#Wraps Lares

[wholoveseggs]

Kinktober - {Day Twenty-Two}

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18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List} {Kinktober}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Plussized!Reader} Request {Anon}: I have a request for kinktober and elijah, (you think you can make it a lare reader x elijah? There is not nearly enough of those floating around) with kinks 18, 21, and 22 (I hope that's not to many!)

♡♡♡ Because I am dumb it took me so long to figure out your typo 'lare'... I even googled 'lare kink'.... only to realize you meant large... sighhhhh I'm growing less and less sharp in my old age... Anywhooo me & my fellow plus!sized girles deserve a man like him ~xoxo ♡♡♡

1.5k words - Kinks: dom!Elijah, sex toys, standing sex, insecure!reader, plus!reader, Elijah having none of your self-loathing & being a bit angry about it, mildest of mild dubcon...

Elijah watched you from the doorway of your bedroom.

You were staring into your full-length mirror, dressed in your underwear. The look of sadness on your face pulled at his heartstrings.

He was about to make his presence known when your hands moved to grab the plump flesh of your stomach and sides. You turned from side to side, and Elijah could see that you were frowning, and looking critically at your figure.

Elijah felt anger at your behavior, the way you looked down on the body he so enjoyed. You were soft, and curvy, with breasts and ass and hips he adored, and you could not appreciate it.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen you doing this, but it was the first time he decided to act. No longer would he let you fester in your own self-deprecation.

You didn't hear him, too engrossed in the thoughts running through your head, so you jumped when you saw his reflection standing behind you in the mirror.

"Eli-" You began to speak, but the words died in your throat as Elijah wrapped an arm around your waist.

"Why do you look at yourself with such disdain?" He asked, his voice quiet in your ear.

You squirmed under his intense gaze, and you tried to remove his hands from your hips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said, avoiding eye contact.

He tutted, and you pulled away, only to have him drag you back towards him. His lips found the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and you sighed as he sucked and kissed at the skin.

"You are perfect," Elijah growled, his hands roaming up and down your sides.

You scoffed, struggling in his grip. You didn't want him touching you right now, you didn't feel desirable, and you didn't want his pity. All you wanted to do was hide, but his hold was unbreakable.

He let out a frustrated sigh, before grabbing you and tossing you on the bed. You landed with a surprised gasp, and before you could sit up, Elijah was over you, pinning you to the mattress.

You pushed on his chest, trying to get him off, but he didn't budge. His eyes were dark, his hair falling messily around his face.

"Do you think I'm a liar?" He asked, and the question threw you off. You shook your head, avoiding his gaze.

"Look at me."

You forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"What do you see?"

"An asshole?" You replied sarcastically, and his face tightened, displeased with your attitude.

"I see a strong, stubborn woman, who is the most gorgeous thing I've ever laid my eyes on."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you pushed them away.

"You have to say that," You mumbled, looking away. "You're my boyfriend."

He leaned down and kissed you, his hands caressing the soft skin of your stomach. You kissed him back, but there was still tension in your shoulders, and he pulled away, sitting back.

"You still don't believe me."

You didn't respond, and he shook his head. He got off the bed, and you sat up, expecting him to leave. Instead, he grabbed your legs, pulling you so your ass was just at the edge of the bed.

He knelt on the floor, spreading your legs and pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hand caressed your legs, moving higher and higher, until he reached the hem of your underwear.

"May I?" He asked, his fingers brushing the elastic. You hesitated, but eventually nodded, and he pulled them off.

Elijah kissed your mound, then used his hands to spread your lower lips. You squirmed as his tongue ran up your slit, and when he focused on your clit, you couldn't help but moan.

His tongue moved expertly, and your mind blanked as the pleasure built. His hands were firm on your thighs, keeping you open and preventing you from clamping them shut.

"Eli!" You gasped, and you could feel the smirk against your sensitive flesh. Your orgasm hit hard, and you were a gasping, quivering mess when Elijah sat up, his face glistening with your arousal.

He licked his lips, then stood, shrugging off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. You stared at him, eyes hazy with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Elijah opened the drawer of your nightstand, rummaging around before pulling out a small vibrator. Your eyes widened, and you closed your legs, your self doubt creeping back.

He noticed your reaction, and sighed. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing your thighs and pulling them apart, before leaning over you and kissing you deeply.

"Let me show you how beautiful you are."

He pressed the toy to your clit, and turned it on, the sudden stimulation making you jump. He rubbed it slowly, and the vibrations had you moaning.

"Elijah," You whined, and he smirked.

"Do you like that, darling?" He asked, and you nodded. "Tell me."

"I love it," You breathed, and he hummed, kissing you again.

"Good girl," He said, and you felt your walls clench around nothing. You heard the sound of his zipper, and you looked down to see him pulling his cock free.

Your legs trembled at the sight, and he chuckled, pressing the tip to your dripping pussy.

"So eager," He murmured, and you whimpered as he rubbed his length up and down your slit. He pushed in suddenly, bottoming out.

"Repeat after me," Elijah commanded. "My body is beautiful."

"M-my body is beautiful," You echoed, and he thrust into you, a choked gasp escaping your lips.

"My curves are irresistible," He said, and you swallowed the lump in your throat, repeating his words.

"My ass is delectable."

"My ass is de-ah!" You broke off as he increased the intensity of the vibrations, and his hips snapped into yours.

He chuckled darkly, taking your hand and making you hold the toy. "Keep it pressed against yourself, and don't come."

You obeyed, the constant stimulation making you desperate. His hands were now free to grab your hips, holding you tightly as he pounded into you.

The headboard banged against the wall, and his grip was sure to leave bruises, but all you could focus on was the delicious drag of his cock, the way his body covered yours, his hot breath on your ear as he panted.

"My breasts are magnificent."

"M-My breasts are magnificent," You gasped, and the hand on your hip moved up, his fingers pinching your nipple.

You yelped as his thrusts became impossibly fast, tapping into his supernatural speed. He fucked into you, and the sound of his thighs slapping against yours was obscene.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "You're so fucking perfect, and I can't believe you can't see it."

His words were like a punch to the gut, and you moaned as the coil in your belly wound tighter.

"Are you going to come for me, angel?"

You nodded, and he took the toy from your hand, switching it up to an even higher setting. "Not yet."

You were a babbling mess, your pussy dripping wet as Elijah's cock slammed into you. His warm hands held your ass, lifting your hips up and moving you to meet his thrusts.

"Please, Elijah," You begged, and his hips stuttered. "Please, I need to come."

"Not until I tell you to," He growled, and you whined. He smirked, and pressed the vibrator to your clit.

"Oh god, oh my god- Elijah- please, please, please-" You chanted, and he slowed his movements.

Your legs were shaking, and the feeling was becoming overwhelming, his lips on your skin and his body covering yours.

"There we go," He coaxed, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. “You can let go now, my perfect angel."

His command was enough, and the coil inside you snapped. He kept the vibrator on, prolonging your orgasm, and it was almost painful as the aftershocks wracked through you.

Elijah groaned at the sight of you coming, and he cast the vibrator aside, grabbing your hips and picking you up. He stood, lifting you up and down on his cock, grunting at the feeling of your pulsating pussy.

You could barely think, holding onto his shoulders tightly, you were only aware enough to kiss him, the sensation of being held up and fucked almost too much.

"Where should I come, my sweet?" He asked, his breathing labored.

"In me," You replied, and his eyes darkened.

"What was that, baby? Say it again."

"Come inside me," You repeated, and he smiled, his hips thrusting one last time as he emptied himself inside you.

"God, your pussy is perfect," He groaned, his grip tight. "You feel so good, baby."

You moaned, your overstimulated clit rubbing against his pelvis, and you clenched around his cock, the feeling of him spilling inside you sending a rush through you.

You collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around you, his cock still inside you as he laid on the bed. He pulled the comforter over the two of you, and kissed your forehead, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

"Now do you believe me?"

You smiled. "No, but I'd love another demonstration."

Elijah growled, his arms tightening around you.

"Oh, don't worry. I plan on showing you exactly how beautiful I find you for a long, long time."

{<- kinktober masterlist}

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter XVII - Compitalia

Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. But you both have taken vows that make sure your paths may never cross. Until they do.

Aka a fix-it fanfic where Acacius survives the Colosseum.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 52k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Slight Breeding Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Pining, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist // Ko-Fi

notes: sorry for the late update, i got hit with a suspected endo this week ♡ (i think the ao3 curse is real). please enjoy!

pontifex maximus - the emperors (in this time) lares - gods of protection of certain places/families mania - goddess of the dead, spirits and chaos

Chapter XVII - Compitalia

You stand in front of your bed longer than you’d like to admit, pacing back and forth as you stare at the options for your evening dress. It shouldn’t be such a difficult decision but you feel torn. He said not to dress too highly, to not put everyone on your status right away. Your face is not known beyond the temple of Vesta. Only your clothes are.

But you also realize that you want to look good for him and as General, you’re certain Acacius must have more than a few women in lavish dresses and with perfect curls throwing themselves at him. You still feel a weird sense of ownership over him, one that you know is entirely false. You were never more than a fleeting moment, the way the ships that you can see in the distance are. They appear just enough for you to long after them. Then, they are gone. You’ve lost him before he even really became yours.

Your choice falls onto the same red stola you wore in Beneventum, the one that hugs you in all the right places. It makes you think back to the day Aquila gave it to you, so excited about your travels. If you’d only known. You may have never left your corner of the world.

But wearing the fabric that passed through your friends hands feels comforting, like you’re wearing a piece of Rome on your skin. The slightly tighter cut means that your usual undergarments would show so you opt for the ones that Aquila more or less forced on you, wrapping the linens around yourself with practiced ease. Then, you slip on the chosen stola.

When you stand in front of the mirror hung in one of the alcoves of the room, you turn this way and that, admiring the way the fabrics settle on your body, the red and gold shawl wrapped around your shoulders. Your hand reaches for a strand of your hair that is usually decorated with your infula, arranged to fit neatly below it. You’ve taken it off for him before. So why should you not take it off for yourself? Just for one night. No one would ever be the wiser. And even if Acacius does still despise you, you are certain he would not have you turned over to the Pontifex Maximus for a crime this small. Not when you both are guilty of much worse.

Your hands tremble ever so slightly as you arrange your hair without the veil, something you do so rarely you’ve almost forgotten how to. But after two failed attempts, you are successful in pushing a few parts back, securing them with a golden brooch and leaving the majority of your hair down.

“There we are,” you mutter to yourself, nodding in satisfaction when you give yourself one last once-over in the mirror.

It is already nearing sunset when you open the wooden door to peek down into the atrium, only to be met with the broad back of Rusticus. Of course. It would've been naive to think that Acacius has just relieved the soldier of his duties regarding your protection.

“Sir?” You ask softly, keeping the door open just enough to allow your voice to travel through the small slit. “May you tell the General I am ready?”

You hear rustling as the man turns around, pausing for a few moments as he tries to catch a glimpse of you. 

“I just need to finish my … hair,” you add weakly, hoping to explain away why you won’t face him.

“Very well. I’ll be only a moment,” the man grunts before heavy steps begin to travel down the hallway and die down in the distance of the atrium below.

You slip the door shut again and step back into your room, a spacious but comfortable space. The side across from the entrance is lined with windows that look out to the sea, framed by cream-colored drapings that are so light they move with every blow of the evening winds. You stand beside them, running a hand over the soft fabric that covers the stone columns and your eyes trail over the small roads below, one or two altars visible even from here. Children are sprinting up and down the street, giggling as the older citizens prepare the offerings to be given to the deities.

A knock on the door makes you turn, the voice behind the wood unmistakable even when muffled. “You may enter,” you call softly, folding your hands in front of you.

“My lady,” Acacius gives a small bow as he steps inside, pausing when his eyes wander over your form. “You–” You can tell that he tries very hard to look at your face and your face only. “You are dressed rather lightly. Are you sure you will not be cold? It will be dark soon.”

“I will be fine,” you reassure him quietly, watching as he slowly closes the distance between you. He’s laid off his armour, switching the gold and white chestplate for a toga and cape that are worked with fine details, though not overbearing. You wonder if he chose it himself or if Lucilla picked it out for him but you don’t think he would appreciate the question so you stay quiet.

You are already on the stairs, slowly descending into the sunlight filled atrium together, when his eyes go wide and he pauses. “You forgot your veil,” he mutters, turning on his heel. “I will fetch it for you.”

“There is no need,” you say quietly and you can watch confusion spread over his fate, followed by disbelief when you fail to elaborate further.

“Is that allowed?” He looks genuinely concerned and you can't help it– you have to laugh.

“What?” He asks, his eyes still wide at this sudden display of joy.

“I am not on duty. I may take it off.” You shrug weakly as you descend the last few steps on your own with Acacius following closely behind you. “It may be … frowned upon in Rome but no one here knows me. A priestess does not carry a halo.”

“What if someone does? If someone does know you?” He presses.

“I would find a way,” you hum, listening to his steps as he follows you and appears at your side once again. “I don’t wish to be a Vestal tonight.”

You can see his eyes jerk to each side, no doubt checking if anyone is listening in on your conversation. But with no hosts and neither of you requiring many servants, the house above the sea sits mostly vacant. “You should not speak like that.”

“I don’t wish for gifts and gratitude and grace tonight. It is what I’ve known all my life. People do not see me. They see Vesta and the veil. We are so far from Rome–” You shake your head softly. “Who is to say I could not be someone else in these lands?”

Acacius’s attention has returned to you and he looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

“The Compitalia is a day for all. Even slaves can act as free women and men tonight. How is it that a slave may do as they please but a Vestal may not?”

You watch his expression harden, his jaw twitching in the small way that you’re certain others wouldn’t even notice. It is the same expression you’ve watched him give his soldiers when they misbehave, the same one he had when he yelled at them for laughing at you the day you left Rome. But unlike them, you do not fear anything from him. He has already done what you feared most. No punishment could be worse, no sword could cut deeper than the words he spoke to you that night in the bathhouse.

“Do you wish to trade your place with that of a slave?” You expected him to be mad about defying him. Not about disrespecting those who are most disrespected in the Empire.

“No,” you admit quietly, bowing your head. “That is not what I meant.” The silence that follows your admission seems to settle onto the whole house and stretches uncomfortably. Acacius is the one to break it.

“Come. We do not want to miss the celebration.” He waits for you to step outside, closing the door behind himself and then resumes his place beside you. 

It is unlike any celebration of Compitalia you have ever seen. The streets are filled with people of all ages and backgrounds, men and women your age, parents, grandparents, children. An occasional stray slipping around people’s legs. The entrances to the villas lining the coastal town have decorations strung up above their doors; small woolen figures, some resembling men, others resembling women.

You nudge Acacius, nodding towards a house that has several of the figures dangling in the evening light. “What is their purpose?”

His eyes follow your gaze. “They represent those that live in the house. The figures are offerings, they are hung as a silent plea to the deities. The Lares and Mania spare those living inside and take their woolen versions instead. Do you see the cotton balls?” You nod and listen as he continues. In all honesty, you have not expected him to have such extensive knowledge of the customs in Brundisium. “They represent the slaves of the house, so that they may be spared as well.” The house and the figures fall away as you both fall quiet and continue down the small road, one that curves occasionally, looking almost like it is slipping through the legs of the buildings on either side the same way the animals are around your feet. Candles are being lit as the light begins to fade, the orange sky turning red. The busy street becomes less so and you relax your shoulders a bit, no longer trying to make your way through a crowd. And with your surroundings, it seems that the silence between you becomes more comfortable as well, less heavy than it was in the atrium.

“Do you miss Rome?” His question catches you off guard.

“No,” you respond before you can even really think it through. “I mean, a bit. I miss my friends. Severa most of all.”

“She is one of the other Vestals, correct?” Acacius hums, keeping his voice low enough that passersbys will not be alerted to your conversation unless they try very hard.

“How do you know that?” You blurt out, not bothering to hide the surprise on your face. “She has business with the Senators occasionally. So do I. I’ve crossed her path,” he explains quietly but you can tell there is something he is not telling you. One does not ask a Vestal her personal name just because she has business in the same room. You merely quirk your brow, signaling that you are waiting for him to continue. And to your surprise, Acacius sighs and obeys your silent ask. “I met her in the temple. When I was–”

“Praying?” You ask, ending the sentence for him. But he merely shakes his head, the smallest trace of a smile on your lips.

“I respect your goddess,” he starts quietly as the road takes another turn. “But Vesta is not who I came to see that day.”

He says it like it is passing news of an order fulfilled, not like he has just revealed to you that he was indeed looking for you the day you broke the water jug. You still remember the way he looked, the way he moved through a space that feels like the most intimate one in this world and all others. You were trembling with shock, with fear, that day. Not of him, even though you remember thinking it at the time. It was fear of the things that were happening inside you, the thoughts that he was prompting you to have.

“You said it would be a shame if you returned to Rome the same way you left it,” he says softly and you are thankful that the crowd has disappeared because you don’t think you could handle hearing these things from his lips while surrounded by people.

“I think there are experiences worth much more than gold to be had in other parts of the lands,” you agree. The small road has been leading down for a bit now and after another turn, it opens up to the sea on one side, the port and the ships anchored alongside it visible in the distance. They sway with the current, their masts and rolled up sails moving from one side to another in a steady, calming rhythm. The sun has just set and torches and fires are being lit along the coast, the people ready for celebration. “I think I could really be someone else here,” you repeat quietly.

“Then tell me; how does someone else feel about dancing?” It’s the second time tonight that his question catches you off guard.

“What?”

“Dancing. Moving your limbs around in a rhythm. Easier if there’s music,” he hums and you can tell he’s making fun of you. “The piazza at the end of Via Appia will be as alive as ever just about now. It is rather a sight.”

“Are you asking me to dance with you, General?” It is now your turn to smirk, waiting to see if your question will embarrass him. But if it does, he’s a master at hiding it.

“That seems to be the case, Dulcissima,” he whispers, his eyes following a woman pushing a cart into your direction. “Dear lady,” he calls out, stepping toward the woman with a smile on his lips.

“Forgot to bake your honey cakes, Sir?” She calls as the cart comes to a halt. Indeed, upon closer inspection you find the cart loaded with honeyed cakes, one or two large bowls filled with wool and a few bags of what you presume to be wine.

“Precisely.” Acacius gives her a broad smile, reaching for his coin purse and you watch as the woman begins to slip a few of the small cakes into a bag. A thought strikes you.

“Acacius,” you hum, stepping up behind him. “Do we need the woolen figures as well? If the Lares and Mania pass through the streets tonight.” You can tell by his expression that he may not pay the ritual as much value as you do but then his gaze softens and he nods, turning to the woman. “Do you sell figurines as well? Or only the wool?”

“You really are a forgetful one,” she laughs but nods, reaching into a wooden box. “Will it just be two?”

“Three,” you blurt out before Acacius can protest. “Two men and one lady. Please.” At his questioning gaze, you shrug. “Rusticus is staying in the villa too, right? You don’t want my personal guard at risk of causing upset to the deities?”

“Of course not,” he smiles at you as he hands the woman a few coins and you know that he is rather amused by your behaviour and your beliefs.

Acacius pays for the bags and the woman gives you a small smile. “Best remind your husband to get his protection for you on time next year.”

You chalk it up to years and years of smiling through uncomfortable conversations that you manage to stay serious and thank her. “Yes, I will make sure. He is just very forgetful sometimes. Age, you know.”

You feel Acacius stiffen beside you, his brow quirking ever so slightly as he sends a look your way. One that lets you know you will pay for your moment of fun sooner or later. The woman has returned to tending her cart, oblivious to what is happening in front of her eyes. “Here, have this. Enjoy the night.” She hands Acacius one of the flasks and he gives a small bow and another polite thanks before you move on, now loaded up with everything you could need for a proper Compitalia.

You can already hear the music from the piazza, the cheerful sound drifting over the water and onto the open sea, when Acacius steps to the side, fumbling with the bag and offering you a honey cake. “I seem to recall you like these?”

“I do,” you agree but don’t reach for it. “They are supposed to be given to the Deities. They’re not supposed to be for us mortals.”

Acacius makes a face, nudging the sweet treat into your direction. “We’ll save one and place it on one of the altars later. It is why I got two.” His hand is still outstretched, propping the honey cake up. When you still don’t move, he shrugs. “Please, if you won’t have it I will.”

Before you can protest again, he has raised the cake to his mouth and takes a bite, humming contently as the thick honey fills his mouth. “What a gentleman,” you mutter, reaching to take the treat from him. To your surprise, he lets go as soon as you’ve gripped it and you bring it to your own lips, watching as a fine string of honey extends from his mouth.

You watch him lick his lips and brush his thumb over the thick honey coating the corners while you take a bite. It makes you wonder if it is because of that detail that it tastes like the best honeyed cake you’ve ever tasted. “This is delicious,” you half-moan into your second bite and Acacius just nods in agreement. He waits patiently until you’re done, letting you chew in peace, both of you taking in your surroundings. The last rays of the sun have disappeared, leaving the sea to your right dark and quiet.

“She gave us wine?” You ask eventually, prompting to the flask he is holding and Acacius nods, handing it to you.

“She did. She also thought–” You know what he is about to say. You both do. And you haven’t had enough wine or honeyed cakes to have that conversation with him. Your fingers tremble as you open the flask.

“Well, she was wrong,” you state quickly, cutting him off before he even has a chance to say the words. “People make mistakes.” You tip your head back, allowing some of the wine to flow into your mouth, the bitter taste mixing with the sweetness the honey left behind.

That is, until your gaze lands on Acacius again. His smile has vanished. “Yeah. They do.”

You swallow and shake your head, silently offering him the wine. He drinks. Then, you both begin to walk again, heading closer and closer to the music.

Indeed, half the townsfolk seems to have gathered around the two columns, people sitting on the steps that lead down to the sea, altars set up around several of the crossroads. Women are twirling in their long gowns, laughter echoing around you. It is a beautiful scene.

“You promised me a dance,” you say softly and Acacius sighs, placing the bags and flask by the bottom of the stairs and offering you his hand. “We don’t have to,” you add quickly, not wanting to ruin the mood once and for all. Half an hour ago, he admitted to having sought you out in the temple and now this.

“I keep my promises, Dulcissima,” he hums and you step closer, placing both your hands in his, allowing him to lead you in a circle. “You may have been right in not wearing your veil tonight then.”

“And why is that?” You ask quietly, easing your body into the rhythm of the music and that of him.

He draws you in closer and you let him. His mouth comes to your ear, making sure that no one else can listen to words meant solely for you. “Because I am not sure people would appreciate me touching a Vestal like this.”

“I thought we agreed I was not a Vestal tonight,” you whisper back, letting one of your hands crawl up his arm until it settles on his shoulder.

“We did,” he agrees, picking up his pace as the musicians begin a faster song. He is so close that you can feel the heat radiate from his body, feel his breath on your shoulder whenever he steps closer. And his hand stays in yours, throughout every song, not once letting go.

“Thank the gods,” he whispers just as the song you were swaying to comes to an end.

[bunnys-writing]

Hi there!! Its been a while since i sent a request so i hope im doing this alright qwq

Can i request for Lyney x fem!reader who is an artist (a painter specifically) who is insecure about her art and what people think of her in general? And Lyney perhaps comfort her with reassuring words a lil flower :) tysm in advanced!

"HIS FAVOURITE ARTIST"

...in which Lyney finds out you're going through a bout of art block thanks to your mental health, and has to make sure his favourite artist knows how much he adores her!

(author's note at the bottom!)

"Hello (Y/N)!"

The singsong voice of your favourite man at the door pulled you from your thoughtful haze. You looked back in your stool at him and he beamed.

"Ah, Lyney! It's not already that late, is it?"

You looked around the art room, lamenting the lack of clocks, before looking out the window to see it was still twilight.

"Ah- no no, tonight's show was cancelled. Some ruckus in the crowd drew us to a faster end than planned."

"Oh, I see. Are you and your siblings okay?"

"Yes of course, not to worry, none of us were anywhere near it."

Lyney had travelled the large room to you at your canvas, hands wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Hmh, not feeling much motivation today either?"

You looked at the canvas; a few light, aimless strokes of lead were the only proof you'd even touched it. You frowned a bit, fidgeting with the pencil still in your hand. "...No."

This had been a recurring issue for a few weeks now. You had always painted such beautiful works, but larely, you'd been in a rut of sorts. You'd try to get started on a piece only to fall short a few minutes in.

That's what your boyfriend knew.

What he didn't know was that the reason you continuously failed to inspire yourself to draw was because of all the raging feelings inside of you. You were a nobody in the art industry, and what was worse, you were a nobody to yourself just as much. You didn't have any real talent in your own perspective.

So you'd sit and mull over every thought, every comment, every wrong look you or your art had ever endured, and you'd only really zone back in if someone or something came up. It was a viscious loop.

".../N)? (Y/N), you're spacing out again..."

Right. Your boyfriend.

"Sorry, Lyn, I'm just a little tired I think..."

Lyney looked at you with concern. He knew you were hiding something. He knew this had started after the most recent art expedition you'd been to. You'd refused to talk about it, but Lyney was beginning to think the only way to help was to pry a little.

"(Y/N), at the gallery, a few weeks ago," You didn't catch yourself flinching until it was too late. Lyney noticed. "You came home tired and never told me what happened. Then you started losing your motivation, and now...you're barely engaging with your art anymore...What happened?"

You looked into his eyes. He looked so concerned. You looked away to mute the guilt.

"Just some critics. People were...very honest. It was a bad day, that's all..."

Lyney gently guided your chin with his hand, getting you to look at him again. His heart broke at the exhausted look on your face. Your heart broke in tandem.

"(Y/N)...You are the brightest soul I know. Your art is inspirational and moving, and...it's always such a blessing to see the world through your eyes in your paintings.

People won't always agree with me, or see your vision, but the point is that it's not their vision to understand. It's wholly and truly yours."

His other hand gently placed itself on your chest. He felt your heart skip a beat. The hand under your chin travelled up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

"I love your works. I love to see the fine details. I love when you explain your perspectives and your creative choices, because it's your heart on a canvas, and I get the first look. It's really one of my favourite parts about your art. They don't get that privilege, you know?"

You smiled, relaxing in his hold as he smiled in turn. He brought you in closer for a hug, and you found yourself squeezing him just a little tighter.

"Thanks Lyney."

"What can I say? You're my favourite artist in the whole of Teyvat."

Your next piece was showcased at Fontaine's next expedition. It featured spirals of purple, red, yellows and browns, highlighting a beautiful rose in the middle that was speckled with gold.

Coming up with the title was simple. It was based off of your lover, after all. Your magician, your light, your forever...

Your 'Muse'.

Thanks for requesting!!

As an artist, I totally get the feeling of insecurity that comes with publishing any works, and sometimes it really does feel like the hours and days you pour into your craft don't end up meaning much, but as Lyney said, as long as it's your vision, that's already perfect.

Thanks for reading! 🫶

(Requests are open! Check out my pinned for more info!)

[xxmarvelouslifexx]

hello! dropped in to tell you that i really love your fics. they're some of my favorite things to chew upon in ao3. if you don't mind, i would be delighted to read anything crassus/sulla you can write. that tag's been sort of abandoned unfortunately.

Thank you! Your fic absolutely slaps as well! I actually don't have anything Sulla/Crassus in mind, though Sulla is a big character in the fic I'm currently attempting to write. Sorry I have not posted any new fics in a hot minute. I will eventually get to it, I keep getting distracted with the read alongs.

But here is a sneak preview of that fic. Definitely going to be the weirdest thing I've written so far.

tw: threat of sexual assault

As Caesar makes his way to the doorway of his mother’s house, the crowd turns and whispers. His mother waits there, with a grim look on her face, along with all her brothers. He is shocked to see even his Uncle Gaius is present, back from his exile.

She quickly embraces him, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“Gaius! How are you? Did they treat you hospitably? He swore they would.” Her questions tumble out in a rush. She is nervous. He hasn’t seen her in such a state since his father passed.

“Yes, he did. What is going on, mother? Where is Cornelia?”

His mother begins to respond but the words don’t come out. She is blinking away tears. His Uncle Marcus steps forward, he is holding a yellow veil.

“It is your wedding day. Cornelia declined her invitation, said she could not stomach it,” he says. He drapes the veil over Caesar, much to his confusion. There is the sound of an approaching litter and the crowd’s murmurs increase in volume. His mother wipes the tears from her eyes and takes a wreath from a nearby attendant.

Caesar takes a step back.

“No! No, I’m no woman. What are you doing?” They have lost their minds. Everyone has. Nothing makes any sense anymore.

“Gaius Julius Caesar, come here,” his mother demands. He shakes his head petulantly, like a child. Uncle Lucius grabs his arms and pulls him back. His mother adjusts the veil and places the wreath on his head. “This was the only way. This or your head out on the rostra with the others.”

“But what madman would want me as a wife?”

The crowd breaks into cheers. Caesar turns around to a sickening sight. Lucius Cornelius Sulla has arrived, and he is walking straight towards him. He is wearing a matching wreath.

He turns back to his mother and clutches her hands.

“You cannot make me do this! You can’t!”

Strong arms wrap around his waist and begin to pull him away. The moment had arrived, he remembered doing the same to Cornelia years ago. She wailed as he took her from her father’s household, a jest. Playing at being an unwilling bride so as not to offend the household’s lares.

He is not playing a part when he throws his arms around his mother’s shoulders. He holds on tight and Sulla struggles to break his hold. Caesar is making a scene, quite an embarrassment for his family he knows. His uncles try to pry his hands off and urge him to let go.

“Gaius this is enough!” His mother twists out of his grip.

He falls back against Sulla’s chest, who quickly grabs ahold of his hands and pins them to his chest. He is taller and broader than Caesar. He can feel Sulla breathing deeply behind him. He leans down, to whisper in his ear.

“Are you done, boy?”

Is he? He is trying to piece together what has transpired. But the pieces do not fit. Not in a way that makes any sense. He finally nods in response and Sulla lets go. Caesar can’t help but take the opportunity to throw a punch. It connects with Sulla’s jaw, not his best work but it is something. To remind the man he would not be defeated so easily.

Sulla stares him down and the crowd quiets. He receives a backhanded slap that sends him to the floor. Before he can reorient himself, he is pinned belly down. He has no hope of throwing off Sulla’s weight.

“Keep that up and I will consummate this marriage right now,” Sulla snarls in his ear. “In front of your uncles and your mother and all of Rome.”

[soup-bag]

OKAY SO CHAINSHIPPING SCENARIO.

—

Sometimes Lawrence gets really depressed.

It’s happened for years, but he’s never once been sure why. It just- happens. Every now and then he closes himself off more than usual. Works more, spends less time with people, lays awake at night for hours wishing he could feel anything but miserable. No one he’s ever known has ever understood it. Not until Adam.

The first time he gets that way after the bathroom, Adam notices immediately that he’s acting strangely. They still live separately by this point, but Lawrence has been living away from Alison and Diana for a while. Adam visits him often enough to warrant the guest room to be called his own— they spend a lot of time together, and both of them love it.

But when Lawrence holes himself away in his home office while Adam is over he knows something is wrong. Lawrence tries to take his dinner to his office with him, but Adam stops him: puts on a movie in the living room for them, something they don’t need to focus on so they can talk. So Lawrence can talk.

“Larry,” Adam says to him, turning the volume of the TV down. “What’s going on, man? You alright?”

Lawrence simply nods; Adam can see his eyes begin to water, though.

“You can talk to me,” he continues. “I’m here for you. I do care, y’know.”

Lawrence remains silent, but he puts his plate of half-eaten pizza down on the coffee table. He leans against Adam, to the photographer’s surprise, and releases a shuddering sigh. “I don’t know what’s wrong. This happens, sometimes. I never know what’s wrong.”

Adam wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I get it,” he says. He isn’t sure what else to say, what else he can say. But Lawrence seems to be appreciative anyways.

He leans further into Adam. “I just…” He swallows before he continues, beginning to fiddle with the sleeve of his sweater. “Feel awful. Not in any certain way. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Adam hums. “Nothing’s wrong with you, everyone feels it sometimes.” He leans his head on top of Lawrence’s, shuts his eyes and lets himself relax. “It’s alright, Lare. You don’t always feel it, so it’ll go away. You’ll be fine.”

And for once Lawrence feels like someone understands. He doesn’t feel quite as bad knowing that someone, especially Adam, understands: he still feels like shit, but it’s much more comfortable than it’s ever been. He isn’t alone now. Not anymore.

[indelibleform]

@fallseidol

Odyssey turned back and forth as she studied herself in the large mirror, feeling a delightful thrill as she admired the dress she’d chosen for the festival. Swaths of fabric sewn and gathered together to wrap and drape around her, dyed in pale shades of amber, purple and green. A snug bodice hugging her frame that now had proper curves, rather than stark bone straining against skin.

Colours she hadn’t liked wearing before, as they’d previously washed out her pale, blue tinted skin.

Now though, with her skin the warm golden brown it had been in life, the colours looked soft and bright on her. She was so excited for the festival!

She should show Cronus her dress. Make sure it was suitable for the dress code. Yes, that was why she wanted to see his reaction to the dress, absolutely.

Moving quickly through the temple, she got directions from one of the Lares as to where Cronus was, and paused in front of the closed door. Adjusting her skirts for a moment before knocking lightly.

“Cronus? Are you busy?”

[starsandsteelandbrokenglass]

August 2024 Reading Wrap Up

End of the summer and start of the new semester, which is both good and bad. I'm ready for fall weather, but it's going to be a much busier semester than I anticipated which makes me...nervous. Plus I'm at home right now, and always have a hard time leaving. But I know there's a lot of good coming up to look forward to also. Trying to focus on that. August was a pretty good month for reading, at least in numbers, with 11 books and about 4,000 pages. (Not as good for ratings though...) They were as follows:

Leisure Reading:

Senlin Ascends (The Books of Babel #1) by Josiah Banecroft- 4.25/5 stars; this took me a while to warm up to, but I ended up really liking it!

Sun of Blood and Ruin (Sun of Blood and Ruin #1) by Mariely Lares- 2/5 stars; so much potential but unfortunately I found it to be poorly executed

What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier #2) by T. Kingfisher- 4/5 stars; not sure if I liked it quite as much as the first one, but another solid T. Kingfisher read

No Gods, No Monsters (Convergence Saga #1) by Cadwell Turnbull- 3.25/5 stars; picked this up kind of on a whim and I wasn't disappointed but it also didn't entirely hit for me

She Who Became the Sun (The Radiant Emperor Duology #1) by Shelley Parker-Chan- 3.5/5 stars; I'm not sure I actually liked many of these characters, but they were pretty interesting

I Feed Her to the Beast and the Beast Is Me (I Feed Her to the Beast #1) by Jamison Shea- 3/5 stars; can't tell if I'm just aged out of YA or if this was as three-star as it felt, but the ballet setting was neat

Curious Toys by Elizabeth Hand- 2/5 stars; loved the Chicago setting and liked the writing style a lot but the mystery was not very well done imo

Man Made Monsters by Andrea L. Rogers- 3.75/5 stars; really neat short story collection and I especially liked the illustrations, though some hit harder than others (as short story collections are wont to do)

The Ivory Tomb (Rooks and Ruin #3) by Melissa Caruso- 5/5 stars; in some ways I feel like I shouldn't give this a 5 star rating because I feel like there were a couple of things about it I didn't *love*, but I feel like it did everything well and that's hard in a third-trilogy book, so I'll let the 5 stars rest

The Davenports (The Davenports #1) by Krystal Marquis- 3/5 stars; a perfectly serviceable historical romance (with a Chicago setting!), but I'm just not into the repeated plot devices to keep the main couples apart (this is largely on me for reading romance, where that is a primary genre convention)

Academic Reading:

The Cambridge Companion to American Horror edited by Stephen Shapiro and Mark Storey

Favorite read this month was The Ivory Tomb, but honestly it was kind of a weak month in some ways. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained!

Currently Reading: A rare case where I'm actually writing this post in between books, so technically nothing! But it won't remain that way for long...

[agencyturism]

Machu Picchu Trip Itinerary: 7 Days of Culture, History & Adventure

If you have a week to explore Peru, this Machu Picchu trip itinerary combines must-see landmarks with immersive experiences.

Day 1-2: Cusco & Sacred Valley

Spend two days getting used to the altitude and exploring Cusco’s colonial charm and the Sacred Valley’s archaeological wonders.

Day 3-4: Trekking to Machu Picchu

Choose between the classic Inca Trail, the Salkantay Trek, or the Lares Trek for an adventurous approach to Machu Picchu.

Day 5: Machu Picchu Sunrise & Citadel Tour

Arrive at Machu Picchu early, take a guided tour, and enjoy panoramic views from Huayna Picchu.

Day 6-7: Return to Cusco & Relaxation

Wrap up your trip with a visit to San Blas, Qorikancha, and Sacsayhuamán before flying home. This Machu Picchu trip itinerary offers a deep dive into the Incan world.

[gogmstuff]

1780s dress (from to to bottom) -

1780 Elisabeta Potocka by Louise-Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun (Sotheby's - 2May12 London auction Lot 173). Fixed most cobvious spots & flaws w Pahop 2880X3403.

1780-1781 Sarah Harrop (Mrs. Bates) as a Muse by Angelica Kauffmann (location ?). From tumblr.com/eirene 2048X2427.

1782 Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire by Sir Thomas Lawrence (location ?). From tumblr.com/a-hulder 494X670.

1783 Duchess of Devonshire by Thomas Gainsborough (National Gallery of Art - Washington, DC, USA). From their Web site 2532X4096.

[boysunberry]

XMAS IMAGINES for TC teacher crush COMMUNE

• Snow ANGELS with your TC rolling around in the snow messing with eachother SNOW BALL FIGHTS holding eachothers faces to warm eachothers hands.

• laying on them by a fireplace rolled up between their legs, falling asleep on them, and them falling asleep on u, watching their chest rise and fall as they breathe whist sleeping.

• christmas shopping !!! complaining ur cold to your tc and they wrap u up tighter in scarfs and gloves and coats. you stop by cafes in the dark and christmas music playing non stop while you drink coffees and hot chocolate and giggle about so and so

• looking after tc whilst they have a cold servijg them hot soup ( my tcs fav ) and not caring that youll get their cold <333 soggy kisses

• ICE SKATING TOGETHER falling over too many times 😭😭

• decorating christmas tree together listening to fav christmas songs, baking christmas bakes like cookies and brownies and cake. feeding eachother the bakes and cleaning it off eachothers faces

• suprise christmas gifts, them knowing exactly what u wanted waking up christmas morning with them in matching pjs, their face as they realise u got exactly what they wanted too

• sitting outside in the dark and watching first snow fall, wrapped up warm holding eachother

• KAREOKE baby its cold outside !!! thought ab this one on the way home from school LOL

if i think of any more ill just add them to the list but these are just ones that have been on my midn larely ❤️❤️

[aikoiya]

DP HC - Tutelaries & Lares

Another idea I have is that I've always seen Danny as a Tutelary. Specifically a Lar, even more specifically a Lar Praestite, which is a Greco-Roman ghost. There are several ways to define it, but universally, it's a protector or guardian. Some are the ghosts of dead heroes that wish to continue protecting people, while others are straight up Hero Ghosts.

Some are referred to as Household Gods, which are minor gods under the Goddess of the Home & Hearth, Vesta/Hestia. They are meant to protect places & people, sometimes within a house or family, a.k.a. Lares Familiares, others a section of a road or crossroads called Lares Viales (I HC that crossroads within the territory of a powerful enough tutelary can’t be visited by Crossroad Demons; instead the local tutelary senses the attempted breach & is urged to deal with whatever idiot thought it was a smart idea to bring such a dangerous being to a protected area in whatever way the guardian deems pertinent), or communities/neighborhoods, Lares Compitalicii. There were those who protected the military, Lares Militaris, those that protected seafarers, Lares Permarini, & those that protect the fields, Lares Rurales.

As a Lar grows stronger, their area of influence does too, sometimes expanding to cover the range of an entire city-state, which are Lares Praestites.

I imagine that those allied with a Lar have ever so slightly better luck than otherwise, that Lares have a protective aura that only affects those who call the Lar their patron & are in distress. It wraps them in this blanket of "I'm here," "I'll be right there," "I'll fix it," or "Just keep calm, stay safe, & help wherever you can." Neutrals simply don't feel the aura, while enemies of a lower power or will than the Lar feel like they're being watched & it makes them antsier than usual.

Like, I imagine Tutelaries as being one of the few types of ghosts that don't go vengeful &, for the life of them, hunters can't figure out why the heck that is. Granted, Lares & other tutelaries typically keep their territory safe in more subtle ways, but normally Lares & other tutelaries also don't have physical bodies to interact with the physical plane with because they're usually just Earthbound Spirits.

Most ghosts have to feed on human energy when outside of the Zone, Spectra doing so by feeding directly on a person's misery causing them to sink even deeper into despair, thus making her a Wraith.

I see Danny, after coming into his own, being something like her antithesis in that he feeds indirectly off of the ambient positive energy in an area. He then replaces that energy with passive positive energy which humans feel & causes their moods to elevate slightly.

---

In a way, the more people who believe in Danny or have faith in him as a hero, the more they trust him & feel grateful for him & his services to the community, then the stronger his desire to protect &, retroactively, he himself will become. By ‘believe in,’ I don’t mean how one would believe in a god. More so how you trust doctors to heal you, firefighters to save you from fires, & policemen to save you from criminals. This also affects his area of influence, causing his aura & protection to stretch farther along with the boundaries of his territory.

Good things (as in luck-based) will be more likely to happen within these boundaries, but it won't stop bad things from happening. It's just part of life that you have to take the good with the bad & this is no different.

Lares also have a tendency to instill and/or amplify a sense of community, synergetic cooperation, & civil duty within an area & the people living there. Of course, even though these things are more likely to happen, it means nothing if people don't choose to act on them.

Tutelaries are just... Basically all-around, good things for a town or city. What's sad is a Lar whose been utterly rejected by the people their trying to protect. Those are the weakest sorts & generally don't have long to remain on Earth before fading.

Worse is a Lar that has lost their Pillars of Inner Strength in a tragic manner. The individuals that the Lar wished to protect above all others. Without these pillars, a Lar can become a regular ghost.

However, the worst of all is when a Lar not only loses it's Pillars, but is also rejected. It's at this point that they are susceptible to corruption. Turning them into the opposite of what they were meant to be. A horrible specter, like a hybrid between a poltergeist & a wraith, hellbent on chaos & destruction. Like a rabid animal that needs to be put down. It's no less sad than ever.

Basically, how Dan came into existence. Of course, there's more to it than just that, but this is the basics. Plus, the fact that Danny is not only half-ghost, but (at least in my HC) also completely alive rather than dead, half-dead, or a member of the Undead Legion(tm) also helps keep these bad things from happening.

---

Another thing that helps with my theory is the fact that Lares are typically depicted as sitting upon a throne with a dog resting at their feet (dogs being associated with watchfulness), wearing a chlamys or military cloak & crown, & wielding a Greek dory (spear), a Roman pilum (javelin), or a lance.

I tend to go with King!Danny, which would give him both a throne & a crown, as well as give him his own military. Not to mention that Danny has Cujo, which could end up bonding them & giving Cujo new powers of his own.

Cujo possibly being a Cú-síth (Pronounced: coo-she). Which are part of Irish & Scottish folklore. They are described as large dog-like creatures that have shaggy, green fur & are known to be as large as a small cow. They are also known for taking dying souls to the afterlife. So, they are a type of Psychopomp themselves.

However, he does not wear a chlamys or use a lance of any kind.

For more, go to my full Ghost Zone Masterlist.

[not-poignant]

Is Gary into choking? He seems to like wrapping his hand around Ef's neck quite a lot XD

Tbh, all alphas enjoy asserting dominance by placing their hands over the necks of others. (Particularly other alphas, I think this is a throwback to his relationship with James). That's mostly biological, because the lare glands of omegas are on the back of the neck, and because alphas are driven to assert control over others.

So it doesn't necessarily mean he's into choking at all. (But also, I just don't know! I'm unlikely to write choking as a kink though, so just out of like, me being me, it's probably not going to happen anon, it's very much not something I like to read, so it's not likely something I'm going to write).

[fallseidol]

kat knows she promised not to work during christmas... but there's nothing saying she couldn't bake a bunch of treats the day before. There may or may not be a few dozen platters of tartlets currently moving through the oven one after the other. pecan, chocolate, a few fruit varieties, everything dosed with cinnamon and clove.

The only thing preventing Cronus from putting her over his knee is the sound of laughter coming from the great hall.

Cronus looms over a small child, sizing him up with his slitted red eyes.

"My, you HAVE grown this year."

One clawed hand hovers over the boys dark curls, talons glinting...

and then he sets his palm down, patting the child's head.

"And may you continue to flourish! Merry Christmas."

The boy, like everyone else in the village, is presented with a box wrapped in ribbon. And inside the box is a brand new pair of clothes, perfectly fitted.

The same gift he gives each year.

The entire village has filled the temple, dressed in their best clothing. There is a banquet of fruits, vegetables and assorted roast birds, raised voices in song or gossip.

Cronus will see fifty two more children before he distracts them with a magical display, and passes on the rest of the gifts to his Lares to hand out.

But until then, he will eat, drink, and be merry.

At least until he notices his dear friend has hidden herself away to cook.

[gamegem92]

(Monster High AU Profile) Helen

Hikaru/Helen Hirayama

Parents: daughter of a kamaitachi

Killer Style: Only the finest that one can wear, and I just know that one would agree with my fashion sense. Kawaii am I.

Freaky Flaw: How DARE you assume I have flaws. (Vain, short fuse, shows no regard for anyone’s life besides her own, need I go on? -Basil)

Favorite Food: Konpeito. Traditional, sweet, and nowadays, it has fancy flavors like caramel and black tea that are just decadent.

Favorite color: Changes a lot, all I am certain is that it is in season right now.

Biggest Pet Peeve: I am NOT a weasel, you peasants! …and I can never figure out what to wear when I can’t do the same outfit twice in a row…

Favorite Activity: Fashion, obviously! I mean, have you ever went shopping and saw something that you could NOT resist?

Pet: I haven’t been able to find one that’s my style…

Friends: Basil Hirayama (sometimes), Franny Boolienne (GFF)

Favorite Subject: Eekonomics and fashion design. Gotta make my brand somewhere, right?

Least Favorite Subject: Swimming. I-I had a bad experience, okay?!

Powers: • Enhanced Stealth: She is quite stealthy, as most mustelids would be, yet she would rather be noticed. • Flight: She can also levitate, using it to appear elegant. • Enhanced Flexibility: A mustelid like a weasel (I MEAN MINK DON’T HURT ME-) has flexibility like that of an acrobat, and kamaitachi lare no exception. • Scythelike Claws: All kamaitachi have retractable scythelike claws that can cut deep without inflicting pain or bleeding. The primary method of healing these wounds is to wrap it in the page of an old calendar. • Airbending: Kamaitachis, as descendants of a weasel/mink spirit and an air elemental, they can connect themselves physically and mentally to the air currents and bend them to their will, whether to propel themself upwards, or to just mess with random people by mussing up hair or ripping at jackets and cloaks.

Fun Facts: • As out there as it seemed to make her (and Basil) kamaitachi, I genuinely thought it would be funny for her to insist that she’s a mink rather than a weasel. • Like Basil, the weasel/mink spirit and wind elemental heritage was inspired by Tianhuo, but she is definitely more like Velvet. • Definitely enjoys time with Franny, and you cannot stop me from making romantic headcanons.

[nicollekidman]

I hated Hill House because they made the writer in the show a man when the book is an iconic piece of women’s horror fiction. Honestly it infuriated me then and every time I think about it I get mad again lol

this is interesting bc i understand where you’re coming from but i actually personally really disagree! steve is not meant to be seen as the Author of the story itself, but his chosen mode of processing is Distance and authorial objectivity. he never saw the ghosts, so his way of categorizing his childhood and personal trauma is through fiction. steve’s profession is a way for him to be in a constant state of denial.... the transformation by the end when his voiceover is wrapping up the show: it’s the first time he’s writing from a place of honesty (and it’s his way of carrying on his father’s legacy of Knowlege and protection through distance, now that his dad is gone). 

i really think the season does huge justice to shirley’s work and her themes and just because there’s a man writing doesn’t mean the inference is supposed to be that steve is somehow lauded for this or is meant to replace shirley.  the show is about the women of the crain family - the way mental illness is passed down between generations but also the way that gifts are passed in the same way... the crain women are the beating heart of the family and the show (even the ghosts who are given shape and voice are all women). i would argue that liv and the twins are the “main characters” although it’s truly an ensemble. luke is the exception because of his connection to nellie but by and large the women are left to constantly confront and deal with the horror of the house (and the inherent horror of domesticity/the home that shirley dealt with so often) while the men (hugh and steve) chose to disconnect themselves from what the women could not (steve through skepticism and fiction, hugh with actual distance).  

idk i’m not gonna make this a paper of the themes of the book vs. the show BUT i think this is an interesting reaction!! i just don’t think that the mere fact that steve is an author is placing him in the Shirley Role, and that the narrative of the story itself shows that this is women’s horror and larely women’s stories being told. 

[haec-est-fides]

Octavian in The Tyrant’s Tomb

Or rather, the lack thereof. You all know I’m salty about this, so here’s the official rant. 

First, let’s look at where he was mentioned. Exactly twice. 

“The legion had no high priest, no pontifex maximus. Their former augur, my descendant Octavian, had died in the battle against Gaia. (Which I had a hard time feeling sad about, but that’s another story.)” 

This one really hit me because it’s primarily just another instance of Apollo’s unnecessary sass. In The Hidden Oracle, he seemed to at least recognize his own fault in the matter for a split second: “A voice whispered in the back of my mind. This time I thought it might be my conscience: Who was the stupid boy? It wasn’t Octavian.” What happened to that? I get it, Rick knows that most fans hate Octavian. Ha ha. What’s important is that Apollo also thinks this way about Gaius Caligula and Nero, who are also his descendants. For all his character development, and for all the similarities between himself and these people he despises, Apollo can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that yeah, they all got this from him. It’s one of the last bastions of Apollo’s ego and hypocrisy, and I don’t think it’s ever going to be addressed. 

It’s half-heartedly joked that there are no “adults in the room” in New Rome anymore. Reyna notices a difference in the dynamic of the Senate. Apollo is expected to do all the ceremonial duties regarding Jason’s funeral. Beyond this, the book never once directly admits that Octavian’s absence has otherwise impacted New Rome. Or how his family reacted to his death. Sure the chaotic state of the community may play a role in this, but more on it later.

Apollo has mentioned in ToA that, of all his godly memories, he specifically remembers his talks with Octavian. I for one am very interested in this “other story” that Rick refuses to explore. 

““Praetors often partner up. In power. But also romantically, I mean. I thought Jason. Then for a hot minute, Percy Jackson. Gods help me, I even considered Octavian.” [Reyna] shuddered.”

This mention is purely throwaway; it’s meant to show how truly desperate Reyna was feeling. For the record, I respect Reyna’s subplot, for all I care about it at all. I think it’s hilarious how clearly repulsed she sounds at herself for even considering dating Octavian. Let’s be clear: this isn’t her admitting she ever liked him, or - gods forbid - had a crush. This is Reyna commenting on how oppressive the expectations of society are on single women. What’s funnier to me is that Octavian would have 100% turned her down, and her self esteem would have been toast. Good for her for sticking to her heart and not letting the world tell her what to do. 

Moving on, what’s more important is how Octavian wasn’t mentioned. I've said before that Riordan’s decision to flat out ignore Octavian has led to some minor but annoying continuity issues.

On a purely practical note, Octavian was a prominent, active member of a religion, a government, and a military. New Rome doesn’t have an augur. As Jason’s funeral shows, Apollo had to take up the associated religious duties. But how did New Rome handle honoring those who died in the war with Gaia? Or those who were more recently lost, in the fighting with Tarquin? How has the operation of the legion and senate shifted? Who replaced him as centurion of the first? What is it like to not be able to seek the gods’ approval via augury? Who approves new recruits, checks their credentials and assigns them to cohorts, and eventually gives them their tattoos? Who awards mural crowns and other military distinctions? New Rome has been without an augur before, as it’s a rare gift, but these questions still need to be answered for the community to operate. 

Back to Octavian’s family! His family is said to have been the oldest, richest, and most influential family in New Rome. Octavian is at least a 3rd generation camper, his family going back a hundred years or more. This is stressed in HoO because it’s used to show just how “entitled” and stuck up he is, but now? It’s not mentioned at all. No mourning, no help in Rome’s time of crisis, nothing. Unless by Octavian’s “family” Riordan was solely referring to the Triumvirate and Octavian was a member of an Imperial Household the whole time, this is ridiculous. I need to write a whole post about this, because Octavian’s life is fascinating when you consider what implications this has. 

As Gaius and Commodus are attacking New Rome with their fleet of yachts, New Rome’s navy gets brought up. I know Apollo isn’t the best narrator on this point, but all that’s mentioned is the sad boat Percy used for the Alaska quest. That small fleet of very nice speedboats that Octavian funded for the attack on Camp Half-Blood? Nope. Is this just Apollo being out of the loop? What happened to New Rome’s fleet?

With New Rome in chaos, this last point is really more of a nit pick, but can we please remember that Octavian led a very willing camp to war? Even before the Argo II disaster, even before Octavian spoke out at the Senate, the lares and legionnaires in the streets showed anti-Greek sentiment. The 5th cohort was “Greeks and geeks.” When Octavian proposed war, he had the legion on his side. As soon as Reyna left to go help with the Athena Parthenos, the centurions were ready to disobey her and follow Octavian. Even in the final battle of HoO, only the 4th and 5th cohorts really start to turn against him. All of this backs a very important, but largely ignored, point: you can lead a horse to the Senate, but you can’t make it vote. We see none of that tension in New Rome now. I get that most of the legion is dead, and that’s a huge part of it, but no one spoke out at all. We don’t see anyone with the opinion that Octavian did save Rome and defeat Gaia. We don’t see him get any funerary honors (which makes the book’s message concerning death all the more hypocritical). When Gaius confronts Frank - “Praetor Zhang, you are duty-bound to recognize Roman authority, and we are it! Together, we can rebuild this camp and raise your legion to glory!” - he’s right. But we don’t see a single legionnaire hesitate. 

I get that New Rome isn’t Riordan’s favorite, and that to develop the Romans would require a whole series of its own, but the sheer shallowness of New Rome just felt lazy. Even mentioning Octavian’s legacy would have done so much to show us more about Camp Jupiter. How is he remembered? A hero? A tyrant? A martyr? A fraud?