#Lucius has a palace!

[dragonsflame117]

Lucius is in!!

I still need his final thermostat and humidity gauge to get here, so I have an old one just sitting in his habitat (both sides) for now.

[catominor]

do you guys think a small a nd sickly senator can really have a virtuous and wise stoicful mindset

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Sweet pleasures (Part 1)

Summary: You accidentally capture the attention of Lucius the Eternal while your world dies under the oppression of heretics

Lucius The Eternal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession possessive behavior, manipulation, intimidation, kidnapping, dubious consent, body horror

Word count: 2421

Song: The Sisters of Mercy - More

Good luck, guys. I tried very hard while writing all these horrors and erotica.

You're scared. You're very scared. It was unusual. Wrong. No. No. No. You always knew how to find a way out of any situation. Could always adapt to circumstances. Wear almost any mask. Anyone could like you. Well, apparently this last skill failed you.

You were born on one of the many Imperial Worlds. One of many hive worlds. Аather was a worker, mother a laundress. Joyless life at the middle levels. And a beautiful daughter. Only the daughter turned out to be strange. Behaved differently, thought otherwise.

You didn't want to live so poorly. So that your already short life passes unnoticed. But you didn’t intend to zealously serve the Emperor as a Sister of Battle. No, it was foreign to you. You weren't going to fight. Besides, you didn't have much faith in the Emperor. Of course you prayed and did not say heretical thoughts out loud. But what can you do?

You were quite beautiful. And healthy for your status. Could make friends with many people. Even the gloomiest arbitrators were touched by the sight of you when you were a child. You could become a courtesan. And then could become the concubine of a rich aristocrat. But such a role did not appeal to you either. Quite the contrary. Scared you away.

At some point you found yourself at one of the ports. Spent almost the whole week there. Due to fatigue at work, your parents did not notice your long absence. And at this time you were learning to read. Learned the jargon of smugglers and honest traders. Looked at the maps and kept an eye on the Mechanicum. Occasionally, on the sly. And sometimes openly.

They offered to take you with you. Show all these amazing worlds, but you knew it was a trap. But staying in your parents’ house was also a trap. No matter how you look at it, an honest life did not give anything, but only took away. That's why you started lying.

And you were good at it.

Who have you been in your short life? No actress can compare with your talent. You learned to play the organ. A couple of times pretended to be a nun to look at the holy relics. Made your way into the palace of the aristocrats as one of the maids of honor. They believed you easily. You even thought that you might have been born a psyker. But no, the Black Ship did not come for you.

A couple of times you even followed the mutants hiding in the bowels of the city. Maybe you are one of them? You felt pity for these creatures. They were different from people in appearance, but they were still humans. But they were disgusting to everyone. And you were loved.

You continued to ingratiate yourself with the arbitrators. The hands of the law, of course, could not refuse a lady in trouble and allowed you a lot. And you attended evenings with the nobility. You saw how it was possible to live. You ate and drank things you could never afford as a laundress. You were free and happy.

And you wanted to try so much. Feel it. And at some point you realized that you wanted to leave your world. You wanted to see the whole Imperium. To taste everything. You were ready.

And then Chaos came.

***

The resistance to the heretics did not last even a week. They were too strong. As you later found out, this was not just one band of space marines. There were several of them. Apparently the heretics pursued a new goal after the fall of Cadia. And your planet has become just an obstacle on the way, which can be turned... into entertainment.

You're probably lucky that you didn't meet any fanatics of Nurgle or Tzeentch. The Khornites would simply crush you. Only now you find that your part of the city was captured by the Slaaneshists... Hedonists and debauchees. Admirers of torture and lovers of using human flesh as a drug.

You tried to hide from them. Used every opportunity. The survivors looked at you and couldn’t help but share their shelter with you. they were so kind. You felt a shame. You were a liar but not an evil woman. In the end, you left this family hiding in the bowels of the city and took to the streets. You hoped to find a new shelter.

And in the end you encountered mortal cultists who were looking for city residents to make offerings to their masters. They rejoiced when they captured you. They mockingly consoled you. Caressed. But nothing more. They said that their lord should receive a whole and untouched toy.

At that moment, for the first time in your life, you felt helpless.

***

You fully appreciated the perversity of the Emperor's Children when you saw the main hall of one of the richest aristocrats. The golden and white walls were covered with pieces of human flesh. The heads of the statues were cut off and human heads were placed in their place. Men, women. Even children. Liters of blood flowed down the walls and floor. It was impossible to stay clean in this mess.

The center of the hall was filled with bodies. Alive and dead. Their bodies were joined in a brutal orgy. Although this word only narrowed down all the horror that was happening in this place. Men and women, young and old, mated like animals. They cut each other and themselves. They devoured human flesh, blood and even excrement. They sang, no, they shouted, drawn-out melodies. Mortals are mired in the ritual of the heretics, unable to resist.

And you could have ended up there... if you had not looked at the warrior who grabbed you with pitiful eyes. He liked your look. Stroking your head, he said that such a beauty should not die so early. Although you saw that among this mass there were also noblewomen who were much more beautiful and healthier than you. You definetly was a rare mutant.

And luckily for you, it was even easier for you to please the heretics. You didn't even have to try. Didn’t have to learn anything new, make an effort or try to understand the other person. No, they just liked your defenseless and vulnerable look. Something fragile that can be broken. Perverts.

You try not to shake so as not to drop the tray. You have been registered as a “servant”. You and several other slaves stood against the right wall, holding a tray with various dishes. Someone had drugs created from the tears of prisoners. Someone's got guts. You are lucky, on your tray there are fresh berries from the aristocrat's reserves.

The food was not intended for ordinary traitorous Space Marines, much less mortal cultists. They were having fun on the lower levels of the palace. No, you had to serve the gang leaders, who sat on pillows made of human skin. You looked at them sometimes, unable to contain your curiosity. But how you wanted to erase their image from your memory.

On the left side was a Space Marine, hairless and with incredibly bottomless black eyes. The mouth stretched out, more like a lattice. He slowly stroked his weapon, enjoying the “music” of the slaves. Next to him sat a half-man, half-bull. The huge armor was strewn with the skulls of defeated enemies. The Space Marine was talking with the main leader, lazily playing with the dissected brains of a slave with one hand...

The unfortunate man had just recently presented them with wine. The rest of the servants usually went back to their places to get a new tray. But apparently the space marines did not like the wine. Or, on the contrary, they appreciated it, and the heretic simply became bored. You couldn’t know the exact answer and it made you shiver.

On the right side lay an incredibly handsome man in pearl armor. Amber hair framed a pale, bored face without a single scar. The man was much more interested in sorting through his test tubes with the brightly colored substance. And given the rumors, you didn't want to know what was inside. A space marine with a gold-plated mask stood at a distance, keeping an eye on the orgy in the center. It was this sorcerer who was responsible for the ritual.

Well, in the center sat the leader of this gang. One of the slaves even recognized his name. Lucius the Eternal.

He was disgusting. His entire face, which looked more like a piece of raw meat, was covered with scars. Three flasks with a narcotic substance were attached to the space marine’s suit, which flowed directly through the tubes into the heretic’s flesh. The clawed teeth smiled as Lucius whispered to the bull, holding a glass of wine in his left hand. A daemonic sword rested nearby.

“They want sweets” - a servant approaches you and you flinch in surprise. The slave's eyes are empty and yet he looks straight into your soul. - “Bring them berries.”

Now it’s your turn. You inhale through your nostrils and slowly walk towards the Space Marines. You feel the other servants looking at you with pity. Soon you come to the heretics. The man in pearl armor and the heretic in a golden mask pay no attention to you. So you approach Lucius and his friend.

The man glances at you quickly... and freezes. Violet eyes shamelessly scan your body, especially looking at your face. Lucius takes a deep breath and you realize that he is trying to recognize your scent. A low laugh comes from his throat.

“Oh, I asked for something sweet,” the man runs his tongue over his teeth and you wince at how long it is. - “But I was expecting food, not a pretty face.”

You purse your lips and pick up the tray.

“I-I brought berries,” you babble before squealing in surprise as one of the arms grabs you. You can barely hold the tray of food in your hands, finding yourself next to Lucius. Your surprised gaze meets his mocking one.

“And the voice is sonorous.” - the man laughs to half-bull, hugging your body to himself. His hungry eyes linger on your parted lips. - “So you brought berries, sugar? Then feed me.”

You gulp at the slaaneshist's strange behavior, but comply. You take a bunch of grapes and bring one berry to the Space Marine’s mouth. Trying your best to focus on his ugly face and his hand on your waist. Ignoring the blood-sticky leather pillows and armor of your tormentor. Bloody, covered with faces frozen in agony.

The heretic opens his mouth and bites half of the berry, splashing the juice over your hand. The man moans and you tremble from his rough voice. But the worst thing is when he starts licking the juice from your palm. Extremely slowly and carefully. You've heard that, in addition to regular saliva, Space Marines also have poisonous saliva that can be used in battle. It's surprising he hasn't used it...at least not yet.

“I love the taste of your sweat, sugar.” - the man chatters his teeth in your face, but obediently eats another grape. - “And who were you before we captured your wretched planet? Hardly one of these poor things.” - the traitor lazily shakes his head towards the hall. - “We let all noble women in for the ritual. Well, some passed for new decor.”

The bull grins. He had already managed to eat half the brains of the slave, who somehow miraculously survived. The prisoner's eyes looked at you pleadingly with tears. They asked to be relieved of pain and suffering. But you couldn't. You need to take care of yourself.

“I-” - you try to squeeze out a word, but freeze mid-sentence. Who were you? What have you done useful in this life? Catching Lucius’ furrowed eyebrows, you begin to babble desperately. - “I-I don’t know. My mother is a laundress, and my father is a factory worker. I studied history at the academy and played the organ a little for the nobility. Pretended to be an official, keeping an eye on the cultists. D-dressed like a nun for fun. I tried all the jobs which I liked. Am I...am I a tramp?”

You are asking either yourself or Lucius. As if he knows who you are and what your destiny is. The man looks at you with an unblinking gaze before laughing madly. You look at him blankly, with a terrible feeling of foreboding, feeling his hand drop from your waist to your thigh.

“How funny you are, sugar! Such a rare thing. Instead of washing clothes, you decided to try everything at once. I see you don’t like living according to the laws of the Corpse Emperor at all, huh?” - you nod with displeasure, noting to yourself the bitterness of the truth. No you do not like it. Lucius sees this. - “Yes, you crave pleasure. And you can’t get enough of trying on more and more new roles. My mortal slaves with their little enjoyments are not worth your finger.”

The traitor buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent. You thought it was so easy for you to please a mortal heretic. But the Space Marine almost melted next to you. This was your salvation. And a curse.

“I'll take you with me.” - Lucius purrs, licking your neck. You feel his fingers begin to caress the inside of your thigh. Your legs tighten, some of the berries fall from the tray onto the pillows. This only makes the man laugh. - “You will see agony. Ecstasy. More."

You shrink into his hugs and caresses, unable to resist. Fear takes over your body. Lucius' fingers gently stroke your sex through your clothes and you can't hold back your shameful quiet moan. The man almost giggles like a young boy. The rest of the space marines don't pay attention to you two except the bull. He breathes loudly and shamelessly, carefully following The Eternal’s antics. Tears blur your eyes. What a humiliation.

A cacophony of cries of martyrs, clutching each other in pain and pleasure, can be heard throughout the hall. You see how their naked flexible bodies merge with each other and twist like a spiral. Many find themselves buried under the flesh, while others scream madly, unable to get out of the trap. You feel like they are looking at you.

You fall into darkness.

[fafnir19]

You are what you eat

Lucius stood on the wooden deck of the fishing boat, the crisp sea air swirling around him. The sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon, casting the surrounding waters in a warm, golden light. As the boat bobbed gently against the waves, Lucius and his study group hauled in their day's catch, laughter and excitement filling the air. Neil, his bespectacled best friend and president of the debate club, cheered as he reeled in a flounder, while Arthur, the charismatic jock and team captain of the hockey team, flexed his muscles as he grappled with a particularly feisty tuna. Despite being the odd one out in terms of practical skills, Lucius beamed with pride as he held up a small sea devil fish that dangled from his fishing line. His bookish nature didn't often lend itself to such activities, but catching the peculiar creature filled him with an unexpected sense of accomplishment.

However, their joyous atmosphere was soon to be disrupted. As they returned to the port of Valetta, the vibrant lights of the city greeted them, along with their vegan fellow student, Hanna. Her curly brown hair bounced as she stormed towards them, her eyes blazing with fury. "What have you done?" Hanna's voice sliced through the air like a whip. "You callous, heartless hunters... torturing innocent creatures of the sea!" At first, Lucius and the others attempted to reason with her, but her tirade only escalated. Sensing the tension, Neil attempted to calm her with logical arguments, but Hanna's anger knew no bounds. "Curse you animal torturers! You are what you eat!" Hanna's words reverberated through the group, casting a shadow over their earlier merriment. Ignoring Hanna's protest, the rest of the study group made their way to a nearby fish restaurant, determined not to let her dampen their spirits. They eagerly devoured the fruits of their labor, savoring the delectable seafood dishes with hearty appetites.

The night was restless for Lucius. His stomach churned, aching and a sense of unease gripped his entire being. He tossed and turned in his bed, battling waves of nausea. Desperate, he sprinted down the hallway, bursting into the bathroom, only to be met with a shocking sight. Instead of the familiar porcelain fixtures, a swirling vortex loomed in the center of the room, a bizarre gateway to parts unknown. Without a second thought, he dashed inside, propelled by an inexplicable force. Lucius emerged in an otherworldly landscape, shrouded in billowing smoke and suffused with an eerie glow. Before he could process the change, he noticed something about himself—he was now athletic, clad in a skimpy fur loincloth and fur boots.

Confusion gripped him, a frown knitting his brow as he surveyed his transformed appearance. Amidst the desolation, he encountered a grand palace that starkly contrasted the misery outside. Inside, an exquisitely handsome young man, with hair like silk and piercing eyes, sat regally upon a throne. It was none other than the Prince of Hell, Lucifer himself.

The revelation made Lucius' heart race, his mind reeling with disbelief. "You're in Hell, Lucius," Lucifer declared, his voice as smooth as silk and laced with an unmistakable magnetism. "Why am I here?" Lucius stammered, the gravity of his situation settling in. "Hanna's curse has brought you here," Lucifer explained. "Her words—'You are what you eat'—have taken effect. By consuming the sea devil fish, you've been transformed into a young devil." Lucius paled at the revelation, his thoughts swimming with apprehension. Before he could process it all, Lucifer spoke again, pulling him further into the abyss. "Tonight, you shall learn the insatiable dexterity of passion," Lucifer purred, a glint in his eyes. Lucius recoiled, the notion of such intimate endeavors with Lucifer unfathomable. "I—this is not—" "Here, such distinctions hold no sway," Lucifer interjected, his allure insurmountable. "Pleasure transcends gender." Despite his initial aversion, Lucius found himself succumbing to a strange allure emanating from Lucifer. Conflicted and bewildered, he yielded to the unfolding enigma.

The night was a whirlwind of sensations, a tempestuous symphony of desire and harmony. In the haze of it all, Lucius traversed uncharted territories within himself, desperately clinging to his sense of self amidst the tumult. In the aftermath, Lucius found himself grappling with the uncharted depths of his new existence. His training with Lucifer had led him to master the art of sublime pleasures,

yet a yearning for his former life burned within him. He longed to return to Valetta, to his friends, to the world he once knew. "Please, Lucifer," implored Lucius, his voice tinged with desperation. "I long to return to my former life, to shed this visage of damnation and once again breathe the air of the mortal realm." The Prince of Hell regarded him with an inscrutable expression, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, the yearning for mortal trappings," mused Lucifer. "Very well, I shall grant you the opportunity to seek an advocate from your world who will negotiate the terms of your release." Brimming with a sense of hope, Lucius set his sights on Neil, the president of the debate club and his closest confidant.

So Lucifer sent Lucius through the portal to Neil. As Lucius approached Neil with fervent entreaties, Neil was shock about the chiseled and nearly naked appearance of Lucius.

A shroud of apprehension descended upon the timid, rotund figure before Lucius. "Neil, I beseech thee," pleaded Lucius, "aid me in my plight. Thou art the president of the debate club, and I implore thee to act as my advocate in the infernal negotiation with Lucifer." Neil wrung his hands nervously, his brow furrowed with trepidation. "I... I cannot fathom venturing into the clutches of Hell," he stuttered, eyes wide with fear. "The prospect fills my soul with dread and dismay." Crestfallen, Lucius sought solace in the warmth of camaraderie, turning to his companions in search of an ally who would brave the nether reaches alongside him. Their spirits, however, were cast in the same mold of fear and reluctance, leaving Lucius bereft of assistance. Frustrated and abandoned, Lucius found himself at a crossroads, his desperation palpable in the still of the night.

Before Neil could utter another word, a figure loomed in the doorway, exuding an air of audacious swagger. "What's this I hear about a jaunt to Hell, eh?" Arthur, the quintessential jock, sauntered into the room with an impish grin, his athletic form a stark contrast to the lingering air of apprehension. Lucius regarded Arthur with a mixture of surprise and trepidation. "Arthur, this is a matter of grave import, not some frivolous escapade for your amusement." Arthur chuckled, his voice a melodic cascade of mirth. "Oh come on, Lucius! It's not every day one gets the chance to bargain with the Prince of Hell. Count me in—I'm ready for a bit of devilish negotiation." Neil quivered in evident discomfort, his apprehension palpable as he gazed upon Arthur's daring countenance. "B-but Arthur, the perils of such a venture—" Arthur waved away Neil's concerns with a dismissive flick of his hand. "Ah, stop your worrying, old chap! Adventure awaits, and who better than me truly to accompany Lucius on this bold journey?" Thus, with a mixture of reluctance and resigned acceptance, Lucius found himself entrusting his fate to the exuberant spirit of Arthur, their pact sealed in the crucible of necessity and the enigmatic allure of the unknown.

Lucius and Arthur made their way through the portal once more, Arthur's easy smile never faltering. As they traversed into the unknown, an unmistakable metamorphosis took hold, their attire shifting to match the infernal landscape. In contrast to his apprehension, Arthur was exuberant, delighting in the swift transformation. "Look at this outfit!" Arthur remarked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It accentuates my—ahem—assets quite nicely."

Lucius couldn't help but shake his head, a semblance of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. Amidst the slate-grey environs, their journey led them to Lucifer’s presence once more, and they began their arduous negotiations. As Lucius awaited his turn outside, each moment stretched into an eternity, the weight of his fate bearing down on him. When summoned inside, Lucifer's offer was delivered with an air of finality—Arthur would remain in Hell for a month, and only then would Lucius find his deliverance. Though taken aback by the stipulations, Lucius held tight to hope, a vow etched in his heart that they would emerge from this infernal ordeal unscathed.

Arthur settled into his newfound surroundings with ease, his exuberant charisma illuminating the bleak corners of hell. Engaging Lucius in conversation one day, he couldn't help but notice the lingering discontent etched across Lucius' features.

"Lucius, why so glum?" Arthur queried, his tone carrying an air of affable curiosity. "This place isn't half bad for us young devils. The pleasures that adorn our grasp are unparalleled, and freedom unfurls without consequence. Let's savor our time here." Lucius averted his gaze, grappling with the dissonance that warred within him. "I cannot find solace in a realm suffused with torment and despair, Arthur. This isn't who I am, nor who I wish to be." Arthur nudged a discarded skull, a veil of mischief coloring his features as he spoke. "Indeed, the lost souls stagnate within a dismal shroud, but it does not define us. We can escape this fate and return to the mortal realm. Let us cherish our reprieve." With a cheerful grin, Arthur nudged the nearby skull and proposed a whimsical game of field hockey, the sound of jovial laughter echoing in the desolate expanse.

As the days melded into nights, Lucius found an unexpected reprieve in the evenings spent with Arthur, their camaraderie breathing a newfound sense of exhilaration into the grim far reaches of hell. In a surprising turn of events, Hell seemed to shed its formidable visage as the duo whiled away the hours with their impromptu hockey games, the resounding echoes of their laughter weaving through the otherwise desolate halls.

Upon their return to the human world, to Lucius' astonishment, his appearance remained unchanged. It was a jarring realization, and he couldn't stifle his disbelief as he uttered a baffled exclamation into the lingering portal. "Lucifer, you've neglected to release me!" Lucius bellowed forth, a bewildered fervor coloring his words. To his surprise, a poignant rejoinder wafted through the portal, spoken with a suave, unrestrained mirth. "I hold no responsibility in this matter, Lucius," Lucifer's voice carried forth, resonating with unbridled amusement. "You have willingly and ardently embraced your time with Arthur, solidifying your transformation into a jock. And as for you, Arthur, our previous agreement stands, now binding Lucius as well." Beside him, Arthur stood with a mixture of reluctance and dawning comprehension etched across his features, a solemn nod of acknowledgement punctuating his silent acceptance of the pact.

"Lucius, there's something I must divulge," Arthur began, his voice laden with deep-seated trepidation. "I made a pact with Lucifer regarding your release from Hell." Perplexed, Lucius regarded Arthur with a furrowed brow, a ripple of uncertainty coursing through him. "What pact?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a burgeoning unease. "I struck a deal with Lucifer that a jock who emerges from Hell should continue to serve him. Seduce, corrupt, and delight in the souls of the young, all for the pleasure of Lucifer," Arthur revealed, his words exuding an aura of solemn resolve. "I had no inkling that it would ensnare you as well."

Lucius exhaled a heavy sigh, grappling with the weight of his impending destiny. "I wanted to return home, Arthur, but not like this," he confided, his gaze laced with a tempest of emotions. "Yet, you're the only one who's had stood by me." With a solemn resolve, he draped his arm over Arthur's shoulder, a newfound camaraderie binding them in unforeseen solidarity. "Now," Lucius declared, a glint of unwavering determination glittering in his eyes, "you're my jock brother. Let's navigate this uncertain path together." Perplexed, Arthur sought clarity, his expression a canvas of swirling emotions. "What do you plan to do, Lucius?" he inquired, his voice edged with a tentative resolve. "Let's beat up that craven coward Neil," Lucius proclaimed, a fervent zeal infusing his words. "Are you in?" An impish grin played at the corners of Arthur's lips, an air of unyielding mischief enveloping him. "Neil is no longer of concern," he divulged, an undertone of satisfaction weaving through his words. "He's part of my pact with Lucifer — an ensnared soul. I had intended to pledge Hanna to Lucifer, but he demurred, deeming her veganism is self-made Hell on Earth already."

Neil's incredulous protests echoed into the night as the earth split asunder, a vortex spiriting him into the inky abyss.

Lucius, now at the helm of the debating club and vice-captain of the hockey team, reveling in his newfound athletic prowess both on the field and in his amorous escapades.

Time churned forward, paving the way for Arthur's and Lucius' shared triumphs and conquests, their lives intertwined in unanticipated tumult and unyielding satisfaction. Amidst the frenzied whirlwind of their newfound existence, Lucius had come to embrace the heady thrill of vanity and conceit, relishing in the unabashed freedom that crested upon their newfound paths.

[ancientcharm]

Nero: The end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty (Part I)

He was born on December 15, 37. His birth name was Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus; When he was adopted by his great-uncle, the Emperor Claudius, his name changed to Nero Claudius Caesar.

Nero was born in the first year of his maternal uncle's reign. His mother, Agrippina, was in her prime, but a year and a half later, accused of treason she was banished. The little boy was left in the care of his paternal aunt Domitia. In the year 40, his father died.

In January 41, his uncle emperor Gaius ('Calígula) was assassinated. His great-uncle Claudius ascended the throne and brought Agrippina back. In 49, when he was 11 years old, his mother married her own uncle Claudius and becoming empress. He was adopted by emperor, and Agrippina appointed as his tutor the famous Hispanic philosopher, orator and politician Seneca.

At the age of 15 he was forced to marry 13-year-old Octavia, daughter of Claudius and Messalina.

Marble portrait of young Nero, c. 50. Photo by Egisto Sani. Empress Agrippina and young emperor Nero. Photo by Carlos Delgado.

On October 13, 54, 16-year-old Nero became the youngest ruler in Roman history up to that time. Octavia, 14, became the new empress consort. And 25 years after Livia's death, Rome once again has an Empress Mother. The sculpture shows Agrippina crowning him, a clear message that he owes her the throne. This sculpture had hundreds of copies placed throughout the empire.

Something unprecedented happened in Roman coins. Agrippina appears alongside her son on the same side of the coin, as if she were co-ruler, and she was indeed. Those coins, minted at the obvious request of Agrippina, circulated until the year 57. In 58 her image was seen next to Nero with him in front. From the year 59, only the image of Nero would remain.

Four months of reign : The first murder?

According to Tacitus, Nero removed Agrippina's favorite freedman from his position as Secretary of the Treasury. Agrippina, feeling outraged, threatened to replace him with Britannicus: "Since Britannicus was the biological son of Emperor Claudius, he was therefore the true heir and would soon come of age (14 years) to rule."

According Suetonius :

"Nero sent for the poisoner Locusta and he forced her to mix as swift and instant a potion as she knew how in his own room before his very eyes. He tried it on a goat but the animal lingered for five hours. Had the mixture steeped again and threw some on a pig.; The beast instantly fell dead. Pleased, Nero ordered that the poison be taken to the dining-room and given to Britannicus. The boy dropped dead ins at the very first taste, and Nero lied; He said that Britannicus was sick and always fell suddenly. The next day had him hastily and unceremoniously buried in a pouring rain. Nero rewarded Locusta for her eminent services, with large estates in the country."

According all sources: One day before his 14th birthday, on February 11, 55, Britannicus was at a banquet attended by his sister Octavia, Agrippina, Nero, and several important people, and suddenly fell death.

About this matter I must say that those writers contradict themselves since also assure that in the first three years of his reign, Nero lived in acceptable leisure in the palace and obeyed his mother. While Seneca, the prefect Sextus Afranius Burrus and Agrippina were the ones who ruled.

What is the true story? Nero was a young puppet emperor who lived relaxed and obedient to his mother during his first three years, or after four months of reign he was already making decisions and defying his mother? Not to mention the lack of credibility of the story about Nero and Locusta doing experiments with animals and poisons.

It's possible that the boy suffered from epilepsy. And it's possible that so that readers would not doubt that it was a murder, the writers related the death of Britannicus to the conflict between the emperor and his mother; A conflict that actually began three years later according to these same writers, and the coins confirm it.

On the other hand, experts assure that there is no poison ingested orally that instantly kills the victim as Suetonius describes.

The start of the trouble

Portrait of Poppaea Sabina painted by an artist of the Fontainebleau School in 1570. Museum of Art and History, Geneva.

Early year 58. Nero at the age of 20 fell in love with Poppaea Sabina, wife of his friend Marcus Salvius Otho. They began an openly adulterous relationship and rumors of the scandal spread through the city. Agrippina was furious and took Octavia's side, surely not out of affection for her daughter-in-law but because such marriage was a matter of politics and authority. It was at this time that Nero began to become independent from his mother, as well as from Seneca and Burrus, and it was probably in that year that he dismissed Agrippina's favorite freedman. Nero forced Otho to divorce Poppaea and appointed him governor of Lusitania. At that time this was a "dissembled exile" since Lusitania was the poorest and most boring province in the empire.

The fall and death of Agrippina.

'The Shipwreck of Agrippina' by Gustav Wertheimer. XIX Century

Early 59. Agrippina was forced to retire to live in her villa in Misenum.

Historians claim that one day she and her friend Acerronia set sail with the helmsman Gallus in the Bay of Naples, and on the ship Nero had hidden men who were trying to kill her. They were on deck, under a canopy that had been secretly loaded with lead. At a given signal, the top fell, killing the helmsman and the ship began to sink. Agrippina swam quickly to shore when a man appeared in a boat shouting Agrippina's name; She remained silent but Acerronia shouted: "Here, I am!". The man, hitting her with the oar, killed her, believing she was Agrippina.

Tacitus wrote about it: "Nothing allowed of accidents as the sea." So, it really could have been an accident in which the helmsman and that lady drowned but not Agrippina who swam quickly or could be rescued. If it was an attack, a top-secret plan by Nero, how do they know the details with such precision? Is it possible that the writer, upon hearing the story of Agrippina's accident, created the story of an intricate attack?.

Time later, some guards arrived at the villa of Agrippina with the order to execute her on charges of conspiracy. According to Suetonius: "Agrippina showed them her bare belly and said one of them to stick his sword where her murderer had been conceived."

"After trying to kill his mother three times with poison and discovering that she had become immune thanks to antidotes, he manipulated the ceiling of her bedroom, devising a mechanical device to loosen the panels and let them fall on her while she slept. Agrippina discovered the plan, so Nero devised a folding boat to simulate a shipwreck." -Suetonius

Suetonius writes that Nero sent three men to kill her after learning of the failed attack in the bay. They also claim that this matricide was at the request of Poppaea, who according to them "she was a lady who had everything except decency".

The truth is that on March 23, 59, Agrippina the Younger died at the age of 43 in Misenum, after having lived an intense life of glorious and tragic moments. She died in the same city where, 22 years earlier her hated great-uncle Emperor Tiberius, had died.

'Nero before the corpse of his mother, Agrippina the Younger ' by Arturo Montero y Calvo, 1887

Sources also claim that Agrippina's corpse was brought before Nero and he only said that his mother looked beautiful even in death.

Regarding this matter, I see three possibilities:

1: Nero fed up with the dominant behavior of her mother or at the simple request of Poppaea, decided to kill her even though she was already far from Rome and therefore could no longer bother them.

2: Agrippina, seeing herself deposed and stripped of her privileged position, simply decided to take her own life in her villa.

3: Furious with her son and for having lost what she had, she was plotting from Misenum, and Nero found out this ordered her execution or banishment. Knowing that she would soon be executed or banished, Agrippina decided it was better to committed suicide. This was a very common attitude in the ancient world.

Except for her sister Drusilla, all her siblings had died at the hands of others. Knowing the mentality of the ancient Romans, undoubtedly Agrippina decided not to suffer the same death as her siblings (if option 3 was what really happened).

But if Agrippina was really murdered, I think she was taken by surprise; While she was sleeping or unsuspecting with her back to the murderer. Resigned and theatrical attitude before the executioners, such as that described by Suetonius, is very un-Roman and very unlikely in the proud Agrippina the Younger.

Surely Suetonius wanted to belittle her, which is not surprising since in addition to the alleged incest with her brother "Caligula", Suetonius also claims that she tried to seduce her own son; then she couldn't die like a noble Roman lady. Furthermore, it became clear to me that Suetonius's style is inherently dramatic and sensational.

Also according to Suetonius from that time until his death the emperor was tormented by the ghost of his mother, and sought a magician to expel the ghost from the palace since Nero claimed that Agrippina was everywhere, especially at night. This could be true, or simply a Suetonius-style reaffirming account of Nero's guilt.

'The Remorse of the Emperor Nero after the Murder of his Mother' by John William Waterhouse, 1878

Part II

[eminsunnytoons123]

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

🌊Here's what will the characters occupations/species be in "class of 3000 seas AU"🌊:

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

Sunny - Neptune of westley seas 🧜🏾‍♂️

Lil' D - merman🧜🏽

Madison - mermaid 🧜🏻‍♀️

Philly Phil - merman 🧜🏻

Tamika - mermaid 🧜🏽‍♀️

Eddie - merman 🧜🏻

Kim and Kam - twins, mermaid and merman 🧜🏻‍♀️🧜🏻

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

Salieri - Neptune of eastley seas, he is even a male siren 🧜🏻‍♂️

Lil' G - male siren🧜🏽

Addison - female siren 🧜🏻‍♀️

Brooklyn Bill - male siren 🧜🏻

Freddie - male siren 🧜🏻

Bambi - female siren 🧜🏽‍♀️

Jim and Jam - Twins, female siren And male siren 🧜🏻‍♀️🧜🏻

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

Mila - mermaid 🧜🏼‍♀️

Big D - a humanoid kraken And even a merman 🧜🏻🐙 (he has tentacles as his legs only but he even has a merman tail)

Cheddar man - a humanoid kraken 🐙 (he has tentacles as his legs only just like in the class of 3000 Monster And haunted School AU)

Bianca - a humanoid jellyfish 🪼 (she has the jellyfish stings as her legs)

Tanya - mermaid 🧜🏽‍♀️

Kaylie and Mackenzie - mermaids, theyre both sometimes guards for Sunny 🧜🏽‍♀️🧜🏻‍♀️

Mr Yin And Mr Min - humanoid sea snakes 🐍🐍

Principal luna - merman, he is an assistant of Sunny 🧜🏼

Dustin and Preston - both mermans, And theyre the guards for Sunny 🧜🏻🧜🏻

Lucius - humanoid crab, he can sometimes be Sunny's assistant 🦀 (he has crab legs And possibly even crab arms)

Jan - a merman, he is another guard for Sunny 🧜🏻

Petunia Squattinchowder - a mermaid, she is the Cook of the westley palace 🧜🏻‍♀️

🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧

And this is even for @0lemonadefox0 @aquamarine-dream-queen @ducktopia90264 @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @moshywoosh @iggyguyy @nightkit92 @dackychansworldofhoshino @vickymcsworld @alegriacherryblossom And all my other loved ones in my tumblr family that always love me And support my work and always Bring me so much happiness And Joy, And I'll always love them And support them And even Bring them all Joy And happiness~ =^///////^= 💙❤️🧡💛

But even @classywinnerpeace @ghostytoastynights And any other class of 3000 fans here on tumblr =^_^=

[sophsicle]

I’m in love with the new chapter💞💞

“He is so impeccably packed away, covered nearly from head to toe, that James can’t help but want to muss him up. To run a hand through his curls. Pull his ties lose. Kiss his lips red.” Good lord keep it in your pants!

I love the slow burn Jegulus. In most Jegulus fics they start crushing hard and fall in love pretty quickly soo I kinda like the change of pace tbh.

I’m very excited to see Regulus and Frank working together (I never even imagined them interacting in anything so this is a pleasant surprise) and to see whoever regulus marries.

“I know Regulus well,” Lucius steps back in, clearly trying to set the conversation on a more fruitful path. “He’s no leader of men. Better suited to a quiet life in a monastery, shut-up amongst books.” I need the shitheads to stop underestimating Reggie. He’s gonna be the best king the realm has ever seen. He is the moment!!!

Rosekiller & Marylily have my whole heart. They’re everything!

Can’t wait to see Alicissa traveling to the palace!!! Roadtrip shenanigans will ensue!!!! (Your Alice is so fucking hot btw )

Anyways This chapter was amazing as always 💞💞 hope you have a nice day!

Yayay!!!!!! There is nothing more tempting to James Potter than something clean and pristine and orderly. like he can't help but want to mess it all up, get his finger prints all over it.

but it is fun to write jegulus not just being in love. i feel like both of them are very much attracted to the other, but neither of them have those big feelings yet and it's fun to write them growing. i think especially because this james is a little more guarded than i usually write james it kinda shifts their dynamic a bit.

Regulus and Frank and James is gonna be such a fun dynamic i am VERY excited!!!!!

Alice will only be getting hotter this i can confirm (poor narcissa she's gonna die)

Thank youuuuuuuuu!!!!! <3

[citruside]

Speak of the Devil 

Name: Lucius Sanders A.K.A. Thomas’s repressed Rage & Self-Loathing 

Theme: The Devil/Lucifer/Angels

Animal motif: Boar

Logo: The Elder Eye - A star with a orange eye in the center 

Appearance:

Due to being repressed by Thomas for so long, Rage has been locked away far deep below in the darkest side of the mind. Unable to join his fellow Dark Sides up above the surface into the light, his imprisonment in the basement of the Mind Palace spell-bounds him from moving around freely. The only light he has comes through the basement windows, his holo screens monitoring Thomas’s body, and whenever he peers into the other Sides. Tapping into their point of view, allowing him to watch over what they’re all doing through their eyes, to see what’s happening with them and Thomas. 

Whenever a Side gets mad he feels a strong surge of energy coursing through him, and feels their pain. When Logan got mad at Remus, he saw everything. Feeling the chains around him loosen, and felt the logical side’s frustrations along with it…

Despite being able to see perfectly fine (only with his right eye- his left is blind), Lucius purposely wears a blindfold to better perform his job, helping him concentrate with his power of clairvoyance. Not only does it allow him to be omnipresent of what’s going on within the mindscape, but allows him to sense what and when the sides are feeling, which currently are contributing and effecting Thomas’s mental health greatly, due to the lack of communication between Sides and other outside influences. 

When Roman’s ego was bruised when Janus was given a chance to talk and speak with Thomas, the binds that tied him loosened their grip, feeling his strength coming back to him…

Contrary to his outward appearance of duality, and named after the Prince of Darkness himself, Lucius is genuinely a nice person. Though he doesn’t hold back to speak his mind, and will attack any Side regardless of Light and Dark, never hesitate to call out bullshit, making his presence known, loud and clear. 

In spite of his anger towards Thomas for repressing him for years, he’s more upset with the Sides for not communicating to each other about their issues. Being ignorant and actively avoiding the problem clearly in front of them, causing Thomas a one way ticket to Meltdown City, for not sharing their pains and concerns together and not working together as a collective.

If he were to meet Thomas, it would be during a rough time, maybe involving his relationship with Nico going into a horrible direction- blaming himself for how the relationship is going, and or dealing with an overwhelming amount of negative emotions about himself due to not being on his A game and missing a lot of acting opportunities due to it. He lashes out, causing rifts in his relationships with his friends, workers and Nico.

After so, Thomas comes home hoping to talk with the Sides. Only for no one to come up. Except one. Sitting on the couch right behind him. 

He’s calm, collected, wearing such an angelic smile, there being a clear tension in the air, not knowing what will happen next and what he’ll do-

Dark Side Relationships 💛💚💜

Light Side Relationships 🩵❤️💙

[dragonsflame117]

It begins. Jörmy is going to get a tank upgrade. Because he is going to get his brother’s tank. And his brother Lucius is getting a PALACE curtesy of toad ranch and their amazing habitats!

This has already taken a month of work. Future progress pictures will come.

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

If there are any supernatural things in ofmd s2 I want Buttons to be the only person who is aware of them.

Like, Lucius tells the crew the miraculous story of how he thought he was going to drown but woke up on a beach.

And Buttons replies “aye, mermaids will do that sometimes. You’re lucky they didn’t drag you down to their palace beneath the waves and keep you as a concubine for a hundred years.”

Then he gazes off into the distance, a little wistfully?? Like this happened to him? Or perhaps he had the option and said no but has regretted it ever since?

And after a puzzled silence the crew is like “oh Buttons, so insane, hahah”

Frenchie says, “You we’re probably just naturally buoyant because Roach made duck for dinner that night. Ducks hate salt water.”

The crew nods solemnly. This is science, after all.

Then later in the season we see Buttons standing by the rail, gazing into the distance. His eyes narrow, focusing on something. He smiles a little, and holds one hand up in a wave. The camera follows his gaze out to the water, where a small figure bobs among the waves. It smiles, teeth sharp and numerous as a shark’s, and waves a finned hand in reply.

[princeblack]

As a prince, Regulus’s schedule was crammed from dawn to dusk. There was his royal etiquette training, his academic tutoring, attending meetings of the council, his arcane studies and even military training.

The military training was last on the schedule, a couple hours before dinner so he had time to train and still wash up afterward. He was to be meeting with a newly assigned handmaid when he was finished being tutored in swordsmanship by Lucius, the King’s Hand. The swords were wooden but his uncle still managed to bruise him, hitting him with the weapon when his guard was down during a lunge. He can feel it blooming on his abs beneath his tunic as he leaves the training room, cursing under his breath because he can’t stand his uncle. Holding a hand over his midsection, he mutters a healing incantation– one he had learned from the family grimoire’s for smaller injuries. His skin feels warm, the air shimmering around his palm.

He’s so focused that he almost runs into Sirius in the corridor of the palace, who’s holding a silver goblet as he exits the great hall. “Apologies— I know you’re very busy, being as important as you are.” He’s being sarcastic, his dark eyes sparkling with humor. The two of them had been arguing recently, ever since King Orion appointed Regulus as the crown prince, citing that he was ‘more suited’ than his eldest son. “My prince,” he adds, giving a curtsy.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Certainly more important than the town drunk, yes. Are you truly already wasted in the afternoon? You don’t have to try so hard to make me look better than you— I already do.” Even as he says it, he doesn’t think it’s true, deep down— he admires his brother, especially for how little he cares for what their parents think. And because he has so many close companions who care for him; so much to live for outside of House Black. The truth is that Regulus is desperately lonely, when he’s not on the back of his dragon. 

“It’s called having fun; I expect you’ll learn about it as soon as you unwedge yourself from our father’s backside,” Sirius retorts, but his eyes are darker now because of his sibling’s words.

The younger prince’s brow furrows, frowning. Sirius knew it was a sensitive spot for Regulus; not getting to have his own life because of his dedication to their house. Or maybe he genuinely thought his brother didn’t want those things– he’s never been able to tell, throughout all of their arguments. “At least there are benefits to being wedged to the King’s backside. What are the benefits of being wedged into James’s Potter’s? Having a court jester at your beck and call? He’s a clown and you’ve always been better than him.” 

Sirius frowns, almost a cold and distant look passing across his features as his grip on the goblet tightens. “Don’t speak of him again. You should worry about yourself, brother, because the things our father will make you do for that crown will make you wish you were day-drinking with James instead.”

Regulus is fairly certain he would prefer death to hanging out with the youngest Potter, hating both him and his family. Once, Serafim had almost burned James alive for carrying some House Black jewelry in his pocket as he was leaving. It was then that Regulus knew James had no respect for Sirius’s family, even if he did have some for Sirius himself. It irked him, the way the male carried himself, thinking he was above law and had some kind of infallible luck always on his side. He seemed narcissistic, and Regulus was sure that his brother deserved more than that.

“Anyways, Father was searching for you. He wants to meet in the Tower of the Hand– something about a new maid.” Then he turns, leaving with a flourish before Regulus can say much else. He knows Sirius is probably on his way to a night out, skipping dinner again to rebel against their family, shirking his ‘duties’.

Regulus thinks about his brother on the way to the tower, ruminating on the way Sirius had never seemed to fit in or understand anything about their way of life. He doesn’t even have a dragon; never imprinting upon one when they were young. Regulus can’t imagine not having Serafim, certain that he would’ve given up years ago if not for the love of his draconic partner. But somehow he excels less when it comes to people, nothing like his brother in that regard. He’s skilled enough at talking to them and making them like him, but he never formed a close group of friends like Sirius and he certainly doesn’t visit the brothel every other night to flirt with the women there. It seems to be expected of him almost– some of the Kingsguard had joked with him the other night about how they’re sure he and Sirius have been through most of the eligible bachelorettes in King’s Landing. He allows them to think that, choosing not to correct them, but privately Regulus doesn’t have any interest in fucking half of the city.

He doesn’t even have any interest in his arranged fiance, Daphne from House Greengrass. She’s the daughter of the Lord and Lady of the North, and as such would foster a stronger alliance between the two houses, were he to marry her. That’s what his mother wants, after all, and so Regulus agreed to it. He didn’t have any interest in anyone else and it was his duty as crown prince, so he accepted it. But something is missing in their relationship, because despite how pretty she is, he doesn’t feel much for her. She’s formal and pompous, and maybe it’s because that was how she was taught to be and she cares more about duty and securing her spot beside him on the throne than opening up to Regulus on a deeper level. She seems to be genuinely passionate about status, especially the idea of becoming queen.

But despite what Sirius seemed to think, Regulus’s heart wasn’t completely in it, instead wishing he had someone who seemed to care past his title or looks. Or at least someone who made him laugh, that he enjoyed being around. But many people would call him a fool for it, because love didn’t exist in real life; only fairytales read to children at bedtime. His job is to marry for politics, so he knows he must fulfill that role. But secretly he’s almost more of a child, wanting to play with his dragon and find a girl he really loves.

Which is why he’s taken aback by the way his mind goes completely blank when he first walks into the tower and sees the girl on the other side of the room. All of his ponderings about duty leave his mind, instead filled with thoughts about how she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even prettier than the sights he’s seen from dragonback. Her auburnette hair is woven into a beautiful hairstyle with braids, loose curls framing her perfect face. She has big blue eyes and soft, pink lips, and such delicate bone structure that she looks like she was sculpted carefully by the gods, even down to her dainty nose and little chin. Looking at her for a moment isn’t long enough, so he gazes at her, trying to remember how to speak English.

Then he realizes his father is in the room because he clears his throat, so Regulus’s green gaze leaves her, centering on the King himself. “Sirius said you called,” is all he can manage.

“I know we spoke of it this morning, but I’ve made arrangements to replace the previous handmaiden,” he says matter-of-factly, standing from the seat he was in. “This is Bexley Diggory and she’s to attend to you as you wish. Her chambers are in the servant quarters, her things already put away. She’s free to start now.” He glances out the window, at the setting sun. “I have some matters to attend before dinner, so I’ll see you when one of the servants fetches you. Take a bath; you reek of dragon and sweat.”

“Immediately, your grace. Thank you.” He’s short with his father, as he always is, waiting until the man sweeps out of the chamber before he finally exhales, glancing over at the beautiful girl again. “You must’ve traveled a long way to get here… are you well rested?” Green eyes glance over her figure, taking in the beautiful, sweeping fabric of her taupe colored dress. The material is thin and looks soft, hugging big breasts that he can’t help but glance at. He swallows a little, feeling a heat in the bottom of his stomach that he’s never felt before, traveling downwards. Is this what all of those men talked about, when they went on for ages about women? The sensation is alien to him, but he likes it, shifting a little closer to her without thinking.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here; I sorely needed the help, after the last handmaid tragically passed… She wasn’t young and pretty like you, though.” He says it like it’s a fact, because it is. “She belonged to someone else in my family and was already working in the castle, so she tended to me when I needed it… I’ve never had someone hired specifically to be mine.” His gaze wanders her perfect body before reaching her face again, already happy with his father’s choice. He could spend all night looking at her, if he truly wanted.

/ @devcted

[omgkalyppso]

WIP Whenever

I missed Wednesday but I wanted to start a dragon age wip to honor @ghostwise's tag. dfhdfghdf

I'll tag @boghermit, @lucius-the-sinful, @sevarix-blogs, @razrogue and YOU.

And if you're dipping into the DA fandom for the first time, or for the first time in a long time -- please especially consider yourself tagged!

So I'll share two things. The first is whatever this will turn out to be. Farasuta Tabris is a City Elf Warden who put Anora on the throne.

‘Too many elves in the palace,’ was the common refrain that followed Cyrion, Shianni and Soris’ steps through halls filled with fête and finery. “You’re wearing thin, Shianni. Even after everything, I don’t know if Fara could defend you here if you exploded at a guard,” Soris warned. “Well, how dare they,” she hissed, angrily, without subtlety. But as she wasn’t entirely without discernment, she lowered her volume. “Today of all days when they have an elf to thank for stopping a Blight of all things — an Archdemon that could have razed all of Ferelden.” “Truly,” Cyrion agreed with quiet wonder, turning about as he walked, admiring his surroundings — tapestries of spun gold, paintings that one could fall into, stonework that must have taken the labor of hundreds of hands. “To think they’d celebrate our Fara, an elf from their Alienage, here.” “It only took a Blight,” Shianni pouted, bitterly. Soris sighed heavily, making brief eye contact with the elven servant that led them to the audience chamber. “And we lived to see it,” Cyrion added kindly, nudging his niece and offering her his arm. Despite a furrowed brow and pursed lips, Shianni could take comfort in that, and looped her wrist in the crook of his arm.

If this ends up longer than this short exchange 🤞🤞🤞 then I'll name the servant and give him some lines as we transition into admiration of the throne room.

Anyway, have some of the "Astarion ate a bear + who would you bite in camp" conversation with Étoile and Shadowheart. I don't think I shared this section before since it took me so long to be satisfied with it even though there's so little originality in it.

“You’re a menace when you’re sober,” Shadowheart whined. “What has gotten into you?” “A bear,” Astarion asserted with a smile that brandished all his fangs, clearly bragging. “He took a little of my blood, I took all of his.” “Not our missing druid, I hope?” Shadowheart said sarcastically. “Hardly,” Astarion scoffed. “Although that does raise the question as to whether druids, or others, transformed to beasts taste more of themselves or the animals they pretend to be.” “There’s that much difference?” asked Shadowheart as Astarion winced while watching Étoile drink more of their wine. Étoile and Astarion both looked at her in response; Astarion’s expression unimpressed and Étoile’s half-embarrassed. Étoile touched their neck where Astarion had bitten them two nights past, before saying aloud, “I don’t know that I want to know. Do I want to know?” “You were delectable,” Astarion purred, and when Shadowheart scoffed he turned to her with feigned annoyance, though his smile seemed true. He reassured her, “The bite, I mean, darling, don't be mistaken.” As Shadowheart flushed, Étoile made their own peace with the images that conjured to mind and said, “And look what that bear’s done to you.” They added with a raised hand, “Let’s change the subject.” “Oh, not yet,” Astarion said over his shoulder before facing Shadowheart again, his head tilted invitingly. “I think it’s important to note that I don’t know whether your blood was unique as a thinking creature, or unique to yourself entirely.” Étoile lowered their brow, almost alighting on the right conclusion. “Well,” Shadowheart said, recentering herself, “I’m relieved we won’t have to worry about you finding your answer. As gorged as you are, I doubt you have any further need for humanoid blood.” Étoile could only see the back of Astarion’s head and still they saw how he twinged in disgust. “You're comparing plonk to vintage wine,” Astarion said irritably. “You can make merry with either, but they are not the same.” “So you’re saying I should worry about you?” Shadowheart retorted, smug and threatening. “Not for vampirism,” Astarion said, with a judgmental sweep of his gaze. His expression shifted, merry but dangerous. He reached for Étoile’s wine, and helped himself as he turned from either companion at his sides. “No, come. A simple thought experiment. In my position,” he returned Étoile their drink with a sour wince, “would you not wonder how the others taste?” Étoile found themself soothed by the hypothetical, in how it relieved them of their spotlight in the conversation, but Shadowheart was not so easily swayed. “After all that,” she giggled, teasing, “you’re looking at other necks?” Astarion glanced at Étoile, and did not find the rattled worry of a young lover, so he answered Shadowheart with a perfunctory smile, “And if I were? There's enough of me to go around.” He extended a hand to her goblet to make a point, which she pulled from him indignantly. His fingertip caressed her hand. “I'm a man of tremendous appetites.” “An elf after my own heart,” Étoile said fondly with a thoughtful tilt of their chin. They stared straight ahead and drank to avoid Shadowheart’s dismay.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

Made up fic title: The Babygirl Princess Story: A lifetime original movie

Ok obviously this is about Ed.

I think we should make him an actual princess for this. I think he and Stede have a little bit of a Jasmine/Aladdin moment where Stede is a prince who has disguised himself to leave the palace, and they have a meet cute and fall in love. Then Stede is forcibly engaged to Mary and instead of taking that lying down he sends one of the Palace staff, Lucius, out to go find the man he fell in love with and find a way to give him a makeover so that they can pass Ed off as a princess for long enough for Stede to marry him instead of Mary. So Ed spends the fic fully crossdressing and getting my fair ladied and learning about forks and there's a few close calls but the fuckery works and Stede married Jeffina of [kingdom] and then Stede takes a hit out on his dad so that Ed can dedrag.

[five-miles-over]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write maybe headcanons of how Commodus is with kids please? Thank you, you're an amazing writer ❤

Thank you so much for the compliment, anon. I hope you're doing well, and I sincerely appreciate your patience with me.

Commodus believes that children are the future of the empire, so he would take great measures to ensure them the brightest future possible

He would build schools accessible to his citizens, and hire the finest scholars as instructors and tutors for schools within the city.

If he ever found himself too busy (or uninterested) to personally look into the curricula of the schools, he would appoint someone - perhaps one of his former tutors - to look over things. Make sure that the students are teaching the right type of material (Greek, Latin, economics, history, and ethics)

As the emperor, Commodus would take a revolutionary step in opening the enrollment for schools to children of "low-birth". Some of them were born to illiterate parents, some were born to prostitutes, and some of them were born to poor citizens who could barely afford bread, let alone an education. Commodus even offered to use funds from the treasury to cover tuition for those whose familial income was insufficient. A need-based grant, if you will.

While this move earned Commodus great favor with the lower-class citizens and plebeians, the nobility and Senators were pissed

The nobility were upset about their children possibly integrating with those of lesser wealth, while the Senate continued to grumble about Commodus emptying the coffers of the empire's wealth.

When interacting with children, Commodus likes to place them on his lap, and talk to them as if they were adults with their own minds

He would keenly listen to their opinions and their questions, and do his best to respond to them.

Sometimes their questions would amuse him, like the time a child asked why most people have two eyes, two ears, but only one mouth

He would jokingly say that most people have a mouth big enough to fit two eyes and two ears.

Commodus might even be open to play-fighting with them, just like he does with his own nephew Prince Lucius. He'd encourage them to pretend to be legionnaires like Julius Caesar or Scipio Africanus, people who brought glory to the empire through victories on the battlefield

Commodus would also enjoy telling stories to children, like the story of Caesar's crossing of the Rubicon or of the journey of Aeneas in founding Rome.

And he would be unafraid to spoil them with sweets like honey-covered savillum (a type of cheese cake) and honey-coated dates. Commodus himself has a sweet tooth, so this is just another chance to share his indulgence with others.

Also, I have a personal headcanon that a few Roman girls (like about 5 or 6 years old) might have a teeny, tiny crush on the handsome emperor of Rome. It wouldn't be unlike little kids nowadays having a crush on a celebrity.

They would blush in his presence and shyly offer him flowers or pretty embroidery

Of course Commodus would thank them for their gifts, but also he would be very respectful. If they'd like it, he might hold their hand and take them (and their parents) for a stroll through the palace gardens.

He's aware that little children tend to have passing fancies, and that as an adult, it's his responsibility to be mature.

Commodus Taglist: @darknessisafriend , @fly-like-a-phoenix , @beatlebabe1996 , @artemiscastle , @jokerflecker , @galos-writing , @thatdummy-girl , @iamthewifeofwilliamthatcher , @spicykitten99 , @myfavsaredead

[jezabatlovesbats]

Facts About The Aether

This is sort of my own spin on the Aether so that it’s not too similar to the mod. This will be updated if I need to.

- The Aether, like the Nether and the End, is its own unique realm. While the Nether is dangerous and hellish and the End is dark and empty, the Aether is peaceful and full of light.

- In it, you’ll find lots of open space, water, wispy clouds, many passive mobs, and the Aetherians, which are humanoids that have elytra wings fused to their back and beetle-like antennae. Their wings are different from the elytra wings you get in the End because they’re capable of sustained flight, and they can take off without the need for fireworks.

- The Nether is implied to be underground, and the End is implied to be in the void. Likewise, the Aether is implied to be high above the clouds. As such, most Aetherians have dark skin so that they won’t be sunburned. They’re also usually chubby or muscular so as to resist the atmospheric pressure.

- Just like the Nether, there are biomes unique to the Aether, such as the mixed forest, a place with trees that have different colored leaves in the same area, the upwellings, rocky streams with water so rapid that it can splash you from afar, and the floating islands biome, islands in the sky connected by vines and logs.

- I haven’t decided what the portal to (my version of) the Aether is made of, but I imagine it’s made of something that’s seemingly useless, like copper or amethyst.

- The passive mobs in the Aether are almost always winged.

- I imagine that in the Minecraft: Story Mode world, allays can only be found in the Aether. Allays bring Aetherians something in their hours of need if they give them something, or if they hear music playing.

- There are a lot more caves with drip leaves, spore blossoms and all that stuff.

- The Aether is led by a trio of rulers named Lucius, Uriel and Chandler. They each wear dazzling crowns and pure, silky white garments.

- They live in the Aether Palace, which is their equivalent of a Nether fortress or a bastion remnant.

- The leaders have six ladies-in-waiting: Skyla, Celeste, Rey, Marisol, Juniper and Aurora. Each of them can be seen dressed in a gown of a different color.

- They are served by many palace residents divided into “servant blocks.” Their clothes are decorated with little white dots resembling stars.

- Marisol discovered a functional portal frame while traveling outside the palace one day and ended up in Jesse’s world. She started collecting food items and sharing them with her friends. Now, she has a whole collection of flowers and other things. Every so often, she heads through that portal to add more to it.

- Sometimes, she and the other ladies change out of their gowns to go for a fly together.

- Not many people in the Aether are aware that Vega, who works as a servant, is plotting something sinister whenever she’s off-duty…

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Chapter 50:Nozel needs to deliver the news about the upcoming battle against Lucius, as well as bid her off at the gate. Because he does want to save his family. And while back in Thea, the twins need to make a decision. Will they destroy the gates, or simply seal them for the time being and have hope?

This chapter is Nozel/Selena centric. 

Tag list: @succulentsunrise​ @loosesodamarble​ 

This work contains themes and topics some may find uncomfortable, which is why reader discretion is adviced.

Warnings: This chapter has the theme of approaching death, war, and hopelessness, and is considered an angst chapter. Will contain manga spoilers. 

Chapter 50: How much to hope?

Nozel’s mind ran empty as he hurried down the corridors of the Silva estate, sometimes aiding the way, a long stretch of a hallway when no one was in sight, with the aid of his mana, just to get where he was going sooner, despite not yet knowing what he’d say once he got there. And that was the sole reason why he wasn’t running. Flying. Rushing. Because he needed time, time that he didn’t have, to think about what to say to her.

But it was as if some, yet another, cruel twist of fate that his mind failed to cooperate.

His thoughts swayed, but got nowhere, as if a tide in a lake. A tide with which there was the aching sense of nausea, as it was all… happening again.

A devil, though this time something worse than a devil, had come to take his family away from him. Even if, this time, not quite as directly as before. But still… directly enough.

Directly… enough…

And he was holding the task of needing to protect. Last time it hadn’t… quite, been his place, but rather that of his mother, though he still failed to see it, entirely, as such. Because surely, as the first born, the eldest son of House Silva, he should have been able to contribute even back then, when he wasn’t quite a man yet.

Back then I … couldn’t do a single thing…

And he wasn’t sure if he could do a damn thing now, one that mattered anyhow.

But I need to do something now… I need to succeed… in protecting… this time around…

The battle in Spade had only gone to show him how weak he truly was, as a knight, as a captain… as a man… But it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t still have had a squad to lead and a country to protect. He still had both. Which meant something for the country. He wasn’t sure what entirely, but they couldn’t just ship every citizen they had into neighbouring countries, that was for sure.

The battle that would take place, would take place in Clover, in the Royal Capitol. Because that was the target. Everything that it symbolized, everything that it held, and everything it meant. And it was also their strongest fort.

But it didn’t mean that it was strong enough to hold what he held most dear.

I need to succeed… this time… he repeated in his mind, when he ran out of time, and stood before a door, as if the final barrier between himself and the future that laid beyond it. A final frontier that he’d need to cross.

And that door… it mocked him. It ridiculed him. And it… made him feel so small… Like he was nothing. Meaningless. Helpless. Worthless. It made him feel every emotion, and no emotion, all at once.

But, no matter what he felt, he still needed to enter, and tell her. He needed to ask her.

So, he took a deep breath, placing his hand onto the handle, and opened the door.

The bedroom before him was silent. Almost cold. As if devoid of some warmth of emotion he couldn’t yet quite name. But he didn’t need to name it in order to feel it.

His eyes scanned through the room, as he closed the door, as if in a dream, and saw her standing in front of the window, just looking outside. It was, as if, she was standing before a stage, hoping that what she was seeing was simply make-believe, rather than reality, even though it was a mere palace courtyard on the other side.

“Tell me…” she implored him, while looking at him through the reflection of the windowpane. “What is going on outside?”

His eyes averted, because of the sheer gravity of any answer he might have. ‘The world’s end’, ‘the end’, ‘another war’. All of it seemed too… much.

Too much to say. Too much to think. Just… too much of …everything.

So, instead he said: “Julius came back.”

And she frowned at him through the reflection. “He came back? That’s the source of this commotion?” She asked, turning to him, as if to make sure she heard him correctly.

Which he confirmed with a nod. “He… came back and… is claiming to become a…” he frowned, just as she did, while trying to gather the words, to comprehend them himself. “Magic emperor.”

“A magic emperor?” There was disbelief in her tone, along with the faintest of senses of ridicule.

But he could only nod again, as he didn’t quite know how to elaborate.

“Julius? The king that couldn’t bother to be a king to begin with is looking to be an emperor?”

He exhaled, not sure why, but perhaps out of the relief that there was a topic to which he could answer. “He claimed Julius to be dead, and to be Lucius now.”

“So, he’s copying William?” She asked while taking steps across the room to him.

“I doubt it’s about copying as much as it is the truth,” he replied, focusing on the statements that seemed like facts.

“But we fought something like this once, and there is no reason why we couldn’t do it again.”

He had to admire her resolve, and he could see the logic in her argument. But the thing was, that she hadn’t been there to see it for herself.

“He’s only one man, with, what, maybe a few allies? We have grown and become stronger since then,” she argued, as if insisting, as she reached him.

And though he could see where she was coming from, telling him that they should stand their ground, and do so together, was something with which he didn’t want to comply. She had logic, she had determination, and she was spunky. But even with all that they had, they couldn’t win. He was certain about it. So, this time, he wouldn’t give in to her. He wouldn’t agree to her, even if he thought that she might argue about staying, this time again, as he had asked her to leave once already for a battle.

He knew that she wanted to stay. On this occasion. Because she was gnawed by guilt of leaving last time. He knew… but he couldn’t give her what she wanted.

So, he stood there as if a pillar, unyielding and insisting. But so did she.

She was stubborn as well. And it was a quality of hers that he loved and disliked at the same time.

He loved it because it was a quality of hers that allowed her to be as successful in her career as she was, as well as love him, because he was sure that it took someone stubborn to love him with all that they had. But he also disliked it because, at times, it made life more difficult for him.

However, love outweighed dislike, on every other day but this one. Because this… this was something he could not lose. This was something with which he couldn’t give in, no matter how much it might have pained him.

And it did pain him. It pained her too. That is why she stood there with a frown, as if a pillar of her own, with the fury of a mother that wanted to protect the family in which she and him, along with their child, belonged.

Which made it even more horrid in its sweetness to him. Because he knew that look. That determination and ferocious drive to push forth to protect the family they had, and it, even while within that stubbornness that he disliked, made him love her more. It made her more beautiful, wonderful, divine and cherished to him.

It made him think how he couldn’t have found a better wife for himself, who would do anything to protect their child. A devoted mother, and a loving wife.

But the mother, and wife, was now against him.

“I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he can be fought! I don’t see why you think that we should just yield and roll over and give up like that. So what he came back with an attitude and calls himself by a new name, or his real name, or whatever it is and-“

“Lena!” He commanded.

Raised his voice.

He hadn’t… risen his voice to her ever before.

The tone seeping with something that reminded her of anger. It was harsh and ragged and filled with sharp edges in its primal state, with which it rose from deep within his lungs; deep as an ocean of grief. But it tasted like a plea.

It tried to be anything but a cry. And there was desperation in it which she had never known before.

Never before.

Not one that was… this alive. It was as if, instead of the man she loved, before her there was all his grief and desperation incarnated. Which… made her wonder which was more alive at that moment; the man, or the emotion.

It made her eyes flicker, but she couldn’t look at anything else than his expression. The stern, near harsh look that he had, but there was no wall. Instead, there was a well in his eyes, one that wanted to overflow, but his pride wouldn’t let it.

He’d rather drown in his tears, than let her see the pain that pricked him from within. But the thing was that he could no longer hide it from her. He had grown too close to her and her to him.

She would know it. She had watched his pain, and tried to brush it off; pick the needles and thorns one by one without leaving more scars behind. And because of it, she knew the look he had.

But before that moment, there hadn’t been a… beg, in him.

Nozel Silva did not beg.

That was a fact.

“Lena…” he repeated with a whisper that was, this time, nothing else than silk and feathers, as he placed his hand onto her cheek and just looked at her.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out as she wished she had something to tell him. Something to say, but she didn’t know what. What words of comfort, or reassurance, a plan or a suggestion, she could give? If there were any to give.

“Selena…” he repeated, again, this time as if cherishing the taste of her name on his tongue, as his eyes fell to look at her baby bump, and then back up to the ceiling.

This can’t be it… She found herself thinking as Nozel chewed on the words that were gathering in his mouth.

His lips parted again, after a time that must’ve been only a few seconds long, if even as much, but it felt like a third of an eternity. The sound of seconds had been buried in the ashes of the world that was to come, and only they remained in that room, within those four walls. And then he let his gaze come down again, as if to repent a crime that wasn’t his, as his hand moved from her cheek, taking a hold of her hand instead.

Her head swayed from side to side as a wall grew in between them. An invisible wall of glass and ice that she hated, resented, and despised. And she wanted to pull his hand, so that they might again be on the same side of that wall that shouldn’t be.

But he wouldn’t let her. She knew as much.

His lips parted again, as if to confess to a crime he regretted, but didn’t commit. “I would rather lose you from myself than lose you to death,” he said. And there was no lie in his words.

But it didn’t mean that she would have liked the confession, not because of what he was saying, but for what it stood for.

“So…” he uttered as his right foot took a step forward, and he begun lowering down.

Kneeling down.

The Captain of Silver Eagles does not kneel.

His Royal Highness Nozel Silva does not beg.

House of Silva does not plea.

But a man does.

“I beg of you…” he placed a kiss onto her hand, and pressed her hand against his face.

“Leave…” was the sound… that remained echoing in the room, or perhaps just her ears.

The sound of a man, who had everything to lose, begging.

---

“I already missed one battle,” she told him with a whisper.

“And I would have you miss a thousand more if it meant for you to live,” he whispered back.

“My place is by your side,” the syllables were light as ash, and tasted just the same, spoken without vigour, without a purpose. As if a mere breath, and exhale, escaping from her lungs.

It was as if a breeze that flew by, one that he cherished. One that he listened, as if trying to enjoy the last day of summer before an autumn, or winter colder than death itself.

“Your place… is among the living,” he replied.

He wasn’t this poetic. Never had been, and didn’t think to be now. And yet, for words, that were spoken by a man who was bad at them, they were perfect. They were perfect in their morbidity. Because of the meaning that lied beneath, as if a corpse not laid to rest.  

---

The day came, the day he didn’t want to come. The day that he would rather have been nothing but a nightmare.

The day when they walked, side by side, holding onto each other with pale knuckles, to the marble arch.

“You need to go,” he whispered. He must’ve whispered at least thrice during the walk.

But she wasn’t sure if it was more so meant as an implore to her, or a reminder for himself. Because though the words were addressed to her, the way he spoke them, under his breath, as if struggling to breathe, felt more like they were for him.

A mantra that he didn’t want to be. A reminder that this needed to be done. That this was the good, and the right decision to make.

This is the only right decision…

The words might have hung over their heads without a sound, but their hands, with the way they clenched around each other, as if their lives dependent on it, spoken of something very different.

The only good decision…

There was a horrid rancid taste in all of it. The air, the wind, the way sun was hidden behind clouds that day. But sometimes the things that are good for you, will have the most awful flavour. Or so they told each other.

This… is right.

A conscious thought. A forced thought. The idea that it was correct. That they were there, before that arch, before that portal.

His other hand settled onto her cheek, as he looked at her. Just looked at her.

There was something in her eyes that he didn’t think he had seen before. Not like this at least. A look that he didn’t think she was capable of. Because she wasn’t that expression. She wasn’t that emotion. She was anything but.

And yet… fear, was reflected from her eyes, as deep as an ocean beneath the night sky, reflecting the light of the silver stars above.

“Darling…” the word was barely audible.

Barely, but it was.

And he pondered… thought about what he could ask of her. What wish could he express to her, one that wouldn’t be too selfish? For her to not forget about him? For her to love him? Oh no, that would be too much to demand for the days she had left; the days he wished to be plenty. Which made him think about if he shouldn’t ask for her, but rather for himself. Maybe he should request for a memory for himself.

It would be gone soon in any case.

Less damage. Less of a burden.

And if a burden, then it’d be his burden. Not hers.

“Let me remember your smile…” he asked, as he didn’t know what to do.

There was absurdity in the request too, because he did remember her smile. And it was, at that moment, that so many of them flashed through his memory, which brought a painful smile to his lips. Because he couldn’t help but smile when she smiled, but in the moment he wasn’t happy.

So, his smile couldn’t be happy either.

Instead, it was desperate. It was in agony. And it was sad. More of a grimace than a smile.

A sad, anguished smile, with which a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Please… let me remember your smile…” he asked again, this time wondering if he had the right to ask, and yet asking anyhow. Deeming it as nothing more than a selfish request of a selfish man. But the last request he’d present to her.

So maybe… maybe it’d be alright.

The only issue was… that she didn’t know how she could give him what he was asking. Because she couldn’t give him the happy smile that he wanted. She simply couldn’t. This was not a happy occasion.

This was not…

How it’s supposed to go…

She squeezed her eyes shut and let a pair of tears roll down her cheeks as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Don’t be this sweet,” she told him as a reluctant smile appeared on her lips.

It was forced, and pained, and just as desperate as his. But she had to try. She felt that she had to try to give him a smile.

Because it was the last thing, it sounded like the last thing, he’d ask from her.

His hand circled around and settled onto the back of her head as he leaned forth and pressed his head against hers. Perhaps to hide any tears that might have followed, or perhaps to feel her close for one… last… time.

She wasn’t sure. But she didn’t think she needed to be. Not as she pressed her face against his cloak and buried her face into it, as if trying to hide from the world that tried and tried and tried… to do wrong.

Only wrong.

Agony.

Toy with the mortal beings that they were.

Or so it felt. That the world around them was only there, to torment and toy.

To torment and toy…

And around those broken sobs, the air was still, quiet, without a sound. Other than the inaudible ringing of a silver bell that couldn’t be heard. As if a call for a funeral mass that was for none to hear.

But does one need to hear something, in order to know that it is there? Or is it enough to feel the approaching cold, numb, stiff touch of creeping darkness closing in?

Does one need to hear, in order to know?

---

The celestial twins, the nickname granted as a half of a joke, the punchline of which was now missing, stood before the arch, the gate, and the portal. The portal that was now closed. And they pondered a question, quietly, to themselves. The question of what to do.

What they had been urged to do.

What they had been asked to do.

And what they wanted to do.

The ticking of time continued forth ruthlessly, without a care for them, or the decision of how to long to spend by the gate. How many minutes to spend by it? To take enough time to seal it shut, or be quick and quite simply destroy it? Or take none at all, and just step away from it, leaving it up to the Fate to decide what would happen.

So, how many minutes to spend, if none at all?

“[Should we…?]” Lara asked with a whisper, spoken by a mouth that was dry, devoid, as if trying to settle into knowing something… else…

“[We should… do… something…]” Lena uttered, but she didn’t sound convinced. She didn’t sound confident, or with direction. It was all but ash and tides.

“[You think it’ll make a difference?]”

“[I…]”

There was a breeze in between the breaths, the words, the utterances that sounded more like desperate attempts to grasp for air than speaking.

“[They have spacial mages.]”

“[Which is why… I don’t know… I just… don’t know…]”

“[The security will hold just as it has been holding, if we leave it be, but that would still be making it easier than it needs to be. To pass through.]”

“[But would it make… a difference…?]”

“[That is the question.]”

And that was… the question. Because neither had made a promise. Neither had made that promise; to destroy that gate.

“[If we destroy this gate, we should destroy the other one too.]”

Lena nodded. Just nodded. Because it would be the sensible, rational thing to do.

It would be the smart thing to do.

“[What are you thinking?]” Solara asked, both curious and without an answer to the problem.

“[That it’s the same damn thing all over again,]” she said with a whisper, a sound that tried to be a cry, but one that was choked by itself.

And Lara nodded. Because it really, did seem like the same damn problem all over again. Thea wouldn’t fight a war for Clover. Especially if it was a war Clover was having against their own king. Even the idea of it sounded ridiculous. Because internal conflict was internal conflict. And no outsider had a say in it.

Clover was fighting itself, and from Thea, as a nation, stood, it wasn’t their issue.

But for the two of them, there was so much to loose in that fight.

Just for the two of them.

“[So… what do we do?]”

They stared at the gate, the marble arch that stood there, and hoped how it wouldn’t become a passage into a cemetery.

“[It depends…]”

“[How much we have hope,]” they spoken in unison.

Because that was what lied at the heart of it. How much they dared to hope for the future? Not even about how much they could afford to hope, because that’s not what hoping was about.

Either one hopes, or then one doesn’t.

So.

How much do they have hope?

As the bells… grew silent.

Quiet like a grave.