched desperately at the fabric of her dress.

Distracted, Cassandra glanced down. She’d forgotten about the wound; blood had stained her white gown with a vivid red, the bright scarlet blotch marking the spot where her hand had just rested.

Her eyes darted back to the emperor, only to find him already watching her with a smile. Yet his eyes didn’t match the curve of his lips—they didn’t smile at all. They flicked back and forth between the crimson stain and her face.

She swallowed hard.

Caracalla licked his lips before turning to his brother, unsettlingly silent. Without realizing it, Cassandra stepped back. She didn’t know why she felt afraid, but the fear was instinctive.

A hand settled on her waist, steadying her and pulling her closer. It was Tiberius.

Both emperors broke into identical grins.

"Well then, enjoy your young wife, Tiberius," Geta said, his tone casual, though his words carried a veiled command. His eyes flicked between the two of them as he added, "We’ll expect you tomorrow. At the arena. The fights will be spectacular, and we want the senators there with us." He chuckled softly. "The young lady, too. General Acacius and his wife have already agreed. I think she’ll appreciate the company."

"With pleasure, my emperor," Tiberius replied smoothly, bowing his head.

For once, Cassandra fully shared her husband’s feelings—neither of them wanted to attend.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Modesty and loyalty—these were the weapons of a noblewoman, her mother had taught her. But what if her modesty went unappreciated? What if her shy glances and lowered head brought only mockery?

The stands were alive with people eager to witness the bloody spectacle. The air was thick with excitement, buzzing with the restless energy of an audience awaiting carnage. Even the imperial viewing box, where the Praetorians had escorted them, was steeped in that same anticipation.

The moment they entered, Emperor Geta rose from his seat to greet her husband. Cassandra, ever modest, remained quietly in the background. Despite the luxury of the box, there was still too little space, and both emperors ended up uncomfortably close to her. Caracalla, however, didn’t bother to rise. His pale blue eyes stayed fixed on them, watching intently.

In the daylight, she could see him more clearly now: the powdered face, faint red marks scattered across his cheekbones, and vivid orange shadows encircling his eyes. His expression shifted—his gaze cold, almost hostile. Embarrassed, Cassandra quickly looked away, realizing she had stared too long, it seemed he didn’t appreciate being stared at.

Even with her back turned, she could feel his eyes lingering on her, their weight pressing against her like a physical force.

To her surprise and growing discomfort, Emperor Geta addressed her as well. He took her fingers in his cold hand and pressed his lips lightly against them.

"Your wife looks stunning, Tiberius," he praised her, turning to her husband. Cassandra felt a flicker of irritation. None of the men spoke directly to her, as if she were an object rather than a person. She quickly pulled her fingers from his grasp. Geta immediately looked at her, his dark eyes no longer smiling. Cassandra couldn’t help but think that, in that moment, he and his brother looked more alike than ever and she suddenly felt the urge to leave, to hide from the weight of his gaze, from the tightness of his lips and his clenched jaw muscles visibly twitching beneath his pale skin. Had her small gesture really angered him so much?

She never got an answer. Geta returned to his seat beside his brother, turning his attention to General Acacius, who was also in the box. Cassandra sat down next to her husband, right behind the daughter of the late Emperor Marcus Aurelius—Lucilla.

The woman leaned back against the carved chair and quietly spoke to her:

"I know your father, child, a good man. I’m glad to see you here."

Cassandra smiled, flattered. Finally, someone was speaking to her as an equal, especially someone like the beloved daughter of the great emperor. Catching her husband’s approving nod, Cassandra leaned toward the woman, continuing the simple conversation. Here, far from home, it was rare to have such a casual, kind-hearted talk.

The fights were already underway in the arena, and all the attention in the box was focused on the gladiators. Only she and Lucilla were not captivated by the battles. Truth be told, she was trying not to watch the arena at all, instead asking her companion about trivial things that piqued her curiosity.

When Lucilla didn’t answer her question, Cassandra grew puzzled, but then noticed that the woman was staring straight ahead, down at the arena, clearly lost in troubling thoughts. Another dangerous maneuver, and blood spilled across the sand, prompting a roar from the crowd.

Cassandra quickly turned away and caught the gaze of Emperor Caracalla. He was watching them over his shoulder, shifting his eyes from her to Lucilla. The red lips of the Caesar curled into a smile again, this time different—no longer cruel, but genuinely pleased, as if they had done something to please him. Still smiling, Caracalla turned away. Neither Lucilla nor Tiberius noticed the strange look from the young emperor, but she did. It wasn’t angry or annoyed. Maybe she had misjudged him? He seemed almost sweet now, in a way, charming. She immediately shook her head, pushing away the improper thoughts.

After the games, everyone was invited to continue the evening in the imperial palace. To Cassandra’s surprise, Tiberius agreed immediately when he heard that General Acacius would also be present.

The palace was nothing like Senator Thraex’s house. The luxury of the imperial halls made her mouth fall open and left her feeling like a country bumpkin. The guests here were even more distinguished than at the senator’s home, and she felt uncomfortable. Cassandra wanted to find Lucilla, to talk to her, perhaps then the evening would be more enjoyable, but Tiberius stopped her.

"Wait here, I have a little business to take care of."

She had no choice but to stand alone by the lavishly laden table. She didn’t feel like eating or drinking. Tiberius was gone longer and longer, and inside her, frustration began to boil. Some guests stole glances at her, quietly whispering among themselves. The young wife from a fallen house was hardly an important figure, but her husband—he was. Unable to stand it any longer, she quickly stepped out onto the wide balcony, holding her tunic and greedily breathing in the air, leaning against the railing.

The sun was setting behind the horizon, painting Rome before her in red.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?"

She quickly turned at the sound of the male voice. A respectable matron shouldn’t be alone with another man. And then she froze.

Red on red. The fading sun’s rays turned Emperor Caracalla’s red hair to flame, his clothes bled scarlet, and his jewelry shimmered. Too bright, too much red, with only his face pale, lifeless.

"My Emperor," she respectfully lowered her head, completely unsure how to act.

"Where is your husband?" He looked her up and down, examining her slowly, his mouth slightly open, before his gaze lingered on her face, not allowing her a moment to look away.

"I don’t know, Caesar. He promised to return any moment now," she lied.

"He’s been gone a long time, hasn’t he?" He lazily leaned against a column, continuing to observe her, a smirk exposing her lie.

Her cheeks immediately flushed, and she didn’t know what to say. She stood there, hands clasped in front of her. Caracalla didn’t seem cruel or frightening. In fact, she had imagined him differently before this meeting. The emperor was short, delicate, with no sharp angles—only soft, flowing lines accentuated by jewels and fine clothing. She could have sworn that if she got any closer, they’d be the same height. Apparently, this didn’t bother him in the least, as he continued to look at her with that condescending gaze, like she was a foolish child.

"How long have you been married?"

The question was tactless, but he was the emperor, and his questions could not be ignored.

"Six months," she replied reluctantly.

"Are you carrying a child?" His gaze immediately darted to her stomach.

Cassandra felt herself blushing more and more. It was not fitting for her to talk about such things. Moreover, the topic was indeed very painful.

"No. Not yet."

"Why?"

Caracalla approached her slowly, too close for a married woman. She was enveloped by the sweet scent of aromatic oils, powder, and wine. A dizzying mix.

Just as she was about to answer, he spoke again, leaning in too close, taking her hand in his. Gods! Was he flirting with her? What did all this mean? Her face, already red, burned with embarrassment and shame. What if someone saw them? What would they say about her?

Yet, Cassandra could not deny that she enjoyed this attention; it flattered her that the Emperor of Rome himself, the first among equals, showed interest in her. She truly melted...until she heard the next question.

"Does the old senator not fuck you enough? Or can he not do it at all?"

She froze, blinking in shock. What did he say? He looked just as innocent with a soft smile on his face and a curious gaze. Maybe she had misheard?

"I asked, does Senator Tiberius fuck you well?" His thumb pressed into the inner part of her palm, right where she had cut her hand the day before.

His soft white hands turned out to be surprisingly strong and tenacious. Cassandra tried to pull away, to reclaim her hand, but no, the emperor held firm, continuing to press on the wound, turning her hand so he could see the blood welling up from the barely healed cut.

She didn't dare object to him, didn't even dare open her mouth, though the pain was becoming unbearable. With his fingernail, he scraped off the scab, letting a bead of blood form. Cassandra saw how his pupils dilated, filling the blue of his irises with darkness, saw how his nostrils flared. It made her feel vulnerable, unprotected. That brief illusion she had about him shattered. He was cruel and insane, just as they said.

More than anything in the world, she regretted not staying home, safe in her chambers. The anxious realization that she had somehow become the object of his interest made her heart race frantically. Clamping her lips tight, she prayed to the gods for protection. But what use were the gods when here he was, right in front of her – the embodiment of Jupiter himself, father and ruler of Rome. Her lips trembled helplessly, holding back a whimper.

"Doesn't the obedient little bird arouse our stern senator or what? Who's to blame that your womb is still empty?" he purred, running his knuckles over her stomach.

She continued to pray silently for salvation, but who could stand against the Emperor of Rome?

"Brother?" - perhaps only another emperor.

Caracalla's eyes narrowed unkindly, his lips pressed into a line, he was clearly not pleased to see him. Yet he didn't back down, didn't even try to pretend everything was okay. Caracalla still stood inappropriately close, holding her hand in his. What if her husband had walked in? He would hardly have been more frightened by him than by his co-ruling brother. Cassandra swallowed hard.

"Emperor Geta, I…" - her words were ignored as Geta kept his dark eyes fixed on his brother.

"What do you think you're doing?" Emperor Geta whispered, as if fearful they might be overheard. Judging by how he nervously twisted the ring on his finger, Geta was anxious.

"What I said," Caracalla released her hand, giving it one last painful squeeze, but didn't step back, continuing to stand close, "I'm showing attention to the sweet wife of our beloved Senator Tiberius," his lips twisted mockingly.

It became absolutely clear to her why he had turned his attention to her. She was too young to remember those events herself, but from the gossip, Cassandra knew that Tiberius had opposed the boys' appointment as emperors after their father's death. The good relationship between the emperor and the Senate had ended with Marcus Aurelius's death.

"And do you remember what I told you? Or has your memory failed you again?" Caracalla bristled at his brother's words, his brow furrowing. "Why do you never listen to me?"

"And why should I?" The younger emperor's voice was no longer playful or soft, instead, it turned low and hoarse. "Or do you think you're in charge? Do you think I'm your dog?"

She wished she could sink into the ground rather than witness this confrontation. Cassandra took a step back as discreetly as she could, then another, hoping to slip away quietly.

"And who said she minds?" Of course, he noticed her, his blue eyes quickly shifted from his brother to her. Her hand was once again in his tight grip. “Do you mind?”

Oh, how much she minded, but Cassandra knew she couldn’t answer that way. Judging by the angry look in Caracalla’s eyes, she might be thrown right over the balcony.

"To serve the emperor is the highest honor for a Roman citizen," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"See?" He wrapped his arm around her waist, turning her towards Emperor Geta. "She likes it, so leave us be."

"Go, find your husband," Geta didn't back down, this time addressing her.

"No, she stays!" The hand on her waist tightened, fingers digging into her soft skin. She was hardly that necessary to him, but Caracalla clearly didn't want to yield to his brother.

"You heard me, go, he won't touch you," Geta exhaled wearily, personally approaching them and removing his brother's hands, holding onto her wrist.

Caracalla shot her such a hateful look that she recoiled. Gods, he would kill her! If Geta was his blood, then she was just a worthless simpleton who had rejected an emperor. In terror, she almost ran from the balcony, melting into the crowd. She didn't want to know how the brothers' dispute ended, but she saw four Praetorians enter the balcony just as she left.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Thoughts of the emperor's hate-filled gaze didn't leave her even at night, not even when she and her husband lay in bed. How could they, when, as a sign of "friendship and goodwill," the emperors had assigned them quarters right in the palace, insisting that the journey back to their villa was too long?

Here, amidst the gold and silk, she couldn't close her eyes.

Even when her husband was inside her, his hot breath scorching her neck, her mind was elsewhere. It never lasted long and brought her no pleasure. Each time, Cassandra prayed that the seed would take root and these absurd attempts at intimacy would at least pause for a while.

Tiberius, wrapped in a sheet, slept soundly. Her naked body was covered in goosebumps from the cold, but she didn't think to cuddle up to her husband. Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep, she silently rose from the bed and pulled her husband's short tunic over her head to at least cover her nudity. At home, she could walk around naked, but not here.

The Praetorian at the door didn't surprise her, of course, they had been assigned a guard. Or rather, she had.

"May I go out?" she whispered, trying to appear submissive and innocent, though she was overcome by a strange nervousness and irritability.

He was young, barely older than her, and thus his eyes widened at her appearance, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"The Emperor ordered to watch over your safety," the young man whispered back.

The Emperor. One of them. If it was Caracalla, this felt more like intimidation than concern. If it was Geta, then...it became even more frightening, since the protection was presumably from his own brother.

"You can come with me. I can't sleep," she pleaded.

Under the supervision of the Praetorian, Cassandra went out into a small garden located right inside the palace. She had been there during the day, after the clash with the emperor, but now, in the bright moonlight, everything looked different.

Weary, she sat on the edge of a small fountain topped with a marble statue of a naked nymph. The Praetorian stayed at the entrance, still flustered by her appearance, so she unhesitatingly stretched out her bare feet, dipping her toes into the sand.

The peacocks, sleeping nearby, rustled quietly, disturbed by her presence. Her mother had taught her that peacocks were a symbol of Juno, the wise and brave goddess.

"Grant me strength..." she whispered, looking at the moon.

"A strange place you've chosen for prayer, domina," a man's voice mocked from somewhere above.

She jumped up in fright, quickly pulling her hair from her back to her chest to cover herself. Her gaze darted around until it settled on the balcony directly above the garden.

Emperor Geta stood there, leaning on the railing with his arms, his head tilted to one side. For some reason, she couldn’t help but think of an owl, and almost let out a giggle. He looked different from how she remembered him. Without makeup, laurels, or rich clothing, just a red silk robe and unruly red curls. Apparently, he couldn't sleep either.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, lowering her head in shame, hoping Geta was as reasonable as he seemed. Although at one point, she had liked Caracalla too.

"Oh, no, the palace is at your disposal," he said, spreading his arms to encompass everything around. She relaxed.

"You are so kind, Caesar."

"It's the least I can do for you after what my brother did today," his voice grew quieter, more serious.

Was he genuinely concerned about what had happened? She lifted her head again, looking at the emperor and giving him a genuine smile this time. Geta smiled back, nervously licking his lips.

“Nothing terrible happened, but thank you… Thank you for your concern.”

He was still smiling, but his gaze had changed, becoming heavier, almost ominous in the light of the moon and torches.

"Yes, nothing happened…yet. But it will. So, I’ll apologize in advance. You’re no street girl, but what can I do? He’s my brother, and I love him."

She felt as if she'd been doused with ice water. Somewhere behind her came an animalistic screech, and in fear, she turned around, spotting a figure in the darkness. The scream continued as the figure approached. Cassandra already knew who it was. Geta turned out to be just like his brother after all.

The source of the unpleasant screeches turned out to be a small pet monkey perched on Emperor Caracalla's shoulder. Unlike his brother, he was still in his formal attire, minus the laurel wreath. Seeing her distorted face, he grinned as if she were greeting him with nothing less than a joyful smile.

Alone, in just a spacious white tunic, barefoot and with her hair loose, she wanted to cry. He wouldn't let her go just like that, she could see it in his face, his smile, his narrowed eyes - the bad thoughts buzzing in his red-haired head. Silently, he handed the noisy monkey, adorned with a gold chain around its neck, to a young slave, who bowed his head and left the garden.

Now she was his monkey. In his eyes, she had no more rights than that pet creature. Put a collar around her neck, attach a chain, and do whatever you want. The real monkey was luckier.

"What a delightful surprise, my dear," the emperor purred, his voice dripping with honey.

Geta watched from the balcony as if this were a spectacle in the Colosseum. Only she wasn't a gladiator. Cassandra stepped back, and he stepped forward. A cat and mouse game, where the cat would surely devour the mouse.

"Today you broke my heart, sweetheart," he said, closing the distance, "and I’m a bit sensitive, you know," with a couple of long strides, he caught up to her. His touch was like fire, his ring-laden hand caressing her cheek, making her freeze. "But I can also be merciful. Those who apologize properly deserve forgiveness, don't they, little bird?"

She swallowed hard. He didn't know her name, she realized. The humiliation was palpable. Caracalla lowered his hand and leaned in. In terror, she expected a kiss, but instead, he rubbed his nose against her cheek like a cat seeking affection. Her heart raced in her chest. She knew no man but her husband, and these intimate, bold touches terrified her. Once again, the scent of aromatic oils and powder invaded her senses, mixed with his hot, ragged breath. Unconsciously, she exhaled heavily in response.

"Please, no," she pleaded with her last shred of hope.

"No what, wifey? Do the work your senator can't? If the Senate fails, the task falls to the emperors, right, brother?" Caracalla laughed, addressing Geta, who was still watching.

"Right," the other emperor answered hoarsely.

"See? It's all fair. Besides, you told me yourself you were eager to serve Rome, didn't you? I am Rome, I am Jupiter," he breathed hotly into her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"I am ready to serve you, truly, but not like this... Please!"

And her plea was a colossal mistake. His eyes turned black, all traces of amusement vanished. He seized her neck roughly, turning her back to him, pressing her against the fountain's edge, pinning her down, his body against hers from behind, whispering with malice:

"By the gods, I was merciful, but you test me," his voice breaking, the grip on her throat tightening, "if you try to resist out of some foolish wish to preserve your chastity, I'll kill you right here, and I'll kill that Praetorian too. Your bodies will lie side by side, accused of debauchery, punished for the insult to your husband. Your death will be a disgrace, your body won't even get a proper burial. Understand?"

This time, she couldn't hold back the tears. What was worse, the shameful violation known only to her or the eternal disgrace that would mark her earthly life? Sobbing, she surrendered, relaxing beneath him, and the grip on her throat loosened.

"There we go, cry if you want, but let’s not make a scene, hm? Or do you want the whole palace to hear about our lovely little meeting?”

She shook her head silently, tears flowing incessantly, shame burning her cheeks, as she felt the emperor press against her from behind. The humiliation was compounded by the fact that Emperor Geta still watched, and at the entrance, she was absolutely sure, Praetorians stood guard.

"Tell me, how does your husband take you? I've always been curious about what that old bastard is like behind closed doors," his tone shifted every moment, now, Caracalla was tender, nuzzling her neck so she felt his gold earring glide through her hair. His lips touched her earlobe, first softly, teasingly, then his teeth took over, sharp and greedy. She gasped, but didn't protest. "Stay silent and I won't be gentle," he warned.

"Listen to him, girl, you might enjoy it," Geta's voice cut through from above.

"So, does he take you from behind, like a bitch in heat?" He thrust against her, testing, grinding into her hips. A soft moan escaped his lips, and to her horror, that sound resonated warmly in her abdomen, spreading lower.

She had stopped crying and now just breathed heavily, feeling him grip her hips as he rubbed against her. She couldn't ignore the hot hardness of his body, especially when one hand pressed down on her lower back, making her arch more. The tunic shamelessly rode up, exposing her thighs.

"So how then? Tell me, dear," he whispered hoarsely, continuing to move.

"He...he's not very tender, and my pleasure doesn't concern him much. I just lie on my back while he does his thing," she blurted out. Why had she said that!? Cassandra immediately bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself.

"Ah, the Senator doesn't satisfy his lovely young wife? What a waste!" She felt his hot tongue trail down her neck, his grip on her hips tightening, his nails digging into her skin, causing a slight pain as his hand went to her neck, squeezing...and felt a heat between her legs. May the gods curse her! He was a demon, sent to test her, to challenge her will!

"But don’t worry, I’ll take care of that" his whisper broke, his lips finding that tender spot where her neck met her shoulder, deceptively gentle before he kissed her, then Cassandra felt pain. He bit her, quietly growling and pressing his whole body against hers, thrusting his hips once more before he stilled. With her bare skin, she felt the fabric of his tunic dampen. Biting her lip, she dropped her head, trying not to cry again. That slight arousal she had felt receded.

To her tear-stained face, he responded with laughter, reminding her she was just a monkey on a gold leash. That he hadn't taken her today meant nothing. A humiliating slap on her cheek, and a sneering smile were his parting gifts. And in his cold, almost glassy eyes, there was no sign of amusement.

"Tomorrow we have more games, don't forget!" - and she knew Emperor Caracalla spoke not just of the gladiators.

[eleapolitan]

As Caesar loved me, I weep for him. As he was fortunate, I rejoice at it. As he was valiant, I honor him. But, as he was ambitious, I slew him.  There is tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor: and Death, for his ambition.

Shakespeare's Caesar x Nico Rosberg's 2016 F1 Championship Win

[pedgito]

it's taken me two years to finally getting around to compiling a list of fic recs together for posting, but we're finally here—a list of all the fics i've read this month (november). this is probably going to be a monthly thing since i tend to compile and read over weekends. thank you to everyone who keeps my hyperfixations alive and well with their beautiful writing and storytelling!

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you're just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 20

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ you've got to learn by @split-spectrum — 🌶️ (dubcon warning)

At a client's house party, you catch yourself getting jealous of other eyes on Joel. Joel pulls you aside to show you exactly what he thinks of that.

↝ for cryin' out loud by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️, ☄️

living with joel is complicated, especially when you can’t sleep due to nightmares. when you find yourself in his bed, you can’t help yourself. but joel sure can. give him a day to mull it over.

↝ road trip by @elflutter — 🌶️

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip

↝ well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either… by @sceletaflores - 🌶️, ☄️

↝ that's the way road dogs do it by @joelsdagger — 🌶️ (dubcon warning)

on a night out with friends, you run into someone from your past

↝ wherever you stray, i'll follow by @cavillscurls — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️ (a/b/o dynamics)

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

↝ stay awake by @toxicanonymity — 🌶️, (dark) ☁️ (dubcon warning)

Joel meets you by chance after looking for you for 400 years. Now he can’t risk letting you go.

↝ nobody likes a secret by @gracieheartspedro — ☄️, (brief) 🌶️

a rich wealthy playboy who becomes enthralled by his neighbor’s daughter. it never ends well when he can not fathom having happiness for himself.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒/𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒

↝ the farmer's daughter by @punkshort — 🌶️, ☄️

Forced to sell your body after your father's farm went under, you find yourself hand picked to service the Roman army on their latest battle away from Rome. What you didn't expect was to be selected to share General Acacius's room for the duration of the journey.

↝ war dog by @studioghibelli — 🌶️ (sub/dom dynamics)

the twin caesars were cruel, twisted, bad, unfit to rule the sweet empire of rome. but they pale in the shadow that you, their older sister, leaves behind. general acacius sees your hunger for power, your thirst for blood, your drive for ambition- it disgusts him. unfortunately, he cannot resist the temptation that is you.

↝ cosmic love by @kedsandtubesocks — 🌶️, ☁️ (ft. marcus pike)

a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

✎ — 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒

↝ with no strings attached by @jolapeno — 🌶️

stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

↝ more than letters (prologue: the letters) by @almostfoxglove - ☄️

An epistolary prologue. Paired up as pen pals in sixth grade, you and Frankie turn a middle school assignment into a years long friendship.

✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍/𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒

↝ fourth time's the charm by @jolapeno —🌶️

when you turn up for your reservation, you don't expect him to be there. uninvited.

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ the road not taken by @guiltyasdave — ☄️, ☁️

↝ hold still by @almostfoxglove — 🌶️

On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ bad idea by @murder-wife — 🌶️

↝ neighbors by @gothcsz — 🌶️, ☄️

what it's like living next door to javier peña.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ melting point by @drawingdroid — ☁️, ☄️

You’re a first-year PhD at The University of Nevarro specialising in Mandalorian Art. When your favourite sculptor, the mysterious Mando, opens an art exhibition in the city, you’re the first one to enrol. Unexpectedly, attending to that opening would end up changing your life forever.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ handjob by @sanarsi

Oberyn is busy discussing important matters for the kingdom but he can’t resist taking care of you as you sit thirsty on his lap.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you're taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[dioslesbianwife]

Can I please request the Jojo's with the most wholesome cinnamon roll partner the type of person who cried because she stepped on a bug and now the bug family must miss them.

Their partner making the cutest lunches ever with notes saying how much she loves them 💖

sure this is so cute, i hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting :33

Jonathan Joestar

Jonathan is already the human embodiment of a golden retriever boyfriend, so when he meets someone even softer than him? He’s absolutely smitten.

When you cry because you accidentally stepped on a bug and whisper, “What if he had a little beetle wife and three beetle children…” Jonathan kneels down beside you and holds your hands so gently:

“Let’s say a prayer for him, my dear. May his beetle family find peace.”

He's genuinely touched by your compassion. Your gentleness gives him strength, and he tries to match your level of empathy in everything he does.

The first time you pack his lunch, he’s shocked by how beautiful it is. You cut the fruit into little hearts and arranged tiny sandwiches shaped like flowers. And then he finds the note.

“To my brave and handsome gentleman ♡ ♡ ♡ I’m so proud of you!! Eat lots and don’t forget you’re loved ♡  –Y/N”

He tears up. In front of everyone.

Joseph Joestar 

Joseph acts like a goof, but when he sees how sincere and tender you are, it absolutely melts him.

He teases you when you cry over the squished ant (“Was his name Tony?! Did you kill Tony the ant?!”), but when he sees how genuinely sad you are, he immediately goes full boyfriend mode. “Hey, hey, c’mere- how about we save a worm from the sidewalk next time? Bug karma, right?”

When you start packing his lunches? He brags to EVERYONE.

“Look at this adorable rice ball!! Shaped like me!! She made it with love, Caesar, try to compete with that.”

He reads the notes out loud with a sappy voice and kisses the paper like a drama king.

“To my one and only, the most heroic dork in the world- ♡  GOD she loves me so much- wait, what’s this? A stick figure of me punching a vampire? I’M FRAMING THIS.”

Jotaro Kujo

At first, your overflowing affection and softness confuse him.

You wept for a full 10 minutes because he killed a spider that “wasn’t hurting anyone!!!” and now you’re pacing the kitchen whispering, “What if he was bringing food home to his babies-”

Jotaro: “…You want me to go dig a grave for the spider?”

You: “... Could you?”

He does it.

He acts annoyed by the cutely packed lunches, but he never misses a single one. They always disappear. Every single time.

The first time he finds a note that says, “Don’t forget you’re amazing, Jotaro, Star Platinum isn’t the only one who’s got your back!” he hides it in his wallet and reads it on lonely nights.

Jotaro isn’t good with words, so when you cry over injured pigeons or send him off with “have a heroic day, my angel!” he just blushes and grunts,

“…Yare yare… you're too good for this world.”

Josuke Higashikata

The minute he realizes you have that kind of softness? He vows to protect you with his life.

Josuke is good at matching your emotions too, so when you cry over accidentally stepping on a caterpillar, he’s right there with tissues like,

“He probably had a name… like, uhh… Mr. Squiggles or something. It’s okay, babe. We’ll plant flowers in his memory.”

When you give him a lunch box shaped like a cat’s face and inside is a smiley-face made out of rice and seaweed?? He SCREAMS.

He takes selfies with his lunch every day and sends them to you with captions like:

“Best. Girlfriend. Ever. Look at this masterpiece!!!”

He keeps every love note, even the silly ones like “you’re the king of my heart (and my favorite pompadour ♡)”

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno is so used to cruelty and cold ambition, he doesn’t know what to do when he meets someone genuinely sweet.

You once cried because a bee drowned in your tea. Giorno silently used Gold Experience to make a new one, then handed it back to you like nothing happened.

You whispered, “You’re my hero,” and he literally looked like you just stabbed him with love.

He sees your kindness as revolutionary. He’s so moved that you choose to care so deeply about the smallest lives.

Your bento boxes are art. You include color themes, edible flowers, and once even made a tiny pastry version of his ladybug brooch.

Giorno is silent when he reads your love notes… then folds them carefully and tucks them into a hidden drawer.

They remind him of the world he wants to create: gentle, safe, and full of warmth.

Jolyne Cujoh

Jolyne pretends your wholesome vibes are way too much for her, but secretly? She’s obsessed.

“You’re crying over a bug again? Ugh… c’mere you soft weirdo, let me hold you.”

(She’s rubbing your back while you sob about how “he probably had tiny dreams and little bug hopes-”)

When you start packing her lunches- either from outside the prison or getting to the lunch line early to make the gross cafeteria food at least presentable- She’s shook.

You make every meal look so cute along with a note that says:

“You’re the coolest girl in the world and I love you more than butterflies love sunshine and nectar ♡”

She straight-up flexes that lunch in the prison yard.

“Yeah, I’ve got someone who actually loves me. What about it?”

She’ll act like she doesn’t care, but she reads those notes before bed every single night.

Johnny Joestar

Johnny has a lot of pain in his heart, and when you show him so much softness, he doesn’t know how to receive it at first.

He asks, confused: “Why… do you care so much about everything?”

When you gently explain that the world has enough cruelty, and you want to be something kinder in it, he stares at you in awe.

One day you’re sobbing because you accidentally kicked over an anthill and you’re whispering, “I’ve destroyed their kingdom… the queen is probably weeping,”

And Johnny just strokes your hair and goes, “Damn… I love you.”

You pack him the cutest lunches full of squishy fruit gummies, sandwiches shaped like horses, and smiley cheese cubes.

He reads your notes with trembling fingers and starts believing- really believing- that he deserves love after all.

Josuke Higashikata (Gappy)

Josuke is extremely confused at first. You’re the first person to be so affectionate and pure.

The first time you cry because you stepped on a snail, he thinks he did something wrong. But you just whisper, “Snail heaven better be nice…” and he realizes you’re just like this.

He gets really protective of you. He doesn’t want the world to crush your spirit.

When you give him a lunch with strawberries cut like hearts and a note that says, “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you ♡”-he hides behind a tree to cry.

He keeps the notes in a shoebox under his bed and reads them when he’s anxious. They mean more to him than you’ll ever know.

[ancientcharm]

 'I am no king, but Caesar'

Gaius Julius Caesar was born on July 12, 100 BC in the Suburra, a populous neighborhood of Rome, to a patrician family although in economic decline. In Gens Iulia, those who had the surname Caesar descended, according to the account of Pliny the Elder, from a man who was born after a Caesarean section (from the Latin verb "to cut", caedo, -ĕre, caesus sum). He was born in a Republic in crisis and the aristocracy divided into two warring factions: The optimates and populares. He lost his father when he was about 14 years old; he was greatly influenced by his maternal uncle Gaius Marius. Caesar had an older sister, Julia Major, and a younger sister Julia Minor (maternal grandmother of Emperor Augustus). His uncle, Gaius Marius, was the leader of the Populares ("supporters of the people") and rival of Lucius Cornelius Sulla, leader of the Optimates ( "best ones")

In 84 BC Lucius Cornelius Cinna, an ally of Gaius Marius, chose the 16 year old Caesar to be flamen Dialis (priest of Jupiter) and married him to his 13 year old daughter Cornelia with whom Caesar had a daughter named Julia. It is not certain whether the girl was born a few months before or after the teen Caesar had fled Rome or, more likely according to historians, she was born when he returned years later and was reunited with his wife.

Following the suicide of Gaius Marius in 86 BC, Cinna, one of the leaders of the Populares, became sole ruler of Rome and most of the provinces while persecuting Sulla's followers. In 84 Cinna was assassinated and populares defeated.

Due of his ties to the Cinna family, Sulla attempted to force Caesar to divorce Cornelia if he wanted to live in peace, but Caesar refused. Sulla confiscated his property, and he was forced to leave Rome. Populares supporters and Caesar's own mother pressured Sulla to allow him to return, claiming that he was not dangerous as he was just an adolescent. Sulla refused and said "I see several Marius in him" referring to his archrival Gaius Marius, Caesar's uncle.

Shortly afterwards, although he was allowed to return to Rome, Caesar decided to head to Asia to participate in the war against Mithridates VI of Pontus. There he distinguished himself in the capture of Mytilene. He then headed to Bithynia, a kingdom allied to Rome, where he spent some time.

In addition to being a politician and a soldier, Julius Caesar was a writer. Among others, his works were a treatise on astronomy, another on Roman religion, a study on Latin and his comments on the war in Gaul and the Civil War; only his writings on those two wars have not been lost.

In the year 78 after Sulla's death from natural causes, Caesar decided finally to return to Rome. He was reunited with his wife Cornelia, who had waited patiently for him. Nine years later, Cornelia- the only woman he truly loved, according to all accounts- died at the age of 28. Caesar went into deep mourning and gave a solemn speech.

After serving as quaestor in the Hispania Ulterior province where he increased his network of clients - patronage was key to success in Roman politics - Caesar returned to Rome in 69 BC where he served as Aedile; he carried out building programs and offered the largest gladiatorial games seen until then. This left him almost bankrupt. In 60 BC he decided to make a private agreement with the prestigious general Pompey the Great and one of the richest man, Marcus Licinius Crassus. Pompey had just put an end to the pirate problem and years earlier, together with Crassus, he had defeated the slave rebellion led by Spartacus.

Pompey and Crassus were hampered in many of their ambitions by the Optimates in the Senate. Caesar, knowing this, approached them to put together an unofficial coalition - known to history as the Triumvirate - if they made him Consul, he would see to it that laws were passed that would benefit them. To further consolidate this alliance, in the year 59 BC Caesar married Pompey to Julia. Although this was a typical political marriage, classical sources state that Julia truly loved Pompey and he loved her.

Pompey and Crassus decided to ally themselves with Caesar and the populares in order to gain more offices and wealth. In this way, the three took full control of Rome. In 59 Caesar was appointed consul.

Laws were passed granting the province of Syria to Crassus. Laws were passed distributing lands among Pompey's veterans. And at his own request, the Gallic provinces-both the pacified and the "wild" ones- were handed over to Caesar. Cicero, a true defender of the Republic, was exiled due his bold speeches against the Triumvirate, which he called a "three-headed monster" but was allowed to return the following year. The passage of the laws favoring the triumvirs was ensured by introducing veteran legionaries of Pompey into the meetings of the Senate.

Also in 59 BC Caesar established a military camp in the Arno valley, on the Via Cassi, the main communication route between Rome and the north of the country. He called the camp Florentia, which means "flowering." The camp quickly became an important commercial town. Today it is the beautiful Italian city Florence.

In Gaul with his legions, he defeated and subdued several peoples in just a few years. Caesar wrote in detail about this conquest in his Bellum Gallicum (Gallic War). Believing that everything was under control, he headed to the mysterious land that the Romans called Britannia and where they believed the world ended. The Gallic War was between 58-52 BC

Caesar finally arrived in Britain for the first time in the summer of 55 landing with two legions. The following year he arrived with 800 ships, five legions and 2,000 cavalry. Caesar's comments on this war constitute the first written descriptions of the people, culture and geography of the island.

Although Caesar not conquered Britania (it was conquered under the Emperor Claudius) this campaign it established Rome's first allied peoples in Britain.

While in Britania, Caesar received the news that his daughter and the baby she was expecting had died in childbirth.

At the same time he had no idea that a genuine leader named Vercingetorix, of the Arverni tribe, had managed to unite all the Gallic peoples under his authority, determined to expel the Romans

Caesar himself called him "King of all the Gauls"

The most famous and final battle was that of Alesia. Although Vercingetorix was a great warrior, he could do nothing against the genius (sometimes bordering on madness) of Caesar and his legionaries. According to Caesar, Vercingetorix, seeing that if he continued he would starve his entire people to death due to the siege, rode towards the Roman camp, dismounted, took off his sword and sat on the ground without saying a word. He decided to surrender in exchange for his people living. And so it happened, Vercingetorix was taken prisoner but his men were not executed. But Caesar had to wait years for his triumph -and Vercingetorix had to wait as a prisoner in Rome, before his execution- because while Caesar was fighting against the Gauls, many Roman senators were plotting his downfall.

Everything Caesar wrote about his battles and conquests, written in the third person, was copied and sent to be read publicly in Rome, which was celebrated by the plebs and Caesar 's supporters. True republicans such as Cato, Cicero, Cassius, and Brutus perceived a real danger to the Republic. The Triumvir Crassus was killed by Parthians in his failed attempt to conquer Parthia: The triumvirate was over and Pompey, who had become Sole Consul saw in Caesar a dangerous rival, and allied himself with the Optimates again.

They created a new law: the office of consul or proconsul could no longer be held in absentia, as well as running for those offices outside of Rome. Thus, Caesar, far from Rome, lost the protection of the law that granted him his magistracy—just as today, the President of a nation cannot be prosecuted while in office—and could no longer run for election as consul or proconsul. Clearly, the idea was to put him on trial and send him, hopefully, into exile, since thanks to this law, he instantly became an ordinary citizen.

Upon receiving this news, Caesar was enraged and decided to return to Rome not as a citizen, but as a general commanding his legionaries, who followed him devotedly. He would later say, "I never wanted this war, but my adversaries have eagerly sought it."

No legion was to reach Rome by crossing the Rubicon River; such an action meant civil war.. Caesar crossed the Rubicon with his XIII legion and proclaimed a very popular phrase in Ancient Rome that players always said before throwing the dice: "Alea Iacta Est" (the die is cast). This is known thanks to Roman historians who took as a source the writings of Gaius Asinius Pollio, who was close to Caesar and could have heard him. This saying became legendary even for the ancient Romans due to the surprising idea of ​​using this phrase from a game in the context of a war.

Pompey and his legionaries left Rome and prepared for the war in Greece. In September of 48 Pompey was defeated at the Battle of Pharsalus. But he did not give up and headed to Egypt to seek the support of the young king Ptolemy XIII. Egypt was then a vassal kingdom of Rome due to its years of indebtedness, and the creditor was precisely Pompey, who had lent huge sums to Ptolemy XII. But as soon as he landed in Egypt, he was met by a group of men who, in the name of the young king, beheaded him and took his ring.

Fun fact: Among those who fought alongside Pompey against Caesar was the centurion Titus Flavius ​​Petro, who after the defeat at Pharsalus was pardoned by Caesar and returned home; he was the grandfather of Titus Flavius ​​Vespasian, the emperor who replaced the Julio-Claudian dynasty with his own Flavian dynasty in 69 AD.

While Cato the Younger and his men went to the province of Africa to continue the resistance, and Pompey's sons did the same in Hispania. Caesar went looking for Pompey to try to come to an agreement.

'Julius Caesar’s Dismay Upon Seeing The Head Of Pompey' (detail) By Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (18th century)

King Ptolemy XIII, who was engaged in his own war with his sister Cleopatra for the throne, thought that by killing Pompey and giving his head and ring as a gift he would earn Caesar's gratitude and thus his kingdom would settle the unpayable debt it owed Rome. But Caesar was enraged by the undignified manner in which a Roman general and consul had been murdered and decided to side with Cleopatra and her allies.

The meeting between Cleopatra VII and Caesar at night and she entered hidden inside a huge rolled-up carpet carried by his slaves. Cleopatra was one of the many lovers that he had, they lived together and had a son, nicknamed Caesarion (little Caesar) whom he recognized but not legally. While Republican forces continued to resist, Caesar was immersed in the war between Ptolemy XIII, Cleopatra and the other sister, Arsinoe IV. Caesar's troops, together with those of Cleopatra plus Caesar's allies such as Mithridates of Pergamon and his army and a Jewish armed force led by Antipater finally won that war in January 47 and Cleopatra kept the throne of Egypt.

The Death of Cato of Utica, By Jean-Paul Laurens.

In early 46 BC, Caesar defeated the army of Cato the Younger, also known as Cato of Utica . Cato did not take part in the battle and being in Utica, Africa, after receiving the news that Caesar had won and pardoned his adversaries, decided to take his own life at the age of 49. Cato had a republican soul but was stubborn man, and was convinced that Caesar wanted to be king. He was the half-brother of Brutus's mother, Servilla (Caesar's long-time lover).

It was in this same year that Caesar, with the advice of the astronomer Sosigenes of Alexandria, reformed the calendar, leaving each month with the same number of days as it has today and creating the leap year.

The final battle of Munda, in Hispania, was on March 17, 45 BC, thus ending the civil war. Caesar returned to Rome and an intimidated Senate legitimized his victory by appointing him dictator for a ten-year term.

The position of Dictator was created by the Republic itself; he was a magistrate, elected by the Senate, with absolute powers to resolve military emergencies or exceptional tasks for a period of six months. He had to leave after that period or before if he managed to resolve the problem. This 10-year dictatorship was unprecedented.

In February 44 BC, Caesar succeeded in having the people of Rome proclaim him dictator for life. Cicero resigned from political life in protest.

Cassius persuaded Brutus that the only way to save the Republic was to kill Caesar. They needed Brutus to lead the conspiracy because of his prestige; he was not only Cato's nephew but also the direct descendant of the Republic's founding father.

The Death of Caesar. By Vincenzo Camuccini (1805)

On 15 March 44 BC the group of conspirators intercepted Caesar just as he was passing the Theatre of Pompey, where the Roman Curia was meeting, and led him into a room off the portico. Lucius Tillius Cimber, under the pretext of presenting a petition, grabbed Caesar's toga with both hands and pulled him so tha Publius Servilius Casca could stab him, causing Caesar to exclaim "Ista quidem vis est?" ("What kind of violence is this?") Casca, drawing a dagger, slashed him across the neck. "What are you doing, Casca, you villain?" were perhaps his last words.

According to classical sources, he tried to flee but slipped on his own blood. A Roman coroner stated that "Caesar's body had several cuts, and 23 stab wounds but only one of them, in the chest, was fatal." They also claim that as he lay dying he took his toga and covered his face so that no one would see him die. He was 55 years old.

Mark Antony with other colleagues carefully collected the body and carried it before the people. Then he made a memorable speech.

The month then called Quintilis, the month of Caesar's birth, was renamed Iulius (July) in his honour on the initiative of Mark Antony. Julius Caesar was the last dictator of Rome; the office was abolished after his death.

Caesar named his grandnephew Gaius Octavius ​​Thurinus as sole heir and adopted son, taking the name Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. As was customary in this type of adoption, he had the name of his maternal relative and since then he legally belonged to the family clan, in this case the Julii, adding to his new name the original paternal lineage: Octavianus ( "of the Octavii").

A good example to understand this is the father of Empress Livia, who was born with the name Appius Claudius Pulcher and who, upon being adopted by his maternal uncle Marcus Livius Drusus, changed his name to Marcus Livius Drusus Claudianus.

But nowhere in Caesar will did he say that his nephew should be his successor in office. It was very common among Roman aristocrats without sons to adopt a nephew, son of a sister or niece, or a grandson through a daughter if the father had already died, to continue the surname or clan name (nomen gentile).

If he legally recognized Caesarion, the boy would become a Roman citizen, and it would be a serious problem if the king of Egypt were Roman, as he could claim a throne in Rome. This shows that Caesar did not intend to establish a monarchy and was genuinely concerned about his fatherland.

Octavius certainly benefited from the adoption, but he became the Emperor of Rome thanks to his iron will, extraordinary cunning and political skill.

After his death, Caesar was proclaimed Divus Iulius, or the Divine Julius. He was the first Roman ruler to be deified.

After the end of the Julio-Claudian Dynasty, the cognomen CAESAR would become a Title of the Imperial Power, even many centuries later translated into other languages, such as the German Kaiser or the Russian Tsar.

In front of the theatre, an altar was erected where the pyre was placed so that Julius Caesar's body could be cremated in great mourning. Part of this altar is still preserved in the ruins; more than two thousand years after the assassination, every 15th of March, people come to leave flowers there.

Photo by Giovanni Dall'Orto, taken on March 15, 2008 Attribution, via Wikimedia Commons

[icaruspendragon]

out of the twenty-three times julius caesar got stabbed, it was the second one that killed him.

ambition: a grievous fault and grievously hath caesar answered it.

judgement and brutish beasts and men, etc., etc.

[navree]

i am once again filled with the urge to be the one who makes the definitive movie/tv show about the last war of the roman republic because i'd be normal about both sides

[thedilfdiaries]

This is my first time making one of these, and I feel like I should have done it a long time ago. There's been so many amazing fics I've read this past month. This month alone, I've done more reading and reblogging than I ever have, so buckle up 'cause it's about to be a long one. There's roughly 40ish fics here

A big thank you to every single author on this list for taking the time to write these and for the privilege of letting us read these and for free might I add. Your hard work, blood, sweat and tears has not gone unnoticed.

Please read the warnings before you indulge in these wonderful fics 🥰 enjoy!

Acacius

ᯓ★ Foxglove Downs Masterlist - @whocaresstillthelouvre

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader

Summary: In the exclusive realm of elite show jumping, where wealth stretches as far as the polished estates, Marcus Acacius and Lucius Verus are locked in a fierce competition that reaches far beyond the arena.

ᯓ★ cosmic love - @kedsandtubesocks

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

ᯓ★ Wardog - @studioghibelli

Pairing: Marcus x reader  

Summary: the twin caesars were cruel, twisted, bad, unfit to rule the sweet empire of rome. but they pale in the shadow that you, their older sister, leaves behind. general acacius sees your hunger for power, your thirst for blood, your drive for ambition- it disgusts him. unfortunately, he cannot resist the temptation that is you. 

Dave York

ᯓ★ Law of attraction series - @baronessvonglitter

Pairing: Rom Com AU - divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring club owner!Javier Peña) 

Summary: Attraction isn't an easy thing to ignore. Especially when you and Dave find yourselves entangled in each other's professional and then private lives. 

ᯓ★let them feel - @guiltyasdave

pairing: Dave York x f!reader with a side of whichever Pedro boys you want x f!reader

summary: @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed. enjoy <3

ᯓ★Fear & Delight - @pedgito

Pairing: Dave York x Reader

Summary: Dave's one last contract to tie up before the holidays proves to be more difficult than he expected.

Din Djarin

ᯓ★For the first time - @sawymredfox

pairing: Din Djarin x fem able-bodied reader

summary: The decision is made, it's time to do it. Hopefully, he'll survive the pain.

Frankie Morales

ᯓ★ Be My Baby - A Very Frankie Christmas - @schnarfer

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

Summary: Will you be my (Christmas) baby?

ᯓ★ The Layover - @magpiepills

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f reader x f reader’s friend x Santi Garcia

Summary: you and your friend meet a couple guys on their way back to Florida from Colombia. One thing leads to another and you end up at a motel.

ᯓ★ More Than Letters Series - @almostfoxglove

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: You've tried long distance once: in college, after meeting your childhood pen pal Frankie in person for the first time. It didn't work out. More than a decade later, your mom calls with news: a letter has shown up for you with a familiar return address.

ᯓ★ nut vid with the sound on - @syd-djarin

Pairing: frankie "catfish" morales x f!reader

Summary :You accidently send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

Javier Peña

ᯓ★Unscripted Desire - @gothcsz

Pairing: pornstar!javixreader

Series summary: you’re a camerawoman that shoots pornos. javier peña is the pornstar you can’t stand. why is it that you’re always so affected by him? Explicit. Minors DNI. 

ᯓ★Touch Tank - @thundermartini

Pairing: javier peña x f!reader

Summary:Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

ᯓ★Branded - @sawymredfox

pairing: Javier Peña x fem! able-bodied reader

summary: Javier acknowledges something in the middle of the jungle.

ᯓ★The Constant - @milla-frenchy

Pairing: Javier Pena x fem reader

Summary: Javi wakes up after a nightmare

ᯓ★ FYBF- @almostempty

Pairing: Javier x f! reader

Summary: javier takes you home to prove that he can fuck you better than your boyfriend

Joel Miller

ᯓ★A Christmas Miracle - @punkshort

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

ᯓ★texas red - @studioghibelli

pairing: joel miller x reader, 18+

summary: Joel ain’t used to lovin’ like yours.

ᯓ★ guilty pleasure: a fic in fetlife messages @wintrwinchestr

pairing: joel miller x f!reader oneshot

summary: joel is a freak and is tired of keeping it to himself. he finally decides to make himself a fetlife profile and finds just the type of girl he's been looking for to match his freak: you.

ᯓ★Phonophilia - @ozarkthedog

Pairing: Joel miller x f reader

Summary: Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

ᯓ★Loopholes series  @yxtkiwiyxt

pairing : Joel Miller x f reader 

Series Summary: After a recent layoff from your job, you're now facing the end of your work visa in the U.S. which is set to expire soon. Tommy needs to access his trust fund before turning 35 or by marrying, so he presents you with a proposition: pretend to be his fiancée. In return, he’ll sponsor your work visa by putting you on the payroll for Miller Construction. But things get more complicated when you meet Tommy's older brother, Joel, who is skeptical about your fast-tracked engagement.

ᯓ★Fixation - @mssalo

Pairing: joel x f reader

Summary: You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy. 

ᯓ★Precision - @mrsmando

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel lets you trim his mustache. 

ᯓ★But he's the one i want - @wheresarizona

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

ᯓ★Bad Santa - @baronessvonglitter

Pairing: sleazy mall Santa!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Frantically seeking relief during the Christmas rush, the Santa at your local mall is the last person you'd expect to help.. and the only one who can.

ᯓ★it means something - @jolapeno

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

ᯓ★HARDER THAN YOU THINK - @aurorawritestoescape & @milla-frenchy

Pairing:Boss!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It’s your first day at work and you feel nervous. But what can go wrong if your boss is your dad’s best friend, a person you’ve known and trusted for years? 

ᯓ★Lie to me - @strang3lov3

Pairing: dark+joel x f reader

Summary: Joel catches you red handed

ᯓ★dance away your cowboy blues - @kedsandtubesocks

Pairing: Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad? 

ᯓ★ The Wold You Feed Series - @arcanefox207

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter.

ᯓ★Fallin' - @probablyreadinsmut

Pairing: Joel Miller X Afab!Reader

Summary: Reader is Joel's neighbour, a mid to late twenties pastry chef, who finds herself running on fumes. You're married to your high-school sweetheart Matt and for the longest time you were happy.

The loss of his job a few months prior changed him and before you knew it, the man you'd married didn't exist anymore. Replaced by a volatile stranger, it was him, but it wasn't him.

Joel Miller finds himself at the centre of it all and when the world ends, the trouble for him, doesn't end with it.

ᯓ★The Mrs Clause - @probablyreadinsmut

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Afab!Reader

Summary: You and Joel are Patrol partners who have been dancing around your feelings for each other for the longest time. Tommy has had enough of it and decides to intervene, setting Joel and you up as Santa and Mrs Claus.

ᯓ★ Steal Your Girl - @evolnoomym

Pairing:Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel shows you good time after some dude makes you feel very disappointed.

ᯓ★ A good grade - @itwasntimethatdidit40

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade?

ᯓ★ cherry thrill masterlist - @hellishjoel

Pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x virgin sub f!reader

series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea.

Reed Richards

ᯓ★That Shit wont end well - @sanarsi

Pairing: reed richards x f reader 

Summary: An affair with the most famous inventor of your time? What could possibly go wrong?