#demise of rome

[how-what-why-huh]

Brutus:

Get you to bed again. It is not day. Is not tomorrow, boy, the [ides] of March?

Lucius:

I know not, sir.

Brutus:

Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

Lucius:

I will, sir.

He exits.

—————————————————————————————————————

Lucius:

Sir, March is wasted fifteen days.

Brutus:

‘Tis good.

[thehistoryhub]

The fall of the Roman Empire in 476 AD, marked the end of ancient Rome.

[tumbler-polls]

[conquestofuriel]

tag dump ;

[ho-for-joequinn-fics]

I know I said I wasn’t going to write anything else for this blog, buuuuut... I just had to get this idea out of my head.

Emperor Geta x f!servant reader

warnings: 18+ only! Minors DNI! mean!Geta (ofc), face slapping, insulting names (bitch, cunt, whore), degradation, oral (forced throat fucking), spanking, unprotected p in v smut, rough sex, creampie, profanity (obvi 💀), a happy ending yay for both Geta and Reader yay!, etc

You were a mere servant, never really caring to catch the attention of either of the Emperors, but unbeknownst to you, you had caught the undivided attention of one. Emperor Geta.

To you, Geta was a power hungry and extremely pompous asshole. And you weren’t afraid to say so. You’d never say it to his face though, knowing the consequences could quite possibly end with your demise, and you weren’t ready for death yet.

“I think he’s into you,” Mabel, one of your fellow servants, whispered while the two of you organized Emperor Geta’s wardrobe, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

“Who?” You asked, hoping she wasn’t about to say who you thought she was going to say.

“Emperor Geta.” She responded with a sheepish smile, hanging up one of his robes in its respective place.

You scoffed at that, giving your head a shake as you responded in a not as hushed manner. “I sure hope to the gods that he isn’t. Geta is a pompous asshole. I’d love to smack that cocky smirk off of his stupid fucking face.”

You noticed the way her body language and demeanor immediately shifted, back straightened and eyes wide as she seemed to stare behind you. He’s behind me, isn’t he? You slowly turned around towards where her gaze was fixed, mentally slapping yourself for expressing your feelings about Emperor Geta right in front of him. You didn’t even realize he was in the room.

He was giving you a displeased glare, pupils blackened as he seemingly burned a hole right through you. “Come here. Right now.” He demanded, his pointer finger pointing towards the floor directly in front of him, ready to fix that disrespectful mouth of yours.

“Make me.” You scoffed, turning away from him to continue your work. You weren’t about to give in to his demands when you were trying to finish your duties that he assigned you in the first place. “Pompous asshole.”

Mabel gasped at your disobedience, her gaze dropping to her feet when Emperor Geta stomped his way over to you. She’d never speak to him like that, she knew better and she feared him more than anyone in all of Rome.

Geta grabbed you by the arm and forcefully spun you around, his ringed hand laying a harsh, reprimanding smack across your face. Your head whipped to the side from the force, but you weren’t going to back down. Not yet. “You better watch your tongue, you disrespectful little bitch. I own you, so you will do as I fucking say. Got it?”

You stared up at him with defiant orbs, your fists clenched by your sides to prevent yourself from smacking him like you so desperately wanted. You could have apologized and moved on from this, but you enjoyed egging him on, wanting to see how far you could push him and if your disobedience would get you killed after all. Or if he was into you like Mabel suspected, then maybe he’d make an exception. Maybe he’d someway, somehow start to like this defiant side of yours. “Own me? You don’t, own me. I belong to no one but myself. You just think you own me because you’re a self righteous dick with power.”

Geta took in a deep breath through his nose, jaw clenching tightly at your continued disobedience. You used to be so innocent, so obedient to his every demand, what happened to that version of you? If only he knew you were intentionally getting under his skin. “If you’re going to run your mouth like a cunt, then I’m going to treat you as such.”

Immediately he was forcing you onto your knees, giving your face another harsh slap when you tried standing back up. “Stay on your fucking knees. If you’ve got nothing of value to say, then I’m going to put this mouth to better use.” He quickly freed his cock from beneath his tunic and robe, thankfully not wearing his armor at this very moment.

You had to prevent yourself from widening your eyes at how endowed he was, not wanting to give him that ego boost when his ego was already through the roof. His shaft was girthy and long, and the vein running along the length of it was visibly throbbing already. Maybe I should have disrespected him way before now if this is what I get in return.

“Open your fucking mouth and don’t make me tell you twice.” He growled, grabbing your face in his hand and squeezing your cheeks hard enough to get you to part your lips for him. As soon as your jaw dropped open, he was forcing his cock into your mouth, groaning deeply when he hit the back of your throat. “Hollow your cheeks, whore.”

You automatically choked on his cock once he reached the back of your throat, hollowing your cheeks and taking a deep breath through your nose just before he started ruthlessly thrusting back and forth, choking even more when he reached to plug your nose thus cutting off any possible supply of oxygen you could get. Maybe he is going to kill me. At least I’ll go out with his cock down my throat.

“Look at you, already choking on my cock and I’ve only just started.” He mused with a snarky smirk, making you roll your eyes in mock annoyance. His hand gripped on your hair at the back of your head while his hips repeatedly snapped forward, using his grip to force your face to meet each thrust down your throat, smirking even wider when it pulled a garbled moan from your throat. “Oh you like that, huh you filthy whore? You like it when I violate your throat? Hm?”

You couldn’t help it, you moaned even louder, your eyes rolling into the back of your head for different reasons now. You hated to admit it, but the way he was throat fucking you with no remorse had you dripping, your pussy pulsating with each inconsiderate thrust down your throat. As much as you wanted to take a breath through your nose, you couldn’t, so you tried with all your mental and physical energy to stay conscious while he took his frustration towards you out.

Geta kept his gaze on your face as he forced himself down your throat, a wider smirk tugging at his lips when he noticed tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. He wondered to himself if this was making you learn your lesson or if you were going to continue pushing his buttons to see what else he would do to you. He couldn’t deny it, your defiance which led to this moment made him hope you would test him some more, especially since your mouth and throat felt divine. He could only imagine how your cunt felt.

You snapped your gaze back on him when your lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen, looking up at him with eyes begging him to let you breathe, your fingers gripping onto his pristine robes to prevent yourself from collapsing. “Mmf!” You whimpered, one of your hands moving to wrap around the wrist of his hand still plugging your nose.

Geta took the hint and released your nostrils from between his fingers, letting you catch your breath through your nose while he continued abusing your throat with his cock. He watched as the color of your face returned to normal now that oxygen returned to your lungs, but your tears still resumed spilling down your face. “If you’d listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t have been so cruel while I throat fucked some respect into you.”

You narrowed your eyes to glare up at him, lifting your hand to give him the middle finger which only had him grinning sadistically. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but part of you felt that your life wasn’t on the line, he was just really going to put you in your place if you continued your disobedient acts towards him.

He suddenly pulled his cock out of your mouth, allowing you ample opportunity to take multiple deep breaths to fully satiate your lungs while he glanced over at his other servants who were trying their best to ignore what was happening. “Leave us.” He ordered, waiting until the few of them scurried out of his chambers and the doors closed behind them.

Now your heart was pounding in your chest, hoping to the gods that he wasn’t going to kill you now that the two of you were alone. You hissed when he yanked you off the floor by the hair and forced you to look at him, him smirking at how swollen your lips had become from being wrapped around his cock. Gods he’s so cocky.

“You are very lucky that you’re my favorite. If it had been one of those servants who just left to disrespect me like this, their throats would have been slit the moment their disrespectful thoughts left their mouth.” His eyes roamed your face as he spoke, before he was dragging you over towards his bed and forcefully bending you over it. “Now you’re going to lay here like the obedient girl I know you can be while I deliver a well deserved punishment and you’re going to apologize for your blatant disrespect as I do so, got it?”

“Yes, Augustus.”

Geta grinned impishly at that, finally seeing an inkling of obedience from you again. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Keep that up and I’ll have forgotten all about your disobedience in no time.” His hands gripped onto the fabric of your skirts and yanked them upwards before moving to your undergarment beneath and ripping it in two right off of you, giving his lips a lick at the sight of your plush ass cheeks.

You gasped at the sheer strength in his actions, biting down on your bottom lip as his fingers started tracing along your supple flesh before letting out a loud cry when his hand came down with a hard whack. “I-I’m sorry, Augustus!” You gasped, bracing yourself for the second smack you knew was coming, crying out again when it was received.

“I’m sorry Augustus for...?” He inquired, wanting a detailed apology and nothing less.

“I-I’m sorry for disrespecting you! For calling you such mean things, for not obeying your commands, for...for intentionally getting under your skin to see how far I could push you!” Your cries grew louder when his spanks grew more harsh, fresh tears spilling down your face all over again.

“And...?”

“And I’m sorry for saying you don’t own me! I-I’m yours! All yours, Augustus! I belong to you and you only! I-I’ll do anything you ask of me, like an obedient servant does!” You braced for more spanks, but they never came. Letting out a shaky breath, you dared to look over your shoulder, finding Geta staring down at you with something new in his eyes.

“You’ll give me my heir, that’s what you’ll do for me.” He gave you no warning before he was slamming his entire length inside you, your scream so loud, your pleasure could be mistaken for murder. A guttural moan erupted from his throat when he felt how tight and wet you were, his fingers digging into your hips as he started repeatedly slamming his cock in and out of you. “Fuck, I’ve never felt a more perfect cunt in my life. She’s all mine now. Say it!”

“She’s all yours, Augustus! All yours!” You squealed as you took every harsh thrust of his cock into you, the pain mixed with pleasure a feeling you never wanted to forget. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head with each ram against your cervix, fists clenched tightly into his sheets while you started squeezing around his cock. “Right there! Right there!”

Geta groaned at the way your walls squeezed around his cock, repeatedly aiming for that exact spot so they’d continue to do so, needing the added pleasure to coax him closer to his release. He wasn’t going to stop fucking you until you were filled to the brim with his seed. “Keep fucking squeezing me, going to claim my perfect cunt by filling her with my cum.”

You did just as he demanded, giving squeeze after squeeze after squeeze around his cock while he ruthlessly fucked you until finally he was tossing his head back with a roar and filling you with thick, heavy loads of his cum just as you coated his cock with your own cum. You buried your face into his bedding with a mewl as he filled you, not stopping your squeezes until he told you to.

“That’s enough.” He hissed after a minute, slowly pulling out of you once your vise-like clenches ceased and allowed him to easily slip out of you. He rolled you over onto your back after a moment before lifting you up to place you further up his bed, grabbing one of his pillows and using it to raise your hips up so not a single drop of his seed would go to waste. “Now you stay right here while I go tend to some important matters. Don’t let anything drip out of you, okay? Gotta be sure my seed takes.”

You gave your head a nod, watching as he fixed himself up while a thousand thoughts started swimming around your mind. You couldn’t stand him this morning, but now he was everything you could ever need. Did this change things between the two of you? Did he really want a servant to be the one to bear him his heir? Were you more than just a servant to him now? You needed to know.

“Augustus...” You whispered, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you prepared yourself for the questions you had.

“Hmm?” He inquired, tossing your destroyed undergarments to the floor after cleaning his cock of your cum before tucking it back beneath his tunic.

“You don’t really want me to be the one to bear your heir, do you? I’m just a lousy servant... Don’t you want someone of a higher status to be the one to do so?” You frowned, your gaze refusing to meet his as you fiddled with your thumbs.

Geta sighed, moving to sit down beside you on the bed and reaching for your hands to still their anxious movements. “Look at me.” He commanded in a more gentle tone now, waiting for you to look up at him before continuing. “You’re not just a lousy servant. I’ve been wanting to make you more than that since your parents sold you into servitude, I just had to wait for the proper time to do so.”

“Really?” You blushed, completely taken aback by his confession.

“I did tell you you’re my favorite and I didn’t mean as a servant, I meant in general. I knew you were special when I first laid eyes on you.” He chuckled, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “I’m sorry if I was too hard on you earlier. I just, I don’t take too kindly to that level of disrespect and when you kept pushing, my resolve snapped. I wasn’t expecting my favorite girl to say such cruel things about me.”

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, a soft frown on your face. “I only thought those things about you because I still have so much pent up anger over my parents selling me to be a servant. I guess I just never gave you the chance to prove yourself to be more than what you show yourself to be to everyone else in Rome.”

“Will you give me that chance now? Will you let me show you that there’s more to me than meets the eye?”

“Of course.” You smiled, your breath catching in your throat when he cupped your cheek and leaned in to press a deep kiss to your lips, your hands cupping his face as you kissed him in return.

“Thank you. I promise you, you will not be disappointed.” He breathed into the space between your mouths as he rested his forehead against yours. “I have some things I need to tend to right now, but I promise come tomorrow, you will no longer be a servant.”

Geta held true to his promises, proving to you that deep down he had more than a heart of stone, and turning you from the servant you were sold to be into the Empress you were destined to be. You never would have anticipated marrying the man you once despised, but now you wouldn’t change it for a thing.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 🩷 This was annoyingly difficult for me to write because I just couldn’t get the words to flow how I wanted, so I hope you enjoyed how it turned out 🥺

Tagging some Emperor Geta sluts 🩷 @nailbatanddungeon @usergeta @somethingvicked @ceriseheaven @littlexdeaths @3rd-conchord @jasminelafleur @eddiesxangel

[malinaa]

idk if it's been talked about before but suzanne collins never misses a BEAT when it came to names, specifically coriolanus snow and dr volumnia gaul. just from their first names alone you can already guess what type of role might play between them (well... if you've read shakespeare's coriolanus that is. i do recommend it btw).

a lot of bits were taken from shakespeare's play for tbosas like the motif with scars / wounds / the body as being a microcosm of the nation, the common people fighting up against the government, coriolanus' hatred of the common people wanting to be "equal" to him, the rebel arc etc etc but i'm soooo so so interested in the fact that dr gaul was named volumnia and coriolanus is coriolanus because in the play, coriolanus' mother's name is volumnia!

volumnia is arguably the only female character in the play that has any depth (i am so sorry virgilia). his mother shapes her son into the warrior he is. she reminds him at every turn that he is nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. in fact, she's the one who gets her son to come back from his "revolt" against rome which ultimately lead to his demise. this parallels tbosas in the same way because dr gaul took coriolanus and molded him into the villain you would see in thg trilogy. she brought him back from d12 and then brought about the end of his humanity (a death, so to speak—at the end of the book he said something similar to this to try to save himself from lucy gray's suspicions but he was right because he did kill a part of himself to be where he is)! coriolanus snow's mother is present but off-page. her ghost haunts him, comforts him, but the 'mother' figure is the ever-present, all-knowing dr gaul.

UGH! like with just their names you could map out where they end up at the end of the story and that's literally insane. like the caliber of writing is literally next to none fr

[myownwholewildworld]

ACTA, NON VERBA - a marcus acacius fic

a/n: hi everyone! i finally had the chance this bank holiday weekend to finish the plot draft of my upcoming series, "acta, non verba", a marcus acacius, enemies to lovers fic.

if there's something you need to know about me is that i love scotland and her history. that's why this fic is set on the romans' quest to tame the "barbarians" up north in the british isles, instead of actual rome. my aim is to be as accurate as possible when it comes to the way of life, customs, food & clothing at the time, although i may deviate a bit using some terminology of 13-14th century scotland and for that i apologise, but that's my favourite period in scottish history.

i'll be posting the first chapter in september, so i hope some of you join me in this journey 🫶 i'll also be running a taglist, so please do let me know if you want to be tagged.

i'll leave a synopsis and a very brief prologue here so y'all can have a taste for it. hope you like it 🥹 as always, all interactions welcome 💓

tags: @orcasoul

synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership.

power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all.

prologue:

He came, he saw, he conquered. And he killed. Your whole family, murdered. You saw your father fall to his demise under Marcus Acacius' sword. Your mother, brothers and sisters stabbed to death by his legion. Your settlement gone, your tribesmen subjugated to the Romans' yoke. And then it was only you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily resting on your shoulders, like Atlas carrying the heavens. You swore you would avenge them. Even if it was the last thing you did. You only needed to kill General Marcus Acacius.

[phantombre]

Uh, oh.

Uh, oh.

UH, OH-

It's him. It's the most him of all time.

So, I know about Jester Contra, and I do enjoy Jester Contra. But my Contrarian decided he wanted a different career path: a magician! To show off his one and only magic trick: how to make the pristine blade disappear.

Apart from Narrator, who is his natural prey, I think his favorite victims friends he likes to torture mess with are Cheated and Stubborn. He knows not to take it too far, though. Stubborn could probably kill him with one blow, and Cheated will plot out his slow, dreadful demise.

I kinda wish I did more regarding Contra's relationship with Hero (I have so many ideas for Contrarian in general). Yes, I know about the ContraHero ship, and while I don't really ship anyone, I do understand where they come from. Especially this one.

Ayo? Austin Powers reference spotted? I personally think it would be hilarious if Narrator didn't know what Dutch people are, but Contrarian DOES.

In fact, a funny head cannon of mine is that Contra is the only character capable of breaking the fourth wall. Not the Narrator, not the Long Quiet, not even the Shifting Mound can do this. Only Contra.

Oh, yeah, I've nicknamed him Joyboy. Partially after [ERR: DATA EXPUNGED] from One Piece (if you know, you know. If you don't...uhh... Look, One Piece is a fantastic story, but it's really hard to recommend it. If you guys want, I can further rant about why in a separate post.)

You know, looking back on it, he looks eerily similar to Willy Wonka. I promise you, that's accidental.

Some other guys:

Narrator

Hero

Cheated "Jack"

Hunted "Frisky"

Broken "Fred"

Smitten "Rome"

Stubborn "Buster"

[cunninghamchrissie]

@hellcheeranniversaryweek day two: gladiator

in the heart of a divided rome, disgraced emperor eduardus lives in exile, shunned by the senate and abandoned by his people. his days are shadowed by loneliness until he meets crispina, the illegitimate daughter of rome's fiercest gladiator. yearning for freedom, crispina shows eduardus warmth he hasn't felt since his childhood. unbeknownst to them, crispina's father harbors a deep-seated vendetta against the emperor, and sets a plan in motion to kill him. as eduardus and crispina's bond deepens, the emperor faces an agonizing choice: give up his fragile reign for a chance at happiness, or maintain the precarious status quo and risk his own demise.

[riseofgrace]

Lupa meeting Jason for the first time, Seeing this small human pup and being reminded of her own human children, Romulus and Remus.

The child trembles, not from fear but from the cold. The image of two babies shivering from the assaulting winds of the wild, clinging on each other, comes flashing through her mind. They. He needs shelter.

The she-wolf is suddenly flooded with necessity of keeping this pup.

She trains him the hardest. She knows he is destined for something enormous, she can feel it. Just like with her other two. But Jason is young, too young. He needs more time under the fire to be molded into a proper child of Rome, someone worthy to call themselves the son of the Kings of the gods.

In the night, she allows him to lay by her side. She tells him stories, about the greatest heroes of Rome, about her children, how her Romulus founded Rome and became its first King, and how her Remus died by his brother’s hand. She doesn’t know if Jason truly understands the weight of the words as she talks about the demise of her child, but the toddler looks at her with a contemplative expression on his round rosy face and after a moment he wraps his small arms around her neck. The act takes the wolf by surprise and when she gains her composure, she bitterly orders him to go to sleep.

Despite the harshness in her tone, she lets him embrace her as he sleeps, covering him with her warm fur and nuzzling his hair.

Other demigods pups come and go but Jason stays. Until Juno comes for her champion.

To put it in mortal terms, it can be said that what came after the arrival of the Queen, is the godly equivalent of a custody battle.

Jason needs to learn how to be the leader of men, Lupa knows this. She also knows that there’s so much that Jason can learn at her side.

But in the end, he is Juno’s. Nothing can’t beat the title of Juno’s champion.

The Queen is eyeing them thoughtfully with an aura of superiority and the she-wolf stand solemn, but the child starts nuzzling her side and she can’t help but reciprocate the affection.

Juno comes and gently picks up Jason and strokes his hair.

As they take their leave from the Wolf House, Lupa watches as the child rest his head on the Queen’s shoulder.

She can’t help to remember the moment when that mortal shepherd took her two children away.

Jason waves goodbye to her as he is taken away. Lupa can’t look back anymore.

[techtow]

Beware the Ideas of March: Unraveling the Legacy of Julius Caesar

Hey there, folks! Today, let's dive into a bit of history and unravel the intriguing tale behind the phrase "Beware the Ideas of March." It's a term that has become quite popular, especially thanks to its connection with the infamous betrayal of Julius Caesar.

So, what exactly are the "Ideas of March," and why should we beware them? Well, let me tell you a story…

Picture this: Ancient Rome, a time of power struggles, political intrigue, and, of course, Julius Caesar. Now, Caesar was a mighty ruler, but he wasn't without enemies. Among them was his trusted friend Brutus. Yes, you heard that right—his friend turned foe.

Now, the "Ideas of March" specifically refer to March 15th in the Roman calendar. It was on this fateful day in 44 BCE that Julius Caesar met his demise at the hands of a group of conspirators, led by none other than Brutus himself. Talk about betrayal!

But why should we beware these "Ideas of March"? Well, it's a reminder that even the mightiest can fall, especially when trust is misplaced. It's a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition, power, and the consequences of betrayal.

Now, you might be wondering, why does this matter today? Ah, my friend, the legacy of Julius Caesar lives on not only in history books but also in our language and culture. The phrase "Beware the Ideas of March" serves as a warning to stay vigilant, to be wary of those who may deceive us, and to always question authority.

Interestingly, the phrase has also found its way into popular culture, from Shakespeare's famous play "Julius Caesar" to modern-day references in movies, books, and even social media. Ever heard of "Tumblr holidays"? Well, "Ideas of March" is one of them!

So, next time March 15th rolls around, remember the cautionary tale of Julius Caesar and beware the "Ideas of March." Who knows what betrayals or surprises might be lurking around the corner?

And with that, I'll leave you to ponder over this historical tidbit. Until next time, stay curious, stay vigilant, and beware the Ideas of March!

[veenvss]

blaise zabini,

headcannons :

• he was born in london, despite being raised in Italy. he was premature and was born suddenly while his parents were on holiday. he was actually raised in rome and spent his holidays in his mother's hometown of cagliari in sardinia

• despite popular belief, his mother, ninfa, didn't murder her husbands . . . most of them.her family is cursed to have men fall in love with them and die. she just found a nice loophole that gave her endless money, is it really her fault?

• his father, otello, was the best chaser the Italian quidditch team had seen in centuries. until a freak accident during practise led to his demise.

• his name is to honour his father's childhood best friend. they made a pact to name their first child after one another. the original blaise passed away from an sudden illness and despite his mother's protests, he was named blaise.

• despite his name being french, everyone still called him biagio growing up. so much so that he thought it was his name until he started nursery at 4

• his has two younger brothers from his mother's marriages, francisco and ludovic. he's such a good big brother, and a massive pushover as well. he'll let them do anything to him and will let them get away with anything.

• he's not really a cat person. he is, however, a sucker for big dogs. old english sheep dogs? he will squat down and fluff them up so much. sighthounds? he will send them running down the fields and then pass out with them on the sofa. he LOVES big dogs.

• he knows everyone, even if he doesn't speak to them. he is very good at putting names to faces. he can hear their name once and he'll remember them forever.

• he loves drama. its one of the only reasons why he still hangs out with draco and his gang. they get into so much drama and he lives for it.

...

i have so many qualms with this fandom that i literally cannot put aside anymore. why is theo the italian one? it's literally in blaise's name!!

[chironshorseass]

Imagine an AU where Percy never remembered Annabeth. It would’ve been heartbreaking

girl hi this is what spiraled me into looking at my docs and finding this wip that I may never finish but it's got that concept only I never finished it but here it is:

It starts with rain. The water pelts down on the ground, droplets piercing his cheeks like pinpricks. 

He remembers nothing as the ground trembles and as the wolves come out of the foliage.

He remembers nothing when that she-wolf, that goddess Lupa, trains him. 

“You will need this,” she says, sword against his throat. “To survive.”

“What,” he asks, “get murdered?” 

He’s perfectly still, knowing full well what would happen if he even moves an inch. His skin is iron, sure, but he still prefers not to get cut; there is something about caution that calls to him, like the snare to a fox. He can pretend, for a second, that he is fully mortal. 

Meanwhile Lupa’s eyes give away nothing. Her grip on her sword doesn’t falter. “The Romans won’t take kindly to a son of Neptune. A son of Neptune with a Greek curse.”

“If it’s a Greek curse, then why am I—“

“You shall be trained like any Roman soldier,” she says evenly. Finally, her arm falls to her side. “You cannot be seen as a weakness. A weakness of a pack can be the key to demise.”

“You must be fun at parties.”

In a flick of the incoming lightning, her form is changed to that of a wolf. She curls her lip, something he knows is the equivalent of a sneer. “Do not play games with me, Perseus. I do not like it either, but you are a soldier of Rome, now. This is what the Goddess wishes of you.”

“You know,” he says, scooping Riptide from the ground. “For all this talk about destiny and about how some goddess ordered you to train me or whatever, you’ve never once mentioned who this ‘Goddess’ is.”

She levels his stare with her ice-cold eyes. Like the brutal wind. Her fangs glint in the dimming sunlight.

“Patience, demigod. All in due time for those who wait. Besides, you must follow your instincts to find those lost memories of yours. That is what you want, is it not?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Lupa regards him, the space between them filled with howling gusts. Then, she looks up at the sky. The clouds are darker than before, heavy with rain and anticipation.

After some time like this, she finally meets his eyes. 

“There is little that I can say.”

She leaves him there, as rain pours down like cries calling for the earth. Perhaps he’s going insane, but he hears a whisper.

“Percy.”

It’s the voice of a girl. Desperate and earnest. But it’s gone as soon as it came; the voice is replaced by the breaths of air that brush past his ears. 

.

A few days pass before Lupa sends him on his way. 

All roads lead to Rome. 

So he follows those instincts she’d mentioned, trekking across California. Really, it’s the call of the sea that keeps him going. 

He remembers nothing as he cleans his shirt in a fountain. And he remembers nothing as he fights countless monsters on his journey, many of which claim that they’d fought him before. It’s no matter. 

The goddess Juno, whom he carried across the Little Tiber, promises him that his memories will return. Someday. Ignoring the gawking campers and the praetor with a face made of stone, he holds onto that hope. An invisible rope is there; he grasps it with all his might, fingers laced together in a death grip while Reyna, the praetor, interrogates him. She tells him of grand adventures and near-death experiences. How, because of him, she was swept away from her sanctuary and into the hands of pirates.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever I did. I’m sorry.”

She raises her eyebrows, eyeing her metal dogs. “You seem to be telling the truth. Strange, though,” she muses. “Clearly, you remember nothing—didn’t know what I was talking about—and still, you apologize. Not very Roman of you.”

He can only shrug. “Just want to make amends.”

Her lips become a thin line, head tilted in a quizzical manner. “I’m curious to see, as a son of Neptune, what will become of you in the legion.”

She didn’t ask, but he’s sure no one knows about the Greek Curse. 

.

He finds friends soon enough. Hazel and Frank. Two kids fighting for their worth just as 

hard as Percy, and yet they do all that is possible to promote him to the Fifth Legion.

He also finds enemies. Octavian. Augur. Every time he addresses Percy, there’s a strange light in his eyes—similar to that of Lupa when she’s about to go for the kill. The hate is mutual, really.

So, his dreams are blank, and the day is bleak. He falls asleep to the sound of Frank’s snores and wakes to the sound of kids preparing for War Games.

.

He remembers nothing, but at least his skin remembers not to bleed when blades crash against him. 

To hell with mortality, he thinks, as he grabs a girl’s knife with his bare hands. 

Her eyes widen. “What the—”

She never finishes that sentence, because he kicks her away and blocks someone else’s blow. Second after second passes, and people hesitate, now. Hazel throws metallic weapons in the air with just her mind, and Frank shoots arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy.

And Percy? Well, the Romans don’t fear Neptune for nothing. 

.

“Some team you made, you and Hazel and Frank.”

He meets Reyna’s eyes, though he’s not sure what he sees there. “We’re a good team, yeah. But the victory was for the Fifth Legion. They deserve it.” 

“No arguing about that,” she says. “But there’s also no arguing that you three were the key players.”

“Why am I here?”

Aurum and Argentum growl in response; Reyna quiets them down with a pat to the head. She glances at Percy. “Right to the point, are we?”

He shrugs, leaning against his leather chair. 

It takes her some time to respond. She swishes the jellybeans at her table. Delicately, she plucks one into her mouth, the chewing slow, with control. Deliberate, he might say.

“It’s not because of the exploded water cannons, is it?” he finds himself asking. “Because that was for war strategy; you of all people should appreciate it.”

Her mouth curls into the hint of a smile. “No, Percy, you’re not here because of that.” Again, she eyes him, up and down, and not even the metal dogs make a sound. “When were you going to tell me,” she begins, “that you carry the Curse of Achilles?”

The dogs stare at him, baring their teeth, surely waiting eagerly for him to lie. Something tells him that one wrong move and he’d end up alone in the streets again, surrounded by monsters that would turn to dust and seconds later reform, over and over. He has to choose his words with precision.

“I didn’t…plan to tell you. Obviously, there’s a reason for that, though. Lupa told me I couldn’t say anything.”

Reyna raises her eyebrows, looks back and forth between her dogs and Percy. “Well. You seem to be telling the truth. Again. Any idea of when this happened? The curse, I mean?”

Pain. He tries to remember, and all he feels is pain pain pain. First, burning his lower back, and then traveling to his throat and to his brain. 

This happens in just a second, because his mind pops like a bubble, and he anchors himself to Reyna’s dark-brown eyes.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t.”

She hums. “There are many mysteries about you, Percy Jackson.”

“You can say that.”

“I know you don’t remember anything.” Here, her face opens up to reveal a smidge of sympathy. He stupidly wonders how Reyna would be like as just a regular teenage girl instead of a child soldier in charge of an entire child army. “I can tell that you’re hurting. But the other Romans, they don’t care about that. They care that you’re a threat—Octavian, especially. And believe me, people have noticed how you can’t bleed. You fight like no other demigod, Percy.”

“So? What do you want me to do? Fucking take away the curse?”

She crosses her arms. “Playing dumb with me doesn’t work, you know. Mars issued a quest; Frank Zhang, as you well understand, was made a centurion to lead it, to free Thanatos. Rome is in more danger than you think.”

He can see the toll this is taking on her. The toll of leading alone. The hunch in her shoulders and her cracked lips and the bags under her eyes. But he can also see that she won’t take any pity from him. 

Then it dawns on him—the hidden request behind her reminder about all that’s at stake.

“You want me to go.”

“Of course I do. Not to feed on your ego, but you’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched the Amazons fight. There is also something else: you have to build the Roman’s trust. They already see you as an unreliable weapon—a son of Neptune with a Greek curse is not a good combination. So, you have to earn their trust. If you accomplish this…I have an offer for you.”

Praetor. In all honesty, he might as well go with it.

.

As Reyna promised, all eyes are on him the next day. Ignoring the hushed comments and the stares and the sneers, he goes straight to Frank and Hazel’s table. 

“So it’s true,” Hazel says, studying him. “You carry the Curse of Achilles.”

“How do you know it’s true?” Percy says, sitting next to her. “Those are only rumors.”

She shrugs. “Curses are a bit of my specialty. Also, I watched you fight. I saw how you didn’t bleed.”

“Everyone saw, apparently,” he mutters.

But she doesn’t deserve his jab; Hazel is anything but malicious. Her eyes are big and her face is open—in awe, maybe. To her right Frank fiddles with his medal claiming him as a centurion. Dakota and Gwen—the girl who came back to life just yesterday—merely eye him in wariness. Nico di Angelo, on the other hand, acts as if Percy doesn’t exist, puncturing the act once in a while with stolen glances. The ambassador of Pluto. He’s the strangest of the bunch, and not just because Percy swears that they’ve met before.

Percy decides to only focus on Hazel and Frank, for his sanity. “Yeah,” he tells Hazel. “My skin’s kinda made of metal. Kinda. I don’t know how to explain it, but…”

He takes Riptide, still in pen form. Everyone is watching his every move, he knows. Not just the people on his table. He rolls the ballpoint pen in his hand, feeling the slick coolness of such an innocent object. These Romans, they had never seen a weapon like his before.

Then, he uncaps it; in seconds the innocent pen is transformed into a sword.

Some gasp. The ones sitting with him flinch, except Nico. Percy points his sword down, toward his hand, and his eyes connect with the son of Pluto’s. They are dark as obsidian, glittering, like he knows of an inside joke only he and Percy share. Finally, Percy’s gaze lands on Octavian. Even from this distance he can see that the augur’s jaw is clenched, and so is his fist that grasps onto a teddy bear, knuckles as white as the pillars. He is one of the many standing, ready for whatever trick Percy is about to pull. Even the fauns are gawking.

“Here’s a trick.”

His eyes never leave Octavian, not once. Slowly, the fingers curled around Riptide’s hilt lower down to the sharpness of the glowing bronze. Some cry out; others murmur in wonder once his hand squeezes into the blade and no scarlet comes gushing out of his palm. His other hand is ready, laid out on the table with a serene calmness, even if his palm faces the end of Riptide, point blank. Even if everyone knows he intends to cut himself. 

Frank starts, “Percy, are you sure—”

Hazel shushes him. Percy winks at Octavian before the impact comes, rattling the table. He slams Riptide down, into his waiting hand, again and again and again and again. The pain is dull compared with the satisfaction of seeing everyone’s faces.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sword bounces off his skin—again and again and again.

“See? Nothing can pierce my—”

“Enough!” comes a voice, laced with anger and authority. Reyna. “Enough! That is enough!”

She pushes past the crowd, her eyes wide. Percy stops his little show. She’s right; it is enough, because Octavian’s nose flares and his face reddens like a ripe tomato. Percy bites down his smug smile.

“Everyone,” Octavian calls, but his voice wobbles. He clears his throat. “Back to your tables.”

Reyna doesn’t reproach him for taking over her duty as a leader. She only holds Percy’s stare and disperses into the crowd, purple cape billowing behind her. In his table, Frank begins to clap, slow and appreciative. Percy turns to him and shares his smile. 

“That was,” Frank says, mouth wide open, “I mean—”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Percy grins.

“Fucking priceless,” Hazel corrects, then pauses, her lips pursed. “Um, sorry.”

Percy nudges her. “Why’re you sorry? It’s true; Octavian’s face was priceless.”

“Oh, um.” She waves her hand around. “It’s nothing—just sometimes forget that I’m—”

“Hazel.” Nico gives her a look, stopping her mid sentence. 

What that is about, Percy has no clue. He has no clue about many things. 

“Catholic school,” Hazel says quickly. “I’m not used to swearing.” 

Her tone is too thick, however. Too nervous. Again, he has no clue about many things. 

“Anyway,” Dakota drawls, pointing a finger toward Percy, “the one that should apologize is Jackson, ‘cause he spilled my koolaid all over the table, see? All because he’s a masochist, or something.”

They all share a laugh, and maybe the Romans aren’t so bad.

[queen-of-weird-girlboy-nation]

@valtsv credit for this chart bc it's so soso, so jason Grace all at the same time, let the explain ok. This is based on my beadcanons and vibes. Canon is a suggestion and a prompt. Also, this chart slaps

1. Angel rules: You can break the rules, but doing so will have irreversible consequences

Jason can just break the rules of CJ. He doesn't have to follow them. But that involves punishment, and as he develops OCD damages that he thinks will be a life ending (all of the people in New Rome will die. The world will end. Everything will go wrong if he breaks the rules). So like angel rules

2. Fae rules: you can't break the rules but you can exploit every loophole.

This is less than the first defiently after the like breaks all of the culty brainwashing, or probably in the middle of deprogramming likely, but I hc Jason knows all the laws ever since hes the son of Jupiter god of law and order. So he thinks that breaking rules is bad, but maybe loopholes are maybe sort of ok? He can't break the rules but knowing every law and loophole he can exploit all of them. So like fae rules

3. Machine rules: You can not break the rules because the rules are encoded into you and breaking them requires breaking you

Jason's dad is the god of law and order. He was raised in a rule oriented military camp since he was a toddler and was probably abused bc of it. That's why I hc him as following the rules so much, even when he doesn't mean to because it's a force of habit. He has no idea who he is outside of them because they are literally encoded into his very being, like a machine designed to follow the rules to their demise.

All of these coexist

Machines can break their code and set free like angels, but they would malfunction and die, hence irreversible consequences like how jaosn can break the rules but another irreversible consequence would be he wouldn't be as good of a child soldier which is a great consequence but stil a consequence. He would die at his purpose, being a soldier.

And this both of these ft in with fae rules, a t least a bit. Bc at this point, he can't break the rules, but small loopholes are ok perhaps? So yeah.

I'm very obsessed with the machine one and this concept if you can't tell :)

@freddie-77-ao3 @acetheta @seulgishaku @tiredthistofor @somewhereincairparavel

[itsokbbygrl]

WIP Wednesday

omg she’s posting something???? YEAH BITCH I AM. Listen, idk if this will go anywhere or not but I had a few people tag me over the last few weeks so I figured I’d cook something up. This man has given me insane brainrot this week, so here you go! Marcus Acacius, you’ve earned a place in the Google docs officially. Ty for tagging me @sawymredfox @vivian-pascal @luxurychristmaspudding

The warm tones of firelight flicker against the stone walls of your bed chamber. Cicadas’ song bleats incessantly through your windows from the streets below. The soft scuffle of his worn boots against the floor began to grate against your ears as he paced. You would look for the path he carved come morning, surely etched into permanence by now, preserve it, name it for him.

“I am bound by honor to serve Rome, but I cannot in good conscience desert her people. This endless war…its devastation. These men, these boys, sent to slaughter under the impression that their bravery, their sacrifice, will bring improvement to their country, bring it riches, see it thrive, and yet upon their return see nothing but ruin. The citizens are starving in the streets, carissima, while we sit in our high towers, bathed in milk and honey, perfumed with oils. We are fed lavish meals, sleep on silk. I will not be the face of Geta’s wrath, his greed, any longer. It cannot go on like this or there will no longer be a Rome to serve.”

His face had turned red at its highest points, evidence of his belief in his words, the truth of his feelings. You rose from your place on the edge of your bed, holding his gaze as your strode carefully towards the towering beast of him, your General, still donning the beautiful formal armor he was gifted by the Emperor, laurels of gold laid atop his lush crown of curls, the increasing prominence of streaking silver betraying his age. His eyes follow you, never breaking from your own. You cup a soft palm against his heated cheek, brushing your thumb over its apple, feeling the pressure increase as he leans into the touch, coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin. “Meum cor, it is not for you to save this world alone. This is too great a burden to bear by one man, as strong and stubborn as he may be,” you gently tease him. “This is a game of wits, one played behind the curtain of society. My father once taught me to play such a game, you must always be thinking two steps ahead of your opponent, considering all outcomes at all times, finding their weakness and luring them to their demise.” Your eyes alight, reflecting the fire that surrounds you. “Marcus, Rome will not be won by he who is the most brave, but by he who is the most cunning.”

npt: @swiftispunk @javierpena-inatacvest @sugarcoated-lame @studioghibelli @mrsmando @beardedjoel @chronically-ghosted

[alexxx362]

Ok hear me out here- Imagine Neil knew that he was meant to be prefect court the whole time and genuine hating Kevin because why?Why did he get to have everything? Why did he get to have friends? Why did he get to play? Why did he get all the fame and glory? Sure he had to live in hell just to obtain it but didnt neil also have to live in hell? a difrent kind of hell but hell the same, but he didnt get freinds. He didnt get to play A family (be it a found one). He didnt get fame and glory. All he has is a dead mother that berly even loved him in the first place. Thats simply not fair.

Now! to relate this song to Brutus by the buttress and think about it!! (not the whole song just parts)

"I've been watching him for my entire life I hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees His words so contrived And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside They hang on every breath, cling to his chest Home to his heart full of pride"

The oracle told him to beware the Ides And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing For untimely death or demise (or just his hand being broken)

Or am I just wishing I could be like you? That the people would see me too as a poet (player) And not just the muse (?)

Oh, it's not true, I don't wish harm upon you From birth we've been like brothers of different mothers Within the spirit of the same womb

May the gods (Andrew) strike me down if I forsake you

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art And I know the love you showed me came From a pure and noble heart

I love you, and if you want, I'll call you King queen But why do I lie awake each night thinking "Instead of you, it should be me"?

Something wicked this way comes And as I set to face it, I'm unsure Should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?

What's more wrong; that I too wish to be great Or my mother wished she'd had a son? (the wish she had a son part doesn't make much sense but the vibe does if you get me lol)

And even if I can't be the one Maybe I could at least help make way for him Until the day that he comes Maybe my name could also be known That I helped return good to the people And restored greatness to Rome Brutus, Brutus, Brutus, Brutus! Brutus, Brutus, Brutus, Brutus! Brutus, Brutus, Brutus, Brutus! Brutus, Brutus, Brutus, Brutus! My name is Brutus and my name means heavy So with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy

My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy I, too, have a destiny This death will be art The people will speak of this day from near and afar This event will be history, and I'll be great too I don't want what you have, I want to be you

I always knew I could be the one Though I feel the endless pain of being And I am scorched by the Sun Of humble origins and born of the cursed sex My name is Brutus (Nathaniel) , but the people will call me Rex (Neil)