#what would the augurs have said

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS: THE PROLOGUE

TRIKARANOS is a dramatized narrative based on ancient events following Crassus (and Pompey and Caesar) through the years 87-48 BCE. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read (in the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to make it through Patreon!)

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the Public Domain [as per the Met's Open Access policy]

🍊 The Abduction of the Sabine Women, Nicolas Poussin 🍊 Obverse, a Terracotta neck-amphora depicting Aeneas rescuing his father, Anchises, during the fall of Troy. [description taken from the Met] 🍊 compositional study for The Lictors Bringing Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David 🍊The Battle of Vercellae, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo 🍊 The Capture of Carthage, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

UNDER THE CUT creator's commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn't need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it's a comic and a story first and foremost, but it's here if you're curious and want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

so! there are a couple of accounts about the return of Marius and Cinna, I've chosen Appian's account for the primary source of inspiration, although I've cut the cast down to it's barest essentials because I want the claustrophobia of violence to really eat itself.

Cinna now began to despise his enemies and drew near to the wall, halting out of range, and encamped. Octavius and his party were undecided and fearful, and hesitated to attack him on account of the desertions and the negotiations. The Senate was greatly perplexed and considered it a dreadful thing to depose Lucius Merula, the priest of Jupiter, who had been chosen consul in place of Cinna, and who had done nothing wrong in his office. Yet on account of the impending danger it reluctantly sent envoys to Cinna again, and this time as consul. They no longer expected favourable terms, so they only asked that Cinna should swear to them that he would abstain from bloodshed. He refused to take the oath, but he promised nevertheless that he would not willingly be the cause of anybody's death. He directed, however, that Octavius, who had gone round and entered the city by another gate, should keep away from the forum lest anything should befall him against his own will. This answer he delivered to the envoys from a high platform in his character as consul. Marius stood in silence beside the curule chair, but showed by the asperity of his countenance the slaughter he contemplated. When the Senate had accepted these terms and had invited Cinna and Marius to enter (for it was understood that, while it was Cinna's name which appeared, the moving spirit was Marius), the latter said with a scornful smile that it was not lawful for men banished to enter. Forthwith the tribunes voted to repeal the decree of banishment against him and all the others who were expelled under the consul­ship of Sulla.

Accordingly Cinna and Marius entered the city and everybody received them with fear. Straightway they began to plunder without hindrance all the goods of those who were supposed to be of the opposite party. Cinna and Marius had sworn to Octavius, and the augurs and soothsayers had predicted, that he would suffer no harm, yet his friends advised him to fly. He replied that he would never desert the city while he was consul. So he withdrew from the forum to the Janiculum with the nobility and what was left of his army, where he occupied the curule chair and wore the robes of office, attended as consul by lictors. Here he was attacked by Censorinus with a body of horse, and again his friends and the soldiers who stood by him urged him to fly and brought him his horse, but he disdained even to arise, and awaited death. Censorinus cut off his head and carried it to Cinna, and it was suspended in the forum in front of the rostra, the first head of a consul that was so exposed. After him the heads of others who were slain were suspended there; and this shocking custom, which began with Octavius, was not discontinued, but was handed down to subsequent massacres.

Appian, Civil Wars I, 70-71 (trans. Horace White)

Plutarch's biography of Marius also recounts the same event, but I was leaning more on Appian for this.

ALSO! the choice to use Giovanni Battista Tiepolo's painting The Capture of Carthage as a backdrop to Octavius: it's because Cinna and Octavius were co consuls for a minute and Rome and Carthage are twin cities (instar Carthaginis urbem babyyy), and I do love the doubling/twin-ification of a thing. which is what co consuls are to me. we're overlapping the themes, in addition to the overlapping of violence, which is what all iterations of Rome are founded on.

Textual Monuments: Reconstructing Carthage in Augustan Literary Culture, Nora Goldschmidt

the chapter cover is my own illustration of an Etruscan kantharos because Crassus may or may not have had some kind of Etruscan heritage. YMMV but for me it's fun to think about

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward (& the citation!)

[somewhereincairparavel]

🐚 Daughter of Neptune headcanons list 🌊 part one..

Note: I've never done a pjo hcs post like this with the aesthetic pictures and everything- but I've been Itching to make a daughter of Neptune one, since I consider myself as a Neptune child. So this is sort of a self insert haha, and I thought it'd fun cuz I have so many hcs abt this, I've only over seen ppl do a daughter of Poseidon one.

Also this one has reader x Jason Grace as romantic pairings, but it isn't the main focus. Like I said, this is a self insert, and I love my bb jason ;) + imagine having Percy as a big brother, goals fr

• Okay so you'd come to Camp Jupiter at the age of 8-9, so you definitely have a considerable amount of childhood before you came to camp. Which only made it harder for you to adapt to the barbaric ways the Roman camp worked.

• Also, Since Neptune was not a very respected Roman god, your arrival was considered bad luck. Octavian made you go through an intense trial (that motherfucker was like 10 years old and an augur, and was already such a bitch lol) + forced a newly elected praetor Reyna (who was also just 10 at the time) to hold a senate meeting before you were even offered a position at camp.

• Neptune is very feared by the romans though, since he represented the harsh brutality of the ocean, so you got the Roman Nico di Angelo treatment from camp. Everyone was scared of you, flinched when you walked passed them. this was to your advantage tho, since you never got bullied, mostly out of fear.

• so Neptune temples in Camp Jupiter are only taken care of by you, if you left for a quest or something then the shrines would be in such a horrible state, bc no one cares enough to offer Neptune anything or even clean up his shrine. You'd do the cleaning and offering.

• and the worst part? Your dad wouldn't even notice you even after your efforts.

• okay, your powers are quite similar to Percy's butt I feel like since Roman/Greek siblings always have powers that compliment eachother, you'd have better control over the earthly side of the domain. Like you can cause longer earthquakes, control seismic waves, and make volcanos erupt + cause bigger avalanches, Stuff like that.

• Your water control was actually a little limited, up until Percy arrived and helped you enhance your powers. And you helped enhance his control over earthquakes, since his earthquakes usually only lasted for a few seconds, his dad is more water dominant. So when you met him, you knew he was a missing puzzle piece in your life. You'd even be able to communicate telepathically to Percy underwater, a power you both never knew you needed.

• Seriously tho it would be hilarious to look at, bc to the others, you both sound like squeaky dolphins but in reality you are just telepathically speaking with one another. The others wouldn't understand, and poor Frank would be so confused as to why you both are making strangled fish noises

Leo would troll you guys so bad for this lol

• your eyes would actually be black. Not blue, not sea green, just black. Your eyes would literally glitter like black obsidian rocks. because Poseidon is the calm side of ocean, hence sea green eyes for Percy, Neptune is the dark and scary side of the ocean, so that's black eyes for you. that difference would clearly reflect in your guys's eye colours AND personality (I'll expand on this more in part 2)

• but your scariness comes with a downside, you had no friends. No friends, except Jason and Reyna. it's just your dad's naturally strict aura surrounding you that makes your overall personality a Lil grumpy and moody tbh. You did have such a resting bitch face that wasn't helping either.

• Jason, being the noble boy he was, knew you were going to be his friend the moment you made a dramatic entrance to camp for the first time, getting scouted by the waves to New Rome. He knew what it was like to have a powerful, scary dad, but he acknowledged and empathized that you had it harder than he did. He was considered a golden boy, while you were considered a scary bad luck charm. But regardless of that, Jason was your first best friend. And eventually, your boyfriend.

• Reyna on the other hand, badly wanted to befriend you because she admired your mental strength, you were 9 years old and you were openly scoffed at by the legionnaires simply because your father was a scary man. Yet you handled it all so well. But she befriended you a little later than Jason did. Since she was so busy, she barely had any time to chat with anyone. You, Jason and Reyna bonded as a trio when you guys had your first quest.

• Reyna secretly shipped you and Jason from the very beginning lol, bc a Jupiter x Neptune union? Y'all were powerful and cute af together. The mutual pining drives her crazy though, like kiss already smh.

• Also, Nicknames! Your nickname was ALWAYS "kelp head" because your hair was wavy and shaped like seaweed lol. As much as you hated to admit it, the name fit a little too well.

• okay enough with the friendship stuff, let's talk about how much that bastard Octavian makes it his mission to make your life a hellhole. It isn't even funny anymore, he hated you from the very beginning. Not only because you were considered bad luck, it's because he envied that you were a direct descendant of such a powerful God, he couldn't even handle Jason's arrival, yours was just the last straw for him. He opposes your opinions in front of the whole senate + prevents you from getting elected as Centurion + attempts to prevent you from going on quests, bc he can't handle someone else taking the glory.

• He was also the reason you were put into the unpopular twelfth legion. The underdog legion. But Jason? That sweetheart made it worth being in the twelfth legion so you weren't complaining tbh.

• honestly? Octavian and you are famous in camp for your bickering though lol it's just always a back and forth between you and him, such burning rivalry and enmity. You LOVED roasting him and you were fucking great at it too. He deserved that for making you go though hell. You'd laugh like a maniac when he trips and he smirks when has the upper hand against you in senate discussions.

• Reyna is the only reason you both didn't beat eachother up at this point tbh

• once, Reyna came running up to you all panicky because Octavian went missing from camp. In response, you beamed and told her that you'd get the balloons ready in the dining hall for a grand celebration. Jason would burst out laughing lol.

• you'd steal his teddy bears and give them to younger campers, asking them to hide it from octavian. So the younger campers absolutely adore you, unlike the older ones.

• you are also quite the rebel in camp, JUST like Octavian predicted you would be, when you first came to camp. It was actually written in his auguries that the new child of Neptune arrival would be always shafting the rules, since the sea can't be controlled. It's in a nature for a Neptune child to walk their own pace (lol have you seen Percy??) That gave another reason for him to hate you.

• Even some of the lares in CJ would call you an abnormal roman bc you never acted like one. You were wild and temperamental.

This rule breaking tendency you had did earn you lots of punishments that included scrubbing the whole camp with a toothbrush. But it was worth it for you. Camp Jupiter sucked. And you were already in trouble, so what's a little more, right?

• you'd sneak out at night to explore New Rome, because again, the Romans had this weird bedtime curfew like. they have rules for every. Fucking. Thing. It pissed you off so bad. They wouldn't even let you explore the city at night? They were seriously wasting the beauty of the city, You'd definitely rope Jason in to break the rules with you. Like don't be such a goody two shoes smh. I feel like that's what attracted him to you in the first place. He's a goody goody boy with such a boring life, youd just make it interesting for him.

• besides, sneaking out is SO much easier when you can fly. So Jason is your personal airplane. The Jason Grace airlines.

• okay so after all your hardwork in the legion, you'd finally get elected to Centurion, after you successfully finished a quest to retrieve a lost Roman artifact, which was formerly Jason's position and he would become a co praetor with Reyna. But you were still very much disrespected in camp tbh, it just became an internalised thing for everyone to hate you at this point, Octavian was also great at putting your reputation under dirt, but you didn't really care anymore.

• now here comes the catch, Jason and you were sort of in a half-pining half-relationship situation, Before that jerk goes missing. because neither of you knew how to confess, and camp was SO strict when it came to relationships for some reason?? Like even dating has to be lowkey.

• you and Jason are totally the grumpy x sunshine trope lol except you're the grumpy, snippy and batshit one and jason is calm, levelheaded and optimistic one.

Perfect balance. Gosh your dynamic would be so cute :(

• you'd just be grumpily stomping around while jason stalks behind you, laughing lightly. You're super short compared to him aswell, so yeah it makes it funnier.

• You were in charge of welcoming Hazel to camp, since Jason and Reyna had some serious meeting stuff about the new prophecy Octavian told them about.

• poor hazel would be scared to death while meeting you, not just bc it's you, it's bc she just came back from the dead, so this is all rlly new for her.

• That's where you met him. Nico di Angelo. You'd bond over your shared mistreatment in camp. So you became homies w him fairly quickly. He saw you as this cool big sister he could have happy meals with talking abt life.

• you would be a little curious when he keeps disappearing off to somewhere tho, you knew he was lying about where he came from.

Okay part 1 of this is done, this was so long lol, part 2 would drop later, that's where you and Percy meet and stuff.

Update: part two is out! https://www.tumblr.com/somewhereinhogsmeade/746489087922520064/daughter-of-neptune-headcanons-list-part-two?source=share

[fastlikealambo]

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! fem reader

it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. 18+only, minors dni note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. i'm so sorry for the wait, I've been writing and rewriting this chapter, and even now I'm not sure if I have Paul's voice right. I hope you like it!

tw: paul has some quick naughty thoughts!

if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE STEEL IS THE WATER.

Paul Atreides did not dream, he augured.

What great and terrible things existed beneath his eyelids, a pocket world of hope, atrocities, and hopeful atrocities all at the command of the young emperor. 

He was still young, wasn’t he?

There were times when he looked upon his own reflection and saw a thousand Fremen faces, no eyes nor mouth, just Paradise.

 In the corner of his lips, he stole a glimpse of Chani.

At night, in the very edges of his vision, Paul stared at himself and his father stared back.

Yet now, the emperor’s visions turned to you  in bed, still adjusting to the heat, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning.

He could hold you still to rest if he wanted to, flatten the stress crease between your brows. The sweat between your breasts would not be wasted water for Paul, the tongue of the outer world would lap quick and perhaps venture further south-

No, it was not time.

Paul's sight moved from sleeping you to hundreds of thousands of visions in a single second, your past and futures laid out before your soon to be husband. 

He saw your daughter learning to sandwalk, he heard the laughter of his grandson echoing from Caladan and through his mind’s eye. 

So much love and destruction in between then and now.

  “You give the sister absolute power over the Bene Gesserit, why?” Jessica asked, not bothering to knock before entering Paul’s rooms, ripping him back into the present.

  “So the sisterhood falls in line under me, as you have done, as Alia will do. The sister is the key but I am the door, Mother.”

“Power over the Bene Gesserit is earned, the choice of Mother Superior takes planning yet you give it like a wedding present.”

 “Why does it bother you? You created the prophecy, I led the Fremen through it, the holy war has ended. You have everything you want, and now my bride and her sister are the future of the empire you desired. Is it because you can no longer whisper in my ear?”

Paul loved Lady Jessica.

But long gone were the days of Jessica’s son and he caught the way she looked at him now.

 Reverence, amusement, and just a whiff of fear she believed to be hidden from him but there was nothing anyone, Bene Gesserit or desert mouse, could hide from him, The Water of Life had seen to that.

Lady Jessica had birthed Shai Hulud in human form and yet still wondered why he swallowed the world. 

      “You turned away the most powerful family for an alliance and have given a nameless house two seats at our table. Your new  bride has no training, no rank and you bestow upon your almost assassin the sacred sisterhood.  I’m worried for you, Paul.” Lady Jessica said, kneeling in front of Paul, her son, her product.

   Paul took his mother’s hand gently and looked her in the eye.

THERE IS NO OUR TABLE.

 I AM THE TABLE.

 I AM THE WOOD THAT CARVED IT.

 I AM THE STEEL BENEATH YOUR FEET.

WHEN YOU CRY FOR LETO I AM YOUR WATER.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do we understand each other?”

Jessica was gone before Paul could blink.

He turned his sight back to you, present you, but you were not there.

Lady Jessica had not brought worry to her son, but a distraction.

You had been taken. 

Again, I’m sorry this took so long but I hope it is worth the wait! Thank you for reading!

Tag List

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[groovycatanime]

The Blackbeard Pirates, if they ever learn what Bonney's true age is... (Spoilers for Chapter 1098)

Blackbeard, who looks like he's having a crisis: ... Burgess: ... Shiryu: ... Augur: ... Pizarro: ... Laffitte: ... Devon: ... Wolf: ... Vasco: ... Doc Q: ... Kuzan: ...You propositioned a 10-year-old. Blackbeard: I didn't KNOW she was 10 at the time! She has an age altering fruit! She was an adult woman when I caught her! If I had known, I NEVER would have said anything! I'm a villain, not a monster! Laffitte: Nobody is blaming you, Commodore. We all thought she was an adult. Augur: I suppose it's a fortunate turn of fate that you left her untouched with the Navy back then rather than just taking her. Devon: Why are you even freaked out over this? You didn't even screw her, and you're a pirate, for god's sake. I'm surprised it even bothers you. Blackbeard: A line has to be drawn somewhere for everyone, Devon. For me, it's pedophilia. Kuzan: (I guess I should be relieved Blackbeard is that much decent...) Vasco: Eh, if Bonney was in her adult form, I'd still do her. Rest of the crew: ... Shiryu: *slowly draws sword*

[littlesparklight]

so close to the end, so have this snippet.

"Hektor." Apollo tipped his cup and took a sip, gaze falling onto the gleaming nectar within. "Even if I hadn't known him before I came to glory in him for these past years, I always would have. But I've known him since he was a child - he and a companion of his were born on the same day as I call my own, the day my divine mother and sister brought me into the world when Eileithyia had finally been appeased and lured away from her mother's side. Polydamas I gave the clear-sightedness of knowing the paths and signs of birds and omens, for that was a fitting gift for the son of a priest of mine. Hektor I needed time for; before Kassandra and Helenos, the closest that family has brought out in augurs were Priam's oldest."

Pausing, Apollo cocked his head, glancing up to meet Hyacinthus' gaze. There was a curl of amusement in the corner of his.

"Perhaps I became too fond of listening to that child as he grew, for he was an ardent worshipper in the connection of our shared day of birth, and I could still find no fitting gift than my continued attention. He was earnest and gentle, someone I could see would be, and quickly became, a defender both of what I'd helped build and what was housed within. No great skill at the lyre or with poetry, and he preferred other weapons than the bow, but his company was… soothing."

"Soothing?"

Only part of this was what Hyacinthus had expected to hear. Even the parts he'd expected fitted ill to what he'd expected would be the whole those parts would fit into. He'd overheard Apollo talk about Admetos, about Kassandra, and Helenos. Knew how Apollo talked about him, both to him in their bed and to others. But there seemed to be no desire at all as he spoke of Hektor, though fondness was the beating heart found within each and every syllable.

"Soothing," Apollo agreed, taking another sip. Briefly, his expression was an open wound. "Not a son, not a lover, and I needed not be either of those things for or with him - I can see what my dearest sister find in companionship with her girls. He was a warrior, but a gentle one, and even before the war I'd begun to give him what I knew would serve him best, though it's a role I haven't exactly embodied until recently."

Apollo, not the poet or the hunter or even the plague bringer, but the rouser of armies.

Apollo of the bow, not in play or in search of sustenance, but the gleaming edge of bronze of an arrow nocked to find the heart of a man, a sword swung to kill, a spear thrown. Stormgod of the army, as the Trojans called him. In relief, in need, though not, as far as Hyacinthus had been able to tell, because of the hostility of Pallas Athena the sacker of cities, nor that of the more uncertain support of bronze Ares.

"So you gave him a helmet, with your own hands," Hyacinthus said slowly, thoughtful and understanding both, reaching out to stroke Apollo's knuckles of the hand he had clutched, and far tighter than it appeared by sight alone, around his kylix.

"I gave him a helmet," Apollo agreed, and threw back almost the whole contents of his cup in a single swallow.

[knightofthenewrepublic]

Percy would have worked with Octavian, but the Augur never gave him a chance

(or Why Octavian's actions weren’t justified)

As people spend more and more time critically examining the Riordanvese (often to a fault, it must be said) one of the most common revisionist arguments is to try and absolve the mortal villains of the consequences of their action; usually by exaggerating their motivations. That includes the argument that Octavian was so quick to war partially because he was treated poorly by the Greeks. Particularly by Percy Jackson. 

But does that actually hold up?

People will argue that Octavian was not evil, because attacking Camp Halfblood was justified from his perspective; he thought they had broken a truce with New Rome and attacked it. And that would be a fair argument, IF that was the only bad thing Octavian had done, or even the worst thing. It wasn’t. And Octavian had begun trying to trigger conflict well before that. Percy, on the other hand, did his best to prevent it.

The first scene where Percy meets Octavian, is also the first time we see his sinister side. And that is of course when he tries to blackmail Hazel into supporting him for Praetor.

Now there is an aspect of the context of this scene that I think a lot of people overlook; their ages. Octavian is 18, or near enough, and Hazel is 13. This is a guy old enough to vote, (the only one of them who isn’t a child soldier) blackmailing a girl too young to get a learner’s permit. Just before this, Percy says Octavian reminds him of someone; which is obviously a reference to Luke Castellan. This type of nearly grooming behavior would have really reinforced that impression; which explains Percy’s hostile reaction to it.

Percy slipped his hand into his pocket, and grabbed his pen. This guy was blackmailing Hazel. That was obvious. One sign from Hazel, and Percy was ready to bust out Riptide and see how Octavian liked being at the end of a blade.

But Percy keeps these urges internal. He doesn’t voice his anger, and doesn’t give any visible reaction. The other two keep talking like he’s not there. This is a pretty good demonstration of Percy’s hard won self control; on his first day at Camp Half-Blood he doused Clarisse with toilet water for less, without even meaning to.

The next interaction he has with Octavian isn’t much better.

“Recruit,” he [Octavian] asked, “do you have any credentials? Letters of reference?” Percy shifted. “Letters? Um, no.” Octavian wrinkled his nose. Unfair! Hazel wanted to shout. Percy had carried a goddess into camp. What better recommendation could you want? But Octavian’s family had been sending kids to camp for over a century. He loved reminding recruits that they were less important than he was.  “No letters,” Octavian said regretfully. “Will any legionnaires stand for him?”

Now just asking this question is obviously standard practice, so Octavian isn’t wrong for that. It’s his condescending reaction that is the unsubtle putdown.

But then things come to a head very quickly, when that night’s game of capture the flag ends in a visit from the god Mars, and the command he delivers; a quest to retrieve the legion Eagle, and free Death.

Now what’s really important here is that, while people often think of Leo attacking Camp Jupiter as the point where Octavian turned against the heroes, THIS is the actual point. THIS is where he goes from being a nuisance to being an antagonist.

It starts in the Senate meeting the next day, when Percy tries to make sense of the situation:

“This Giant, the son of Gaea--he’s the one who defeated your forces thirty years ago. I’m sure of it. Now he’s sitting up there in Alaska with a chained death god, and all your old equipment. He's mustering his armies and sending them south to attack this camp.”

Percy is just repeating what Mars literally told them the night before. Octavian’s reasonable reaction to this is:

“Really?” Octavian said. “You seem to know a lot about our enemy’s plans, Percy Jackson.”

Him, and everyone else who was conscious at the end of the war games.

In spite of being almost outright accused of treason, Percy still keeps his cool. This shows a lot of growth on his part, compared to where he was in the second book of the previous series:

This was so completely unfair, I told Tantalus to go chase a donut, which didn’t help his mood.

After a bit more discussion, Octavian makes his move. First he gets in another insult. 

“Mars has clearly chosen the least likely candidates for this quest. Perhaps it is because he considers them the most expendable.”

And then he argues that the senate should not give any of the support that would normally be given to a quest. The odds of them succeeding are already so low; better to use their resources to protect the camp.

It’s pretty easy for us, the readers, to overlook what a dick move this really is. Of course WE know that the heroes are going to come back alive; but in universe, there is nothing to guarantee that. Even a small magical trinket could be the difference between life and death. And Octavian is trying to deny them that.

This could be understandable, if there was any sincerity to it. A sad but necessary sacrifice for the greater good, to protect the camp. But after arguing that all their resources have to be saved for the battle, Octavian proceeds to do nothing with them. When the giant’s army arrives, the legion simply marches out and fights them with conventional ranks and swords. Aside from a few roman scorpions (large crossbows), no specialized weapons are brought out, no magical items are used, they didn’t even build a wall or a trench. So there was no real reason not to give them anything; even if he sincerely believed the quest was doomed, that was all the more reason to help. The right magical tool might have at least given them the chance to get back alive. Depriving the questers served no purpose other than to make them fail.

You can also see this, in the fact that all Octavian’s stated reasons don’t actually win over the senate. 

The senators’ eyes moved back and forth between Octavian and Reyna, watching the test of wills. Reyna straightened in her chair. “Very well,” she said tightly. We shall put it to a vote.”

No one gives their support to Octavian before this. The senators are waiting to follow the person they see as more powerful, not the argument that was more convincing.

As for motivations, there is only one that Octavian could have; with the election just days away, he wants to prevent a rival for the praetorship.

Is the fulfillment of an epic quest a silly basis for entrusting someone with supreme executive power? Yes, in the real world, it is. But demigods don’t live in the real world; and in their world, everything revolves around quests. Quests drive every important event in the series, and are the ultimate standard by which the skill and power of a demigod are demonstrated. As Annabeth puts it in TLT:

“At camp you train and train. And that’s all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.”

If Percy returns from a land that wiped out half a legion of demigods, with the long lost legion Eagle, the mob that is Rome will raise him up on the fanciest shield they can find. And Octavian isn’t the only one who has put that together. The very next chapter sees Reyna tell Percy that he could stand for praetor if he succeeds; and we are reminded several times that Octavian is far more politically savvy than she is. If she’s put it together, you can bet that he has.

But going back to the senate meeting itself; we see another example of Percy choosing not to start a conflict with Octavian, even when he seems to be trying to get him killed. Instead, he focuses on the important issues:

Frank jumped to his feet. Before he could start a fight, Percy said, “Fine! No problem. but at least give us transportation.”

Percy is more concerned about succeeding in saving the camp than satisfying any grudges. Octavian is more interested in how many insults he can fit into one meeting.

“A boat!” Octavian turned to the senators. “The son of Neptune wants a boat. Sea travel has never been the Roman way, but he isn’t much of a Roman!”

(The insult proves to be quite a hypocritical one in BOO, when Octavian has boats built to surround Camp Half-Blood.)

Octavian’s next attempt to start a conflict with Percy is slightly more subtle.

They were only halfway across the forum when someone called, “Jackson!” Percy turned and saw Octavian jogging toward them.  “What do you want ?” Percy asked. Octavian smiled. “Already decided I’m your enemy? That’s a rash choice Percy. I’m a loyal Roman.” Frank snarled. “You backstabbing, slimy–” Both Percy and Hazel had to restrain him.

Why is Octavian talking about being enemies? It doesn’t say Percy asked angrily, or Percy growled, or Percy glared at him. It’s a very dramatic reaction.

And Percy has done nothing to suggest that he wants to be Octavian’s enemy. Sure he has grown to dislike the augur, as most people would with someone who insults them and blackmails children:

Nico put his finger to his lips. Suddenly all the lares went silent. Some looked alarmed, like their mouths had been glued together. Percy wished he had that power over certain living people . . . like Octavian, for instance.

But he’s been keeping those critical thoughts to himself. He even avoided arguing in the senate meeting so as not to escalate things. The worst thing he’s done was knocking Octavian out during capture-the-flag which was both a perfectly fair move and a good strategy. Hardly something to base a feud on.

Most likely, this is a freudian slip on Octavian’s part. He’s already started to see Percy as an enemy, for no other reason than he might be a rival. That, or it’s an attempt at gaslighting Percy into thinking he somehow provoked Octavian into trying to get him killed. In any case, the augur hardly seems unhappy to see him, and the two legionnaires at his side, go off to their deaths.

Octavian smiled wickedly. “The last person she [Reyna] had a private talk with was Jason Grace. And that was the last time I ever saw him. Good luck and goodbye, Percy Jackson.”

If he’s happy to see them go, he’s certainly not happy when they come back alive. 

The look on Octavian’s face was priceless. the centurion stared at Percy with shock, then outrage. Then, when his own troops started to cheer, he had no choice except to join the shouting: “Rome! Rome!”

Not the appropriate reaction when Percy is saving the city, not to mention Octavian’s own life. The auger doesn’t have a single kind word to say.

The Roman symbols burned into Percy’s arm: a trident, SPQR, and a single stripe. It felt like someone was pressing a hot iron into his skin, but Percy managed not to scream. Octavian embraced him and whispered, “I hope it hurt.”

Just before this, Octavian kills a teddy bear and reads the future from it, announcing:

good omens for the coming year–Fortuna would bless them!

It has been suggested that Octavian actually had a very different vision at this moment; that he saw the Argo II opening fire on New Rome, and kept that to himself, but turned against Percy and the other Greeks because of that. This doesn’t seem likely. It would serve his purposes better to share that information; and he would have seen that vision in front of hundreds of demigods hardwired to notice small details, none of whom notice him having any visible reaction to it. Besides which, this can’t be the point when he turns on Percy, since he’s already been trying to sabotage him for most of the book.

Now if there is some big conflict between Percy and Octavian, this is the time for Percy to win it decisively. To use his new power and authority to put the auger in his place.

But Percy doesn’t do that.

“Why should we trust these Greeks?” Octavian was saying. He’d been pacing the senate floor for five minutes, going on and on, trying to counter what Percy had told them about Juno’s plan and the Prophecy of Seven.

Rather than simply steamroll over the discussion, and try to use his authority to silence any opposition, Percy allows Octavian a reasonable amount of time to air his concerns, before finally stepping in with his counter argument.

When Percy lays out the details of why they must join the Greeks, Octavian never comes up with a logical counter argument. Instead, when a messenger reports the Argo II has been spotted, he resorts to paranoid rambling.

“Praetors!” The messenger cried. “What are your orders?” Octavian [who is not a praetor] shot to his feet. “You have to ask?” His face was red with rage. He was strangling his teddy bear. “The omens are horrible! This is a trick, a deception. Beware Greeks bearing gifts!” He jabbed a finger at Percy. “His friends are attacking in a warship. He has led them here. We must attack!”

Yesterday when he last read the entrails, Octavian said the omens were good. Now, they’re suddenly horrible. That pretty well justifies Percy’s growing disregard for Octavian’s auguries.

Not only that; he is accusing Percy of treachery, while at the same time suggesting they attack a ship that can be seen bearing a white flag.

And this is before a single shot has been fired on New Rome. That false-flag attack by Gaea can not be the inciting incident for Octavian’s hostility to the Greeks. Not if what he wanted to do before it happened is the same as what he wanted to do after it happened. The attack is just what incentives the rest of the camp to support him.

The last interaction between Percy and Octavian is pretty much the first two chapters of MOA, where Octavian does his best to offend the Greeks.

“You’re letting these intruders into the camp!”

When Reyna orders Octavian to go make a sacrifice to the gods, Percy adds:

“Good idea. Go burn your bears Octavian.”

An insulting way to put it; but no more so than calling the Greek ambassadors (including a Roman praetor and Percy’s own girlfriend) “intruders.” And no more harsh than the insults Octavian has used for legionnaires below himself, like Frank and Hazel. And Percy has been given enough reason not to trust Octavian’s auguries any more than he trusts him.

The last exchange between them is about the praetorship:

Octavian snorted. “Which means we have three praetors! The rules clearly state we can only have two! “On the bright side,” Percy said, “both Jason and I outrank you, Octavian. So we can both tell you to shut up.” Octavian turned as purple as a Roman T-shirt. Jason gave Percy a fist bump.

I can only imagine how long Jason has been waiting for someone to say that to Octavian. It has been suggested this is an abuse of power on Percy’s part, but there is no reason to think so. They are surrounded by the senior officers of the legion, some of whom will be on Octavian's side, and no one raises an objection. And it's not like Octavian actually treats it like an order.

“I’ll step aside for Jason,” Percy said easily. “It’s no biggie.” “No biggie?” Octavian choked. “The praetorship of Rome is no biggie?”

No need to go into detail about how the rest of the series goes. Gaea triggers a war between the Greeks and Romans, and Octavian walks right into it. There is no reason to think he was working for her; but he was plainly looking for an excuse to start hostilities.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Percy hates the Mars on sight but he's suprised to see he's not the only one.

The Romans straight up ignore him until he starts throwing a tantrum. And Octavian meets his gaze, cooly and says "well you're a bit late for that aren't you soilder?"

"What?"

"The battle" Said Octavian dryly. "You're late. 6 months in fact, but hey you at least showed up this time. So I suppose that's something."

There's laughter around the table and Percy wonders if he misjudged Octavian. "You are to do this quest for me, at once." Demands Mars.

Octavian smirks "I'm afraid I'll have to consult my superior. I am just a lowly Augur of course." He looks over at Reyna, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"What do you say? Praetor Ramirez Arellano of the 1st cohort and co-leader of the 12th Leigion Fulmimata." It doesn't escape anyone that Octavian calls Reyna by her full title with a level of respect he hadn't shown Mars at all.

"Denied." Says Reyna swiftly, a coldness in her eyes but Percy can tell she's fighting a grin. Octavian does grin, much like a Cheshire cat and turns to a seething Mars.

"There you have it, my hands are tied. Oh well come and try again next week."

Mars ignores him, his gaze on Reyna. Reyna meets his look without so much as flinching, she's the picture of relaxed and calm.

"You're orders do not succeed mine, Praetor."

"Why? Who died and made you consul?" Says Reyna, Octavian snorts as Dakota quietly explains the joke to Percy. Percy grins, oh he's going to love this.

"That would be him, Praetor." Remarks Dakota with a grim smile. "Ah, you're right my mistake." Says Reyna, she shakes her head and stands up.

As she does several soilders soo too, drawing their weapons and looking at Mars with cooled rage.

If he makes a move to hurt Reyna, they'd attack without hesitation.

"We will consider your request, if you give us a council with Jupiter."

Percy looked at Dakota, confused. "He's the King and Mars dad" he supplied, helpfully. Dakota looks down, angry "he's also Jason's dad."

Just the mention of his name put a frown on everyone's face, sadness in their eyes ignited with greif. Even Reyna wavered when she hadn't before, and Octavian blinked back tears.

Jason Grace meant everything to them.

Reyna's determination only grew. "I don't know what you've done to him. But I know you're all responsible, Jason was here one moment and gone the next. Our search parties keep going circles, and we know someone up there is interfering."

Reyna looks around and than at Mars and says defiantly. "I want Jason returned, or I will consider this an invitation to war."

Mars laughed.

"You? You dare to think you can face us?"

Reyna smiles, it is not kind. "Krios, younger brother of Kronos and one of the first original titans said the same thing. And Jason Grace, a mere demigod said if we both shall fall, I'll make sure you die first."

Everyone cheers, remembering that moment while Mars goes pale.

"Jason still lives while Krios is down in Tartarus. And you.. You took him from us, you forced us to fight alone in a battle that decimated our numbers."

Octavian puts a hand on her shoulder, noticing her voice tremble with rage. She takes a deep breath, a thankful look to one of her oldest friends.

Before taking a deep breathe.

"If he's not returned, I will fight Jupiter myself for his return."

And Percy didn't even need to look to know every demigod around them agreed with Reyna wholeheartedly.

And the way this was going, Percy would help.

[wesleysniperking]

Usopp Rant 😡 TL:DR

It pains me…

“If Usopp doesn’t do anything in Elbaf, I’m giving up on him. I love Usopp. I do. But if he’s useless in Elbaf, I’m letting him go.”

Or better yet…

“Even if Oda were to throw Usopp a bone, it won’t make up for 10 years of uselessness.”

Heck, this takes the cake…

“When Usopp told Nami to lie that’s when I lost all respect for him. The crew should have left his lowsy a** back in Water 7. He became what he was so afraid of.”

Nah. I was wrong…

“If Van Augur loses to this useless bum, it’ll ruin all of One Piece for me. It’ll be a major a** pull.”

Regardless of wherever and whatever direction Oda goes in with Usopp, I’ll always stand behind Usopp. No doubt about it. It honestly gets my goat when people in snark threads or even official One Piece pages (*cough cough* Reddit, YouTube, Worstgen) continue to criticize Usopp for small things, like they just really want him to lose (nitpick the h*ll outta him). Like, no kidding. But there’s one thing that really bugged me about Wano….

And what that was—was in a famous scene when Nami’s about to get annihilated by Ulti, and Ulti tries to force Nami into denouncing Luffy’s dream, and Nami remains firm by opposing the villainess…and Usopp wants Nami to lie and say Luffy will not become pirate king. He thinks this and urges for this to happen. For her to do so.

Now, I do honestly understand why he said that, and why he did it. If people had good reading comprehension and knew how to pick up on context clues this wouldn’t have to be brought up in anything regarding “Usopp’s bum-a**”.

Point blank, Usopp didn’t want Nami to die.

Lying means nothing to him. They both know Luffy is going to become Pirate King. They’ve seen their captain make the impossible happen!

Ergo, my main gripe is that it seems what Oda did is that he had to paint Usopp in a bad light in order for another character to look good. Nami is awesome. Kudos to her for staying head-strong. But in the same breath I stand by Usopp’s actions and see nothing wrong in them. Luffy wouldn’t look at Usopp badly if he found out what he did, because as the strawhat himself said, there’s no such thing as playing fair in a pirate fight (I may have paraphrased this), and what’s important is Nami making it out alive.

A dead navigator? How else are they getting to Laughtale. F*ck winning the raid/battle when the Strawhats are down a member. It was already looking rough with Luffy…

So, the misconception that Luffy would be mad at Usopp for saying that to Nami is illogical. Besides, how can Usopp force his ideals onto others? Yes, if he’d been in Nami’s same exact situation, he would’ve done what she did. But the point in that scene FOR HIM was about wanting to protect a friend. He loves Luffy, and has already defended his dream (e.g. Arabasta). The first one to do so! But for Usopp, what’s important in that moment is Nami making it out alive. He CAN’T watch a friend die. He can’t watch a friend die in the hands of some b*tch with a power trip; trying to force Nami’s hand. And sure, Nami remained head strong, and she did the d@mn thing. But when other people and fans decide to commend Nami for that moment while also putting Usopp down, things get really ugly for me. Nami fans and Usopp fans should be allies. But it doesn’t happen because they praise Nami and kick Usopp down to the ground.

No, this doesn’t go for EVERY Nami fan, and I’m not saying Usopp fans aren’t guilty of this.

So, I don’t criticize Usopp for his actions. Nor do I criticize Nami for her actions. What I’m trying to come to terms with is how it seems like it’s the whole classic case of painting one character in a very bad light in order to paint another character in a very good light.

Very SEEMINGLY so, Usopp regresses (no he did not regress!), and Nami progresses (cheers! 🥳😕…haters ruin it).

It’s a bit disheartening to have to defend Usopp over such pettiness. But I’ll continue to trust in the process. It just seems like Usopp fans are running on switchblade faith. And sometimes that faith isn’t enough.

But there’s indeed a beauty in the whole concept of retrospect, and at this point, it really does appear that in the overall One Piece narrative, in the overall grand scheme of things, Usopp is the true underdog.

And if people are so certain that Usopp doesn’t a stand a chance against Van Augur then why even entertain the idea? People always maintain (and it STRONGLY appears) that outside of Luffy vs Blackbeard, Usopp vs Van Augur is the most anticipated duel in the Blackbeard Pirates vs Strawhats battle.

Again, why even insult Usopp, if y’all are associating this “sniper with the ice cold drip” with “bum Usopp”? And if Usopp winning would be such an a**pull, will that keep y’all from watching? Will y’all not stop and look? Y’all low key have some big expectations for Usopp (who y’all consider fodder).

The fight might not even happen, yet haters are still looking forward to it. The speculation is strong with this one.

I honestly don’t understand it when people say Usopp is holding the crew back. How??? If that was the case Usopp would be given more focus. The camera would stay on him a little longer.

It’s like Usopp can never win.

Like this BS…

“Yeah, but Luffy and Law wouldn’t have been turned into toys because Haki can counteract DF powers. So, they would’ve been able to successfully mitigate the situation without Usopp’s help.”

Why???

“No. Usopp is still useless. Perona could’ve been defeated by Robin if she were there. Strawhats can make it without Bum Usopp.”

But in all seriousness, I think most of the hate is honestly just bitterness and impatience. And overall, misguided expectations. But people just don’t know how to articulate stuff proficiently in a debate (the comment section) without hate.

If you’re going to like a character, you have to know what you’re getting yourself into. And if you don’t want to do the research, then just pick up on the fine details and know what you want (know who you are). Usopp has flaws, but to just straight up say “I wish he could f*ckin die” and some other hot mess? No dice! If you don’t like him, move on. If you like him, but can’t love him at his “lowest” then get to steppin’.

There are a lot of bitter fans who’ve been unimpressed with Usopp post time skip. But there are even some far more bitter enough to the point to say that whatever he accomplished pre-timeskip was his peak, and that the whole fight with Perona was Oda “just throwing him a bone”. Some aren’t even satisfied with Enies Lobby Usopp, because he didn’t get a decent 1 v 1. “He should’ve had Sanji’s fight”. Typical shonen fan, I guess.

Yet, this bitterness also stems from the upset of Water 7’s narrative working in favor of Luffy instead of Usopp (apparently Longnose was the bad guy here 😒).

Ugh…The Sniper King joke isn’t fun anymore…

“Yeah. I truly just separate Sniper King and Usopp now. Meme aside. They really are separate people, and Usopp is just a bum.” [Proceeds to show panel of when Usopp was on the ground, heavily injured after the Franky family “dealt with him”. And the crew found him. And other racial slurs follow…]

Final + Conclusion

Usopp is still my favorite One Piece character (unconditionally), and I hope he’s given the justice he deserves. I love Sniper King, but I don’t want him to comeback because of the haters.

Usopp needs to get the last laugh.

His fans deserve the last laugh.

We will get the last laugh.

Just wait and see, he’ll come in clutch again.

[intergalactic-garbage]

octavian wet cat headcanons

@odysseus-crewmate-number38 and i have decided that there has been enough of rick's writing which transparently only made octavian an object onto which to project hate, rather than a character. because i am the sexiest and smartest person on the planet, i understand octavian better than rr, and know that what he is actually meant to be is a traditionally queer-coded, camp, homosexual villain, who enjoys being a villain immensely. the following are a compilation of ody and mine's absolutely true and fully verified octavian facts (he told me):

his little augur rituals are like drag performances

in which i don't means he dresses up in drag but rather that he's exaggerated and dramatic

he does the thing where he rubs his grubby little hands together

he's the type to say "well well well look what the cat dragged in"

light in the office opens dramatically as octavians spinny chair turns to the door

’i’ve been expecting you’

he’s done this 12 times already

he says the same name of. the person who hes been expecting. he eventually is right

WHY does octavian's wiki page say his ancestors are VENUS, JUPITER (also apollo obviously) and. a bunch of mortal guys like hercules? what the fuck. guy must be so inbred

his ancestory is just the olympus family tree

but i mean he's a legacy of venus so that explains everything. he's just suffering from a terminal amount of prettyboy syndrome

octavian would wear so much gold. 90 pounds soaking wet 138 pounds with all his robes and jewelery on

he'd get things covered in gold leaf just because he can

his closet takes up the space of like three entire barracks of the cohort

‘where did the funding for the new buildings in camp jupiter go’ . new suspiciously closet shaped building implemented:

BRO COMMITS EMBEZZLEMENT JUST SO HE CAN BUY NEW OUTFIT

not that he doesn't already have enough money. he just likes doing it like this

nobody else is allowed to touch his clothing though. high treason actually

one of his henchmen (bryce) can bc he knows exactly how to handle it and which setting on the washing machine to use with which detergent

oh he’d watch the devil wears prada and base his personality on the boss from that movie

his room has a shrine dedicated to meryl streep actually .reyna accidentally walks in on him once and sees him praying to her. they never talk about it

octavian could deify miranda if he tries hard enough

oh my goddd. do you think his biggest internal conflict during hoo would be "can a girl like me really have more than ONE evil henchman?"

how is he going to strut down the halls in an iconic triad formation if he only has ONE henchman . he has to follow in his ancestors footsteps (heather chandler, chanel oberlein, regian george-)

his henchman no1 is michael kahale, son of venus, who's canonically fit as fuck and pretty close to octavian, headcanonically a gayboy who rolls his eyes and sips his starbucks drink waaaay too loudly when people he doesn't like are talking (he does this in the senate meetings)

his henchman no2 is bryce lawrence, legacy of orcus, god of punishment, who was canonically banished from camp jupiter bc he killed someone, but in boo, octavian takes him back. he's supposed to be really big and burly, with some "traditionally unattractive" traits (which i've decided to allow, as long as michael and octavian call them pretty in a totally infatuated way)

edit: someone said that since he doesn't have a last name, it should be octavian gallo (since it means rooster), and i'm making that canon now

[meloarto-me]

Blackbeard's Pirates x You

Something quick, because I was bored and haven't posted anything in a long time.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

I hope you enjoyed it (: Again, I apologize for the mistakes.

Box Opened <3

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

Marshall D. Teach: *Eats a Cherry pie and sips it with alcohol*

You: Can I have a piece of cake?

Marshall D. Teach: No *slices of cake fall from his mouth*

You: 😩 I won't bake you any more cherry pie.

Marshall D. Teach: What!

You: Bake it yourself *stands up and walks away*

Marshall D. Teach: *Has already given you a piece, but you leave. (The sad admiral will no longer have a delicious cake from you)*

Jesus Burgerss: *taps his muscles/shows off in front of you*

You: your vein is about to burst old man

Jesus Burgers: 🙁 *sad_puppy.exe*

You: *sighs*. Come on give me a hug *spreads arms*

Jesus Burgess: *hugs you* Thank you! *happy child child.exe*

(You are in the stork's nest)

You: I want to eat...

Van Augur: Then go eat

You: No

Van Augur: *looks at you with this look on his face 😐*

You: 😩 I don't want to go down

Van Augur: I'll drop you and you'll be closer

You: 😐

Van Augur: 😉

Laffitte: *stabs you with grace*

You: Tap me again and I'll shove this stick up your ass

Laffitte: *stabs with a smile*

You: I'll KiLl you you whore!

Laffitte: *runs away screaming like a little girl*

You: *takes a kitchen knife. And you run after him*

Jesus Burgess in the background: 😬

Doc Q: *is as sick as ever and lies on the floor*

You: Are you dying?

Doc Q: Yes for many years, I was born in the wrong body

You: Whatever, more important question *you look at him* Can I take your body after death?

Doc Q: What-

You: Body, your, I will take, after, garbage?

Doc Q: ...No....

Shiryu: *smokes a cigar and wipes his sword clean*

You: Fucking smoker *whispers*

Shiryu: *looks at you* Did you say something?

You: Nooooo~~ *Innocent eyes*

Shiryu: I heard what you said

You: 😇 Well what are you addicted to and you will die, plus you are poisoning my precious air 😇

Shiryu: I'm not an addict, if I wanted to I would stop

You: Then you have a challenge, stop smoking

Shiryu: ...

Avalo Pizarro: *Playing with a cat*

You: *looks at him*

Avalo Pizarro: *starts purring like a cat*

You: I knew he was Furry *whispers*

Avalo Pizarro: *continues to play with the cat unconsciously*

You: *Takes pictures of him with the cat from hiding*

Vasco Shot: *Drinks alcohol like water*

You: *looks at him, ponders something*

Vasco Shot: *feels your gaze on him. I look at you* Topu~ Topu~ Topu~ what are you looking at me like that? *cough*

You: *folds hands in front of you*

60% of the mass of the human body is water, but in your case it's Alcohol.

Catarina Devon: *Reviews herself in the mirror*

You: *sits politely beside her*

Catrina Devon: God~ how I wish I was the most beautiful woman in the world

You: You are beautiful, the most beautiful!

Catrina Devon: *you say right away*

Catarina Devon: Oooo~ how lovely!*Hugs you to his chest*

You: *You try to breathe into her ample m breasts*

Sanjuan Wolf: *sleeps*

You: *sleeps on him*

Kuzan: *sleeps*

You: *touches him on the cheek*

Ey are you sleeping?

Kuzan: *tries to ignore you*

You: Ey don't sleep. *continues to poke him*

Kuzan: Let me sleep. *takes you in his arms and buttons you to sleep with him*

You: 😊

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

[s0mb0d7]

hey bsff, so baysically, i was wondering if you could do an octavian or frank x daughter of bacchus!reader? 🤗

orr maybe octavian with dionysus’ responsible daughter whose basically chiron’s right hand at camp halfblood

im gonna do the second one cause it has a starting point but thank you for the submission!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sneak

octavian x dionysus!reader

"me? sneak out with you? fine."

warning: heavy makeout sesh, sneaking out, cursing, octavian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it wasnt new to you, to be sneaking out to see him.

after you forced nico di angelo to shadow travel you to the usual meetup spot; this 1980s abandoned mall in kansas. after every trip you gave him access to the wine cellar to "re-energize", as he would call it.

you would wait in the lobby of the mall, observing how it looked like everyone just dropped what they were doing and ran out. the shops and cafes still filled with product. shirts, dresses, shoes and other clothing out for display on the unnerving mannequins that heads looked like they followed you as you moved.

"can i have the key to the cellar?" nicos voice snapped you back to reality, as he stood in front of the bench you sat on. he had his usual aviators jacket on, with those stupid black skinny jeans and his messy black hair. he twisted the skull ring on his finger, clearly nervous to ask.

"yeah, here," you said handing him the key chain. "could you pick me up in like.. four hours? and dont lose that key my dad would turn me into a shrub. again." a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"you bet. and be safe, okay? i dont wanna shadow travel a screaming baby, too." he joked.. hopefully. you waved goodbye, and watched him run into the shadows and disappear.

you prayed to all the gods that this trip would be successful again. last time chiron found out his right hand man had been sneaking out to see a roman, he wasnt too happy. and when he told your dad.. that was the first time you were turned to a shrub.

you leaned back, supporting yourself on your arms, just spacing out thinking how this mall used to be crowded with family's and teens who stole their parents money. living in the 80s was always you dream.

a door shut on the far side of the wide hall, which was lined with shops. you ran behind a corner until you heard the codeword yelled.

"pillow pet murder is here, im not the police." his voice rang. you came out from behind the corner and saw the scrawny, pale boy. his piercing blue eyes that usually showed little life lit up when he saw you.

you quickly walked up to him and threw your arms around his neck. you hadn't seen the blondie augur in a few weeks, and it was making you wanna rip your hair out. whenever your brother, pollux, would ask why you were constantly fidgeting and tapping your feet rapidly, you would just start tweaking. "uhh.. i- um.. i dunno!"

"i missed you." he suddenly spoke, his face buried in your neck. the boys voice was raspy, breaking even. either he had been yelling and screaming, or was very emotional after finally getting to see you. probably the yelling one though.

"i would hope so," you answered in a fake annoyed voice, which you felt him frown against your neck. "but i missed you too, even though it goes without saying."

he placed a soft kiss on your neck below your ear, which made you shiver. he met your eyes, leaning closer with a curious spark in his expression. you thought he was gonna just stay there and stare at you, until he smashed his lips into yours, which hurt a bit.

immediately kissing back, you almost fell because of how much the scrawny boy leaned into you. your mouths moved in sync, teeth knocking together as your tongues danced with each other.

the boy moved the two of you to the nearest wall, which you tripped trying to get there. thank the gods for his quick reflexes, falling on the tiled, disgusting floor was not your cup of tea.

never breaking the kiss, you both made it to the wall which was right next to a ice cream shop, "scoops ahoy". it gave of weird vibes, but you thought nothing of it. octavian's hands crept to the waist of your jeans, slipping the tips of his fingers past, onto your bare skin.

something in your head screamed. not anything in particular, but the scream was very pleasurable, as it sounded. maybe he could get you to make that sound too...

your hands crept from his neck to the small of his back, sliding up his shirt. when he helped you get it off, you might as well have just burst into flames. your mouths parted, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips still.

"fuck, y/n. you got a lot better at kissing. you practice on someone?" he asked, breaking the heavy silence.

your eyes were glued to his abdomen. for such a skinny boy, he had a mean 6-pack. from the quick glance you got at your old-fashioned watch you borrowed from a store at this mall, you had 3 hours left. wish it was more, dont you?

"no, havent even thought of anyone but you." you answered after a good 30 seconds of awkward silence. he crept closer, his arms creeping around your waist until suddenly, you felt a grab on your ass.

every time. he does this every time. the air gets thick, the silence suddenly isn't so comforting, and he always grabs your ass. your convinced he loves it more then you, the way his sharp blue eyes always creep down below your waist . "my eyes are up here." you would speak whenever you caught him staring.

he let go and apologized, giving you a real hug and a tender kiss. you both walked over to the bench you had been sitting on before he came and talked for hours on end. there was a glass roof high above the two of you, so you got to geek out and name all the constellations you say and explain there backstories. the two you loved the most were gemini, because of your brothers, and the huntress, in honor of nicos sister and her friend.

"i really hope the legions dont hate me for loving a greek." he brought up out of nowhere. you weren't ashamed of being greek, you loved it. but you always worried the future you and octavian had planned in new rome wouldnt work out. but it would, because if percy and annabeth could go to college and settle down for a future there, then surely you and octavian could.

you planted a kiss on his cheek "they got used to two greeks in their city, surely they can handle another. i promise i will do everything i can to get them to like me. you wont be hated, octavian."

he smiled, then when the two of you saw sonething sprint out of the shadows, your heads whipped around.

nico and hazel. your "rides" back to the separate camps. had that much time passed already? the two children of the underworld were laughing and talking, until they turned their attention to you and octavian. his shirt off and hand on your thigh, your messy hair and unbuttoned jeans.

"time to go." the son of hades spoke. he had obviously been drinking, but you didn't blame him. that much high-quality wine couldn't be resisted by anyone.

octavian got his discarded shirt from the entrance to that ice cream place. it was definitely stranger then most things at that mall. the two of you kissed goodbye and went your separate ways. him and hazel left the building as you and nico stayed in the same spot.

he led you to a shadow, then you linked hands. "ready?" he asked

"yep."

"oh, and by the way your dad and chiron are pissed." he blurted out before you faded into darkness with the boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

this is the new layout for fics/hcs, and i changed/will be updating older layouts. comment if you like it or if you like the old layout!!

leave requests and i will do them as quick as i can. please say if you want a hcs list or just a normal fic. love you all! <3

(i deeply apologize for the paragraph of octavians ass obsession...)

[bridgetotheskyyy]

chapter one.

masterlist.

Chapter Summary: You are escorted to Suna to meet your future husband-to-be - Gaara, the Kazekage - with the knowledge you must poison him.

Chapter Warnings: alcohol, hints of parental abuse, mentions of poison

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: We're finally here! Hehe I'm excited to share this with y'all! The first chapter's been up on ao3 for a while and I've finally gotten around to crossposting here. Chapter two will be available in August! If you're interested in extra notes I highly recommend keeping an eye on this story on ao3. Hope you enjoy!

Read on ao3 here.

“Lord Boutoku.” Lord Kankuro bowed. His men followed his motion, two shinobi who flanked him from behind. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lord Boutoku — Father — sat stoic on his throne, knuckles supporting his chin. He, too, was flanked by men; members of your village’s council, shinobi poised to act. “Likewise, Lord Kankuro. I take it our accommodations were to your taste?”

“Oh, definitely,” Kankuro said, scratching the back of his head. “I thought I’d die of thirst on the way here! Of course, I imagine you all don’t have that problem, what with your oasis and all.” He laughed nervously.

No laughs followed. Father tapped his chin, unmoved and unamused. You almost felt sorry for Kankuro; Father was not a humorous man. You hadn’t seen him crack a single smile since your mother’s death all those years ago.

Kankuro’s laughter died. He must have guessed he’d caused some offense; he sank to his knees, fully prostrating himself. 

“Lord Boutoku,” he began, “I would like to apologize formally on the behalf on the Sand. The way Sunagakure has treated the Oasis village is utterly reprehensible. We only hope this new arrangement between your village and ours can alleviate the bad blood that lies between us.”

Bad blood.

That was an understatement.

Despite the power of the oasis, your village was small. Smack dab in the middle of the country of Wind, perennially antagonized by the Fourth Kazekage for its secrets, amongst other powers. Again and again, the Fourth had sent ninja to attack your village in hopes of stealing those secrets, oasis ninja slaughtered again and again in the name of protecting your home.

 Usually at the hands of his son.

You looked up at your father and waited for his response. 

“Your apology is much appreciated.” Father leaned forward with a hand on the arm of his chair. “I, too, hope this marriage will augur better things to come.”

“Yes.” Kankuro raised from his place, risking eye contact with Father. “The wedding between the Kazekage and your daughter will take place a month from now.”

“See that it does.”

You wrung hands in your lap. You had never, ever left your village before. Nor had Father. Could he really just give you away like this? 

And to Gaara of the Sand Waterfall? The monster of the Land of Wind? 

To assassinate him?

Your new reality was finally beginning to dawn with terrifying finality. It turned your hands clammy and sent your bones shaking underneath your skin. 

“The fourth’s assassination attempts failed to bear results,” Father had explained to you days before this meeting. The wild, crazed menace that lived in his eyes only when in private returned. “The fool. Rasa had no idea what he unleashed into the world and then lacked the strength to take out his own garbage. No matter; we will use more covert methods.”

But I’ve never killed anyone! You wanted to scream. 

“Don’t look like that!” Father snapped, startled you. “You are more than adequate for such a task. I do not ask you to imitate the shinobi around you. You have all your training as a lady; use your charm. It will conceal you, so long as you do not succumb to nerves. Do it for your brother. His blood is on the Kazekage’s hands. He of all deserves to be avenged.”

Your training … To be a court lady. To seduce, to beguile, to woo, to be beautiful and one day marry a man fit for your station. Not to kill. You didn’t know what he meant, but never would you be such an idiot as to argue with Lord Boutoku, village head, Guardian of the Oasis.

Now, Father nodded. “The time has come for my daughter to follow you.” He faced you, a meaningful glint in the ink black of his eye. “But before she does, I have a goodbye present.”

“Uh.” Kankuro didn’t know what to do with his hands, letting them fall in his lap. “Of course.”

Father motioned with his hands and immediately servants slid the room door open. They left a pillow on the floor, a black box atop it. One of the servants lifted the lid.

Your eyes widened. 

A necklace. Dyed sandstone, the color of turquoise, painted with the wavy indications of the village’s oasis and, in its center, your family emblem: the scorpion. 

Fitting, since it was where the poison was kept. 

“It has a small pocket within,” Father had explained. “The most potent poison known in the world.”

“The scorpion?” You surmised.

“Too obvious,” Father replied. “An extract from a plant that only grows this side of the Wind. You will end the Kazekage’s life with this.” 

It was an order.

“It’s beautiful, Father.” You feigned awe now. Hardly a lie. The necklace was very pretty, but the truth of what lay within tempered the aesthetic. 

“Only the best for my flesh and blood.” Father’s voice was honeyed as he began. “You, my greatest prize, the splitting image of your mother, who remains beautiful both in death and memory.”

You balled fists in your lap. Was it true? Was any of it true? Or did you just want it to be? 

Regardless, you hung on every word with knuckles blanched white.

“I bequeath my daughter to you.” Father focused on Kankuro now. “She will follow you into unknown lands. Proceed knowing you carry my heart with you on this journey.”

“Uh …” Kankuro blinked. “I — yeah — I mean, yes, of course.”

You gathered up the necklace, its chain dangling between the gaps of your fingers. You sat its pendant in your palm, the truth of it tingling your skin.

You bowed to your father. “Thank you.”

He nodded, a secret shared.

“Everything’s ready for us to depart,” Kankuro said. 

“Very well. You may go,” Father said. He lifted his hand, and a shinobi stood. “One of my personal guards, Chuuyou, will accompany you personally. He is the only one I would trust with such a task; my most loyal servant.”

Chuuyou strode toward you, offering a hand. He was much older than you, though you could never pin down an approximate age. Mid thirties? Early forties? His mask hid all but his eyes. 

“Come, Lady (Y/n),” he said, his soft voice an utter contrast to his intimidating build. “Careful, don’t harm yourself …”

Don’t drop the necklace.

You stood, felt the pressure of eyes on you as one of Kankuro’s men held the door open for you. You fixed the necklace around your neck.

“Goodbye, my love,” Father said before you crossed the threshold, “and remember.”

To everyone else, the meaning was obvious: remember me, your village, your home.

But you knew its true meaning:

Remember your duty.

-

“Sooo …” Kankuro’s word lingered. “Is he always like that?” 

Your smile was a bit too genuine. “Yes,” you chuckled.

Your gaze carried out the window; the coach sat in between the two walls concealing your village, and out sand ninja mixed with oasis ninja, sizing each other up, poised to act. Kankuro had brought quite a show with him, and you recognized it for what it was: a show of power. You counted at least fifty men. Your father, never one to be outdone, had raised to meet him with at least eighty to guard you on your way to Suna — and initiate the takeover, once the Kazekage was “handled.” One-hundred thirty in all. Tension stretched the air taut. The severity of it all was unbearable. 

When your eyes trailed higher, your home sprawled before you; giant sandcastles composed the buildings, towers, temples dedicated to the spirit of the oasis, some otherworldly being no one but the village heads had ever seen; bridges protected and nestled by a circling sandstone wall for good measure.

“It’s a shame there has to be so much mistrust between our villages,” You said to say something.

“It is.” Kankuro’s voice was solemn as he rested elbows on his knees. “Look, I know this all must be a … big change for you. It must be scary, too. But it’s okay; everything will be all right.” He tried a smile. “Once you arrive, they’ll be a big celebration. Lots of associates and the like, nothing you can’t handle. That sounds fun, right?”

You faced him. Affable and easy nature. It was sweet of him to try to soothe you. You were nervous — but not for reasons you could share with him. Gaara of the Sand Waterfall, the monster who had killed your brother … Clearly, this tidbit of family history was unknown to them, otherwise there would be no way they could trust you. You knew what you had to do, but how was your father so sure you could do it? Couldn’t he just snap you in two? How were you supposed to pretend to be happy about being married off to someone like that?

You flipped your fan open to conceal the lower end of your face, eyes lowering to the window. “It does. Thank you for your concern … The Kazekage — your brother … what kind of man is he?”

“Gaara?” Kankuro blinked before realization made him smile and scratch his head again, “Oh, okay, I know where this is going. He had quite a … reputation in the past, but he’s very different now. You’ll be safe with him — with us.”

You would say that, wouldn’t you? But still, you’d heard great things about the Kazekage — how he’d help lead the charge during the Fourth Great Ninja War, how he had battled the Uchiha patriarch, befriended the Hokage … 

“The Kazekage has changed a great deal, apparently …” 

“More than you know,” Kankuro joked. “And like I said, we’re very sorry for the grief the Sand has caused your village. You have nothing to fear from him.” His next words were emphatic. “He would never hurt an innocent person, especially a civilian, especially his future wife.”

Perhaps the fear of being ripped to shreds had left you, but there was still the question of his character. And everything else. What if you weren’t his type? What if you couldn’t woo him enough to get close? What then?

The coach jerked. 

“Oh.” Kankuro took note of the scene outside the window. “Good. We’re moving.”

You stuck your head out the window to take one last look at your home. The village began to grow distant as the coach drew past the gate and sank into darkness. It was real. You were leaving. 

“You’ll love the sand, Lady (Y/n),” Kankuro said. “It’s not much of a change at all, in fact.”

“I …”  You trailed. You settled back into the coach. “I look forward to it. And please, just (Y/n) will do; we’ll be family soon enough!”

Kankuro smiled. “All right. (Y/n).”

You returned the smile. The poisoned pendant sat around your neck, pressed against your beating heart.

-

The trip was saved by geography. Your village sat on the far east of the Land of Wind, bordering the Land of Rivers. A day and you were closing in on the Sand. 

When the coach opened, you were dying to stretch your legs. A whole day and a half in a coach had been torture enough, but having Kankuro as company had made it easier, amusing you with impromptu puppet shows and jokes.

“There you go, I gotcha,” he said as he led you by the hand out of the coach onto the hard rocky ground, waited as you reached back to retrieve your gift for the Kazekage.

Immediately your guard, Chuuyou, came to your side as the gates of Sunagakure opened for them like a lion’s maw. The wind whipped at your face and threatened to grain your eyes with sand.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes.” You opened your fan to conceal your face. “Let’s hurry before the wind picks up…”

Together, Kankuro and Chuuyou led you to the gates. Like a mythical palace, they creaked open, loud and ancient. Guards nodded to Kankuro as the three of you passed, followed by the one-hundred thirty. The gates roared closed. The wind ceased howling. 

“I hate this part,” Kankuro said beside you. “It’s a five-minute walk once you get past the gate.”

“We were in a coach for a whole day,” You said, closing your fan to tape on your shoulder, looking up at him. “I thought you’d be relieved, like me.”

“So I’m lazy — sue me.”

You chuckled. You liked Kankuro. Throughout the trip, he had begun to remind you a bit of your older brother, Hideo. 

Light from the interior of the village spilled through, illuminating the walkway. Two more people waited.

A blonde woman strode to Kankuro. “Finally,” she said. She smiled and bowed to you. “Hello, Lady (Y/n). We’re so pleased to welcome you to our village.”

“Just (Y/n), please!”

She raised from her bow, surprised. 

“She insisted, Temari,” Kankuro said. “Leave the formalities to the old geezers.”

“Kankuro!” the man beside Temari chastised.

Kankuro only snickered as Temari regained composure. “Well, if you’re comfortable. My name is Temari.”

“The Kazekage sister!” 

“Yes.” She seemed charmed by your naivety. She motioned to the man behind her. “And this is Baki.”

The man beside her bowed, half of his face hidden by a sheet. “A pleasure.”

“Hello …”

Temari’s eyes roved over what sat cradled in your arms. “And you brought something!”

You offered it to her. “A gift for the Lord Kazekage.”

It was a cactus of rich chartreuse, secured in a simple pot. Its spiked leaves raised skyward, growing eagerly from its soil. 

“Oh, he’ll love it.” She took it from you. “My brother loves cacti. How did you know?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“It’s so thoughtful of you!” Temari said, voice high and adorable. She motioned for you to follow. “Let’s get you to the council. The sooner they meet you, the sooner we can show you to your quarters for some well-deserved rest, hm? Besides, they’ve been dying to meet you.”

“One of them, especially,” Kankuro added.

Sunagakure opened up to you. It depressed into its cavern, with buildings standing tall and stable with stucco. Domed buildings were adorned with tiny, spherical windows. You still preferred your village, with its swirling sandstone and elegant sandcastles, but Suna proved impressive in its own right. 

“I’m just happy to see another female after so long,” You said as you followed.

This made Temari chuckle. “Sorry. I would’ve gone myself to collect, but …”

“She never leaves my brother’s side if she can help it,” Kankuro said. “I can’t believe she’s getting married —“

Temari shot him a glare, and he reeled back.

“Don’t fight,” Baki ordered from behind you. “Do I need to remind you two that we have a guest?”

“You’re getting married?” You asked. “How nice! So I’m not alone!”

Clever, girl. Father praised in your mind.

Temari blushed. “Yes, well — ahem — this isn’t about me …”

She ushered all of you into a building and led you to its underground, where a room opened up. You stood amazed as statues of previous Kazekages rose high into the ceiling. A round table sat at the center of the room and sat around it were robed elders. The council. 

“Oh!” one of them, the only woman, squealed. “She’s arrived! Address her, my lord!”

A man turned to see you.

Gaara.

You had never seen him in person. Immediately, his ringed eyes, turquoise eyes, captivated yours. A strange kanji tattooed his forehead. Otherworldly, save for the red hair common of those in the desert. He’s … cute.

He’s  killed people? He’s not even that tall …

Nervous, you bowed. “My lord.” You rose in time to see him return the favor. 

“She’s brought a gift for you, Lord Kazekage!” the woman elder exclaimed.

Temari smiled and gave it to him. 

Gaara — Gaara blushed.

You recovered from your surprise. “I know you must already have so many, but …”

“No,” he said. He petted the side of the pot, seeming genuinely touched. “It’s all right … Thank you.”

You nodded and heard Father’s voice. Yes, all according to plan …

“You are very beautiful,” he said. 

You fiddled with your fingers. The council members murmured, hearts in their eyes. So distracted were you by Gaara and your own thoughts that you didn’t see the female elder come between the two of you.

“Oh, Lady (Y/n),” she said breathlessly. “I am Ikanago.” She took your hand. “Come, come, sit with us.”

“Lady —“

“Lady Temari, please excuse yourselves from the room,” Ikanago hastened. “We must consult with Lady (Y/n) and Lord Kazekage.”

Temari, Baki, and Kankuro looked to Gaara for help. 

“It will only be a moment,” Gaara assured them with a smile. “Afterward, you can show Lady (Y/n) to her quarters.” 

They bowed to him. 

“Very well,” Temari said. “Come on …”

They filed out, leaving only Chuuyou at the entryway, refusing to leave you.

This didn’t seem to bother Ikanago. “Come, come, take my seat!” she said, ushering you into it.

There were several members, only one who looked to be younger than fifty; you remembered Kankuro’s comments of old geezers.

“I am Ebizo.”

“I am Goza.”

More introduced themselves, becoming a mad soup of names you were not sure you would remember later — Ryusa, Sajo, Tojuro — though one of them did not introduce himself, engrossing in papers in front of him and refusing to look up. 

“Joseki!” Ikanago was scandalized. “Don’t be rude!”

“Merely overseeing the council,” he replied coolly.

“Lady (Y/n) will surely not mind one of us being silent,” Ebizo joked. “I am sure this is overwhelming for the young lady.”

“Oh no,” You assured. “Not at all …”

Gaara came to sit beside you and Ikanago squealed.

“Already acting like a couple, I see!” she said. “We’re all so honored to have you here. There’s much to discuss …”

-

“This is insane!” Temari paced the outer hall of the council room. “What are those fossils thinking, marrying Gaara off like this?”

“Let’s just try to be positive, Temari,” Kankuro encouraged, head following Temari to and fro. “(Y/n) seems nice enough. Maybe it’ll work out?”

“Kankuro’s right,” Baki said, leaning against the wall. “It is our responsibility to —“ 

“I don’t trust any of this.” Temari continued to stomp-pace. “Even if (Y/n) seems nice, our father warned me about Lord Boutoku; he’s crazy. And prideful. Great combination.”

Kankuro sighed. “Temari —“

“Not to mention his reputation for having a ferocious temper, and how quickly he puts dissenters to death,” Temari went on. “No matter how badly we’ve treated their village, it should’ve never come to this!”

“I agree, but the council assisted on this, Temari,” Baki pressed. “With your marriage to Shikamaru on the horizon and, ah,” Baki turned to Kankuro, “Kankuro … second in line, Lord Kazekage has to start thinking about the future. It’s time for him to consider a family. The line is in peril.”

“Our willingness to share resources with the Oasis village is a good idea,” Kankuro added. “I just hope they like each other. She even bought a cactus for him. That was sweet.”

“I’ll make sure that thing’s checked for any and all poisons we have recorded in the directory,” Temari snapped. “Or anything else.”

“Temari!”

Kankuro clicked his tongue. “That’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?” 

“Can’t be too careful.” Temari stopped at the window, arms crossed. “It’s not (Y/n) I don’t trust — it’s that tyrant of a father she has.” She sighed. “I’ll be staying in the sand for a few weeks; I just know something’s bound to go wrong. But at least Gaara probably won’t touch that cactus.”

-

Gaara caressed the cactus, avoiding the prickles while the council hounded you. 

“We’ll be forever grateful to Lord Boutoku for allowing us access to his oasis,” Ebizo said before hurrying to add, “After the two of you have married, of course.” 

“Have you ever seen it, Lady (Y/n)?” 

“Um” You said, “well, no, but —“

“Oh, surely she has!” 

“Lord Boutoku guards all his secrets. We will also have access to any hiden and secret techniques, correct?” 

“Um —“

“Surely we will!” Ikanago went on. “We’re blessed to have a lady of such renowned blood join our village!”

“This marriage will bear extraordinary fruit.”

“About that,” Gaara said, setting aside the cactus.

The room grew quiet as heads turned to him. 

“I am aware some women are given away against their will.” Gaara turned to you. “I would like to know if this arrangement is as consensual as I was told.” 

You blinked. You thought of your mother, given away to your lord father by your poverty-stricken grandparents. It was lucky for them that Father took a liking to her — and fell in love. But how many of those stories ended happily?

You were … flattered.

“Oh, Lord Kazekage, I’m sure —“

“I would like to have it confirmed by Lady (Y/n), Lady Ikanago,” Gaara cut her off.

The council waited for an answer.

“I … thank you, Lord Kazekage, for thinking of me,” You said. “But, yes. I am here because I want to be.”

And …

Gaara eyed you, and for a second you wondered if he using some sort of shinobi intuition to read the things you fought to conceal. He nodded seconds later, satisfied.

“That’s a lovely necklace, Lady (Y/n).” Ikanago was suddenly beside you, leaning forward to admire your pendant. “A gift from your lord father, I presume?” 

She came closer to inspect it. Your eyes widened, and you sat back and away from her. 

“I — I would appreciate a few moments alone with the Kazekage,” You said a little too loudly. “If you all wouldn’t mind?”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ebizo said. 

“Yes, of course!” Ikanago winked as though the two of you were in on a shared secret and followed the other elders out of the room. 

The door shut, and the two of you were alone.

All right, (Y/n), it’s time to woo him …

Surely, Father hadn’t expected you to try to poison him so soon. You would have to wait until later, when the two of you were alone — truly alone — perhaps after a day or a few. Intuition stilled your hand.  

Still, you could put on some charm.

You smiled gently. You reached for Gaara’s hand, inching toward his … 

His hand shied away.

“I …” He watched your hand slink away. “I apologize for their behavior. They are my elders and yet I feel as though sometimes they are much younger than me.” Gaara braved to look up at you. “I hope … you don’t think me cold.”

Taken aback, you shook your head. “No, not at all …”

“I would like to make it clear,” Gaara said, “after the party, I will have my ninja send all the promised resources to your village. Food, weapons, clothing … I would like to make up for how the Oasis has been treated.”

You sat, too stupefied for a timely answer. Your eyes flickered to the kanji on his forehead. This was the ruthless monster who had killed Hideo in cold blood? 

“That is … very kind of you, Lord Kazekage,” You murmured. 

“I am a man of my word.”

You raised your brows at him, words alluding you.

The doors creaked open.

“All right, Gaara,” Temari said, tone much less formal now the council had disbanded. “The two of you can get to know each other at the party. I’m sure (Y/n) would like to finally rest for today. Let me show her quarters.”

The two of you stood. 

“Very well,” Gaara said. He turned to you with a sort of finality. “There has been much bloodshed between our villages. All of it is unnecessary — as with most bloodshed.”

You pulled away a bit. Yes, all of it. You remembered Hideo in vivid detail. Maybe you were being misled? This was all an act.

“I agree,” you said coolly.

You could tell he knew you were offended somehow when he tilted his head. 

“I apologize,” he said. “I have —“

“I’ll … take my leave now, Lord Kazekage,” You said with a bow, ready to leave. 

Gaara composed himself enough for a slight smile. “Goodbye then. Until tonight.”

You nodded. “Yes.”

-

Temari, Kankuro, and Baki led you to a building adjacent to what could only be the Kazekage’s office. A modest palace in which you were happy to enter; the sandstorm had settled down, but it was much colder indoors. Baki bid the three of you farewell to care for other business, leaving you in the care of the siblings.

Temari led you to a single room and threw the doors open. 

“And this is your stay!”

You walked in. It was a large room with a canopy bed risen on a dais. You would have a window, and wide-leafed plants sat to and fro to liven up the space. There was a mat, a desk, a night stand … 

You turned to them, confused. “This isn’t a master bedroom.”

“No, it isn’t.” Temari followed your sentiment. “Is something wrong?” 

“Well, it’s just …” You faced the bed again. “I thought I would be sleeping with Lord Kazekage. Is this where he sleeps?”

Temari grew wide-eyed and stammering, her face red. Your comment had even gotten to Kankuro, whose cheeks tainted pink. 

“You — will be separate, of course,” Temari said. “Until after the wedding, that is.” 

You nodded to conceal your disappointment. So this would be trickier than you thought. The training your father had insisted you partake in included many things, none of them true espionage; your weak constitution meant you had never gotten an opportunity to train as a shinobi like your brother. Instead, one of your skills included how to kill a man in his sleep, in his private quarters and, if need be, during sex. Because of said “training” you weren’t a virgin, but you never considered yourself taken either. You thought it was … nice, in a way; your father had wanted you to know how to protect yourself, even if his methods had been a bit … questionable. But how would this work if you couldn’t get the Kazekage alone? You would have to sneak into his quarters, but that would only look more suspicious.

“I see,” You sighed. “Well … I certainly hope I can please the Kazekage when the time comes.” 

Temari looked ready to faint. Kankuro snickered into his knuckles. 

“I thank you for the room anyway,” You said, smiling. “I’m sure I’ll be comfortable here.”

Temari was recovering from her near heart attack, hand at her heart, to breathe out, “I’ll … send some servants to care for you, all right?” 

A tinge of sadness. You missed your maids from home who had mothered you so. They had hugged you and cried the day of your departure. You had teared up, too, not knowing when you would see them next. Or, if your mission failed, at all.

You couldn’t tell Temari and Kankuro that, of course. You could tell no one.

“Actually, if you don’t mind …” You said. “I’d like to rest a bit before this party tonight.”

“All right,”  Temari said. She held the door open for them to leave. “Don’t forget to shout if you need anything.”

You nodded in understanding. The door closed, and you sank into bed, turning over with a painful moan; how in the world were you meant to do this? 

The curtains became your friends; you spread them so they could hide you. You collapsed against the pillows, consumed with your thoughts and, eventually, fell into sleep.

-

Your ladies fastened you into your yukata for the evening before placing you in front of the mirror to admire yourself. 

“You look stunning, Lady (Y/n).”

The scarlet yukata was garnished with hints of beige and brown, thus your turquoise pendant served as a complimentary pop of color. It was fitting; you guessed. The colors were meaningful; you “belonged” to the Kazekage and his family.

You were nothing but a doll.

You thanked your servants and requested they leave you alone with the few minutes you had left to spare. You tinkered with your necklace — only to snatch your hand away, sure that wasn’t a good idea. What were you meant to do? Maybe after the party, everyone would be tired enough that you could make a move? Sneak something into his drink? No, it would be too soon. Who else would be blamed besides you?

A knock at the door. “Lady (Y/n). It’s time.”

The muffled voice was Baki’s. You went to the door, opened it to see him looking the same — flak jacket, sheet covering one eye … 

To your surprise, he smiled, and it brought his face to life. He offered you his hand. “You look beautiful.”

You hesitated in taking his hand. Baki lead you out into the dim hallway. Chuuyou, ever your shadow, and a few other oasis guards slipped farther into the darkness.

“Thank you.” You told Baki.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I apologize for Kankuro and Temari; they’re siblings through and through, always bickering.”

“Oh, they don’t bother me!” 

“Still, I thought it would be best if I sent for you instead. They’re busy with Lord Kazekage.”

He led you out of the palace to a rowdier hall nearby the Kazekage’s office. The hall opened into the party — your breath caught in your chest. 

 It was a long, roofless courtyard. Lines strung with lanterns carried over the space and warded off a night patterned with stars. Nobles dined on tables lined with food and cupped their hands over ears to gossip. Jugglers and dancers amused the party-goers as music — rhythmic drums, frantic tambourines — blared. Despite the festive circumstances, there was something cold in the atmosphere — curt bows and distrustful stares — layering over the event like another coating of paint. 

Baki led you, your hand in his, through the courtyard. You blinked and an explosion of color flared behind your lids. 

“(Y/n)!”

You spun. Kankuro and Temari wove through the crowd. 

“Oh, you look great!” Temari’s voice was sickly sweet as she cupped her hands.

“Love the colors.” Kankuro took a swig from his glass as he admired your yukata. “Real subtle.”

“Our Lord Kazekage will be giving a speech at the end of the night,” Baki said.

“Oh, really?” You said.

“Yeah,” Kankuro said. “I think he’ll be able to give Lord Boutoku a run for his money in the oratory department.”

“But until then, it’ll just be all drinking and festivities.” Temari waved off it off while winking. “You know how it is.”

“Where is Gaara?” You said, looking around. You tensed when you realized your mistake. Lord Kazekage, your classless buffoon, Father reproached. But when no one corrected you, you relaxed.

“We’ll take you to him,” Kankuro said, and the four of you began to change direction.

You looked around; the Sand and Oasis ninja meshed together, acclimating to one another. You recognized council members throughout the crowd, mingling with nobles swilling wine.

“There she is!”

The girlish squeal made you look to your left to see a gaggle of girls storming toward you. They bombarded you with questions. You nearly stumbled over on your heel had Baki not caught you —

“She’s so pretty!” 

“When’s the wedding? Is it soon?”

“I wanted to marry the Kazekage! Me!” 

“Ladies!” Baki shouted over them, taking you by the shoulder. “One at a time!”

Ninja made beelines toward the scene, alarmed by the sudden swarm. The last thing you saw was the back of Baki’s head as he tried to control the young girls. You lost everyone. Disoriented, you sheltered behind a pillar. 

You breathed a sigh of relief — 

You sensed the presence of another. 

A brunette girl appeared from beyond the column, looking sobered. 

“Oh, hello!” You took note of her attire. “You’re a Sand ninja, aren’t you?” 

There was no emotion in her eyes to pair with her curt smile. “Hello, Lady (Y/n). I am Matsuri. I am — was … the Kazekage’s student.” She bowed. “Please to meet you.”

“Student?” You parroted. “It — it must’ve been an honor to study under the Kazekage himself …”

“Yes.” Her voice was hardly audible. “It … it was, I —“ Her words caught on something. “Excuse me, I must check on something.” 

“Oh, okay, I —“

Your sentence died as Matsuri hurried to rejoin the party’s fray. 

She dissolved into the crowd. Had you done something wrong? Something to offend? Stupid girl, Father barked.

You’ll be fine. Remember what father said about your nerves ruining things …

 You traipsed into the courtyard from another wing.

Scarlet hair caught your eye. Gaara. He sat in his Kazekage robes of white and turquoise at a long table foreseeing the festivities. 

You made your way toward him, only to run into someone new. 

“Ah, Lady (Y/n),” said the man. “We meet again.”

You recognized him. Joseki. 

You stiffened. “Hello, Elder Joseki.”

Joseki’s eyes narrowed. Disgust and something else — pity — marred his severe face.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” he said. “It’s a shame. A lady such as yourself being pawned to our Kazekage in this manner.”

You fought to neutralize your face. An elder, speaking ill of his village head? 

Joseki took advantage of your stunned silence to continue. “Let’s hope something of worth comes from this … arrangement.”

“I …” You began. “Elder, I don’t know what you mean.”

Joseki “hmphed” and turned away. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I —“

“(Y/n)!” It was Kankuro, followed by Baki. “There you are.”

Joseki paused as they joined the two of you. 

“Have we missed something, Elder Joseki?” Baki said coolly. “Surely, Lady (Y/n) doesn’t want to discuss politics on such a joyous occasion.”

“I was just leaving, actually,” Joseki said before turning to you. “I hope you enjoy your time in the Sand, Lady (Y/n).”

“Thank you …” Your voice was weak as Joseki departed. 

Why did he say it like that? Like this is just a little vacation for me. Like I’m not here to stay?

“Don’t worry about Joseki,” Kankuro said, leading you away. “He’s not the biggest fan of Gaara.”

“Why?”

Kankuro opened his mouth, only to close it.

“Ah, there he is,” Baki said. 

Gaara tilted his kage hat up as other nobles surrounded him, demanding his attention. 

“Gaara!” Kankuro called. “I brought your fiance!”

Baki glared at Kankuro as he seated you by Gaara. 

“Thank you, Kankuro,” he said before surveying the group. “Where’s Temari?”

“Oh.” Kankuro’s tone was nonchalant. “She just went to take care of some business that came up.” 

Gaara nodded. “All right.”

“Let’s leave these two alone so they can get to know each other,” Kankuro whispered to Baki. 

An anger vein sprouted on Baki’s head. “Oh, really? Not so you can get drunk?”

“That’s preposterous!”

Baki grumbled as Kankuro led him away from the table. You turned to Gaara. The hat shrouded his features, leaving his eyes in a deep shade. 

“I hope you like your yukata,” he said.

You hung your head to feign bashfulness. “Thank you, Lord Kazekage.”

 “Though, I wish you had been allowed to choose one you preferred,” he said. 

“It’s all right,” You said. “I am a guest in your village. It would only be appropriate for me to don the colors of Suna and forgo my own for a while.”

“All right,” Gaara’s smile was slight, “(Y/n).”

The sound of your name on his lips threw you. Though you had tried to tell everyone to drop formality — and had simply rolled your eyes at Baki ignoring you — something about hearing your name cradled in Gaara’s deep baritone made your stomach whirl. 

“Kankuro told me a bit about you,” Gaara went on. “About how your mother … I am sorry.”

You paused in the spotlight. You fought the images that followed; your mother’s lifeless body, her throat slit open. “Th — thank you, Lor —“

“Gaara.”

“Thank you, Gaara.”

Gaara’s eyes cast down to the table. His voice fogged with memory as he said, “I also lost my mother. But it was after my birth. I was never able to know her.” 

“I’m sorry.” You reached for his hand, only to retreat, remembering last time. 

His eyes trailed up your hand. “I was … sad and confused for a long time. I was very different when I was a child. I didn’t know if I was truly loved by her — or by anyone.”

“That’s insane.” The sharpness in your tone surprised you, as did the passion. “All mothers love their children!”

Gaara paused, charmed. He nodded in agreement with you. “I now know I was always loved.” His smile was faint. “Your mother would be proud of you; you were brave to come here. Perhaps … perhaps it's time for me to be brave.”

He reached forward to take your hand. He gave it an imperceptible squeeze as his hand blanketed your own. A second or two and Gaara moved away, pink coloring his cheeks. 

You stared, speechless. This … was the monster Father sent you to kill? You had brushed it off as an act before; men had a way of transforming when they got a woman alone. But no one was around now besides party-goers too involved with themselves to care. 

Was he genuine? Could he really be this … sweet?

Kankuro returned to the table, giggling. 

“I can’t believe the lack of discipline you’re showing,” Temari stood cross-armed over him. “What if something bad happened just now and Gaara needed your help?”

“Gaara,” Kankuro hiccuped, “is doing just fine!” 

He raised his glass, and a servant took the hint, refilling Kankuro’s glass.

“Would anyone else care for refreshments?” the servant asked.

“Not him.” Temari smacked Kankuro over the head with her fan. “Thank you.”

“I would like some.” You raised your glass.

“I second that,” Gaara said. “I feel parched for some strange reason.”

The servant filled your cups and took his leave. You placed the rim of the glass to your lips, flicking your tongue out like a cat to test it, before taking a full sip. It was like no wine you had ever had before. You turned to Gaara who was taking several swigs. 

Wine, onigiri, slices of meat and soups came to the table and you all ate. You had no idea how hungry you were until you touched the soup to your lips, hardly waiting for it to become warm before you dove in as politely as you could. You watched Gaara finish his second glass of wine as Temari traded Kankuro’s liquor for water, throwing the red substance behind her back when he wasn’t looking. 

“Ah,” Gaara said. “You’ve gotten a bit of rice on your face.”

“Oh?” You said. “Oh, I’m —“

But Gaara had already risen a napkin to your chin, offering it awkwardly before taking it upon himself to wipe the grain away. Your eyes widened at the gesture. You could feel his finger through the cloth, brushing the piece away.

A squeal. “You can just hear the wedding bells!” 

Ikanago was approaching the table, flanked by two Sand shinobi. Gaara quickly drew away from you.

“Keep acting like that and you’ll never make it until after the wedding!” Ikanago winked and stumbled away, humming with her wineglass.

“See, Tem — hiccup — mari!” Kankuro said, cheeks tomato red now. “I’m not — hiccup — the only — hiccup — one — hiccup — drinking!”

Temari’s eyebrow twitched. “And that’s a good thing?”

“Temari,” Gaara said. “I think you should enjoy yourself as much as Kankuro. Why don’t you have a drink?”

Temari hesitated, fiddling with a napkin. “Um, well, Gaara, I …”

Gasps from the crowd. Party-goers split down the middle as dancers took to the center, cartwheeling, back-flipping, twirling batons. Already, the enthralled crowd clapped, whooping their approval. 

Temari smiled. “I guess this is where the real show starts.”

“A wedding gift from Naruto, I believe,” Gaara elaborated. 

Your neck nearly broke as you turned to Gaara. Naruto? The Hokage?

They’re close, remember?

One of the dancers stood right side up. He blew into the night air and flames burst from his mouth to light a torch. The crowd wooed nervously. 

“Don’t worry!” the dance said as his fellows gyrated around him. “I’m great with fire!” 

He resumed his dance. One of his dancers threw him another torch, which he lit and began to twirl and juggle. Another had a fan she used to whip and literally fan the flames.

“Whaaat? That’s way smaller than Temari’s.” Kankuro turned to you. “Temari’s got a huge fan that’s almost as big as her!” 

Your eyebrows raised.“Really?”

Temari dismissed the flattery. “It’s not that impressive.”

“She can glide on it!” 

You were amazed. “You have a giant fan you ride on?”

“It’s giant like her!”

Temari clocked Kankuro on the head as Gaara nodded to you. “It’s a part of her skill set as a shinobi.”

You pouted. “I envy you all; I wish I could’ve been a shinobi, but my father always said I was too weak for it…”

It was a second before Gaara changed the subject. “Kankuro told me also that you have a brother?” 

You raised your head. “Yes. Hideo …”

“I hope to meet him one day,” he said. “He will be my brother-in-law, after all.”

You sobered. Hideo’s kind face and gentle laugh sounded in your head — a face that was gone and a laugh that was gone because he was gone.

You cleared your throat. “Had a brother.”

The three of them went silent.

Gaara’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled weakly. “I —“

A yelp. The dancer’s hair had caught on fire. His dancers flocked to him, patting his head to put it out as the crowd bellowed with laughter. 

“Oh gods,” You said, feeling second handed embarrassment for him. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Yes …” Gaara said sourly. “I’ll have to tell Naruto about this.”

“Yeah.” Kankuro took a drink. “Let’s not.” 

The fires died. The dancers carried their leader away from the courtyard. The four of you continued to bond, Kankuro and Temari explained to you the best they could how their abilities worked, but you could tell they withheld details out of fear of confusing you. It turned out Gaara could actually control sand and that on normal days he carried a gourd of it on his back. All of it sounded so fascinating to you.

“It’s really quite hot, isn’t it?” You said as Gaara traded his wine for water.

He paused. “Are you bothered by it? We could go indoors where it’s cooler.”

“No,” You said, charmed by his concern. Typical desert, really.  You’d think I’d be used to it. “I’m fine.” 

“Lord Kazekage.” Baki came over, whispered in his ear. “It’s time.”

Gaara nodded, and with a reassuring look to you and his siblings, departed from the table. He and Baki carried on to a small podium. You watched as those in the courtyard grew quiet when he ascended the steps. 

The command he has over them all. It was immediate. Of course, he was the Kazekage, but something about the gentle way they seemed to respect him struck you. Nothing like your lord father and the fear he inspired in his subjects. 

“Sand shinobi,” Gaara began. “Oasis shinobi. We are siblings in this desert, bonded by a common blood and heritage, and yet we have done nothing but fight one another, with the sand admittedly the aggressor in nearly every conflict. For too long, we have been more than willing to go to war against those we should call family. It ends today. With my marriage to the village head of the Oasis village, Lord Boutoku’s daughter, Lady (Y/n), we put this violent past behind us and strive for a better future. No longer will we squabble over resources both villages need in order to prosper. Instead, we shall share them. One family under one table.”

The crowd broke out in polite applause. You listened, stunned. Where was the quiet boy who could barely hold your hand a few moments ago? His words felt … honest. Heartfelt. Regretful. Hopeful.

“Told you.” Kankuro leaned into your side. “No offense, but he could definitely put your lord father to shame.”

He could, You admitted to yourself. 

“And so,” Gaara went on. “After this …”

He paused. You imagined it was all for the sake of theatrics, a simple beat to reign in the attention of the audience —

He stumbled.

Gasps. Murmurs of alarm. The air grew tight. 

“Something’s wrong,” Temari said.

Gaara caught himself, holding to the microphone with heavy-lidded eyes. 

What? But what happened? You hadn’t —

Panic seized you. Your mind reeled back. The cactus. What was it the botanist had said?

“Oh yes, some strands are incredibly toxic upon touch, oh yes … Us who handle them must all be very careful with the specimens we interact with, yes …”

Oh no.

Gaara stumbled again, only to tip over and faint.

“Gaara!” Temari and Kankuro cried in unison. They abandoned the table and teleported, in flashes, to the stage. 

Baki was there, intercepting it all, along with several other Sand shinobi as the courtyard erupted in panic.

All the while, you stood there, absorbing the chaos, knowing it was only a matter of time before heads turned to you.

[bradshawsbaby]

Si Vis Amari Ama

I. Twin Flames

SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairings: Rooster (Roman Name: Gallus) x Female Reader (Roman Name: Sabina), featuring Hangman (Roman Name: Carnifex) x Phoenix

Summary: A girl whose freedom was stolen to pay her father’s debts. A gladiator enslaved for the entertainment of Rome. A love they never thought possible.

Author’s Note: I hope you guys are excited for Gallus and Sabina’s story! I know that I’m very excited to tell it. Please think of this chapter as a Prologue of sorts, where you’ll get a little glimpse into the histories of our hero and heroine.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Slavery in the ancient world, parental death, references to physical abuse, allusions to atrocities committed during a Roman raid, angst.

You could never escape your debts.

There wasn’t much that you remembered about your father, but you could recall those words falling from his lips, clear as a bell. He’d said them so often when you were a little girl that they were permanently ingrained in your brain, rather like the brand that now marred the skin of your left shoulder.

He was right. You couldn’t escape your debts. Even in death, they came to haunt those you left behind, the weight of them falling on shoulders not strong enough to bear the burden.

If only your father had heeded his own advice.

But you were only a child then. At six years old, what could you know of the expenses your father was piling up, the creditors he owed, the tax collectors he evaded?

Perhaps he knew all along. Perhaps he knew he would never escape those debts, never outrun them. And so perhaps Fortuna, the only god he had ever had any use for, had smiled upon him when she sent the fever that robbed him of his life breath.

But why did she have to take Mater, too?

At six years old, you knew nothing. Nothing but pain and loss.

If only you had known that that was just the beginning.

What could you have known of the debts your father owed? Death may have allowed him to escape them, but it didn’t afford you the same luxury.

Rome had been your home your entire life, but when you needed her the most, she turned her back on you, just as your father had done. Just, as it seemed, Fortuna had. The most powerful empire in the world had no pity in her heart for poor orphans, especially not orphans who had inherited a lifetime’s worth of debt, orphans whose fathers’ foolishness had robbed the empire’s coffers.

It was a strange thing, being swept up and sold off, like you were of no more worth than the tapestries and vases that went with you off to market.

Everything was to be sold, you’d overheard the men saying, those frightening men with their faces that looked like the marble you’d seen in the Temple of Jupiter and their eyes as cold as the frigid waters of the Tiber in the dead of winter. If they fetched a good enough price for your childhood home and everything that lay within it, it might just settle your father’s accounts, so they said.

You could never escape your debts.

Or, in this case, you could never escape the debts of others.

Maybe you should have known that moment would come, the moment when your freedom was swallowed up forever. Maybe the signs had been there all along, as the augurs in the temples were so wont to remind people.

Had your parents known all along that this would be your fate when they bestowed your name upon you at birth? Sabina, a name derived from the Sabine women, the very women who had been robbed of their freedom when they were unwillingly carried off by the brutal hands of Rome.

You had never been one for portents and signs, but perhaps this one had been staring you in the face all along.

From Sabina, the freeborn Roman to Sabina, the slave.

How quickly the hands of fate could turn.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and months to years, until freedom itself seemed only to be a distant memory, like the sound of your mother’s voice and the joy of the games you’d played as a small child.

Your childhood and your freedom had been stolen, stolen to satisfy the debts of the man who was supposed to protect and defend you. And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to let the bitterness and resentment build. You’d seen the way it festered in others, the way it gnawed at their bones until nothing remained but a hollow shell. You couldn’t allow that to happen.

Because then what was left of you would be stolen, too, and you really would be nothing.

So long as that tiny flicker of peace remained, then a part of you remained as well, and nobody, not even Rome herself, could take that away from you.

Through every indignity, through every punishment and beating and degradation, you clung to that tiny piece of your heart that you stubbornly refused to let be stained by the world. Through every change of hands, when your body was treated like a commodity to be bought and sold, your very humanity ignored and denied, you retreated to that small place inside, that place where you were still you and always would be.

At night, when you dreamed, it wasn’t of the horrors of your circumstances or the brutality of your days. When you dreamed, it was always of the same pair of arms that held you close and kept you safe. They were strong arms. Scarred arms. Arms that had carried the weight of burdens too heavy to bear, just as you had. You didn’t know who they belonged to—you could never see his face—but you trusted him more than anyone you had ever known. And though you woke each morning alone and cold, you knew with a surety borne only of a deep-seated need that his warmth would find you again when you closed your eyes.

No matter where you went, no matter what household you were sold to, your strong-armed protector followed you in your dreams. And so you weren’t afraid when, after the death of the dominus you’d served for many years, you were sold off to the household of Atticus Cornelius Juventus. For though he was well known to be a lanista, a dealer in the most brutal of gladiators, you felt a strange sense of certainty that you would be safe there.

Your father had taught that you could never escape your debts.

You had learned that you could never escape the fetters of slavery.

But maybe, just maybe, there was still a part of you, no matter how small, that could be free.

Honor and pride were all a man had.

His father had been a great warrior. Honor and pride were the two things he had lived by, the things that had fueled him.

He didn’t really remember his father.

His mother had told him about him when he was small, but he didn’t really remember her either.

He could recall her in flashes—the feel of her arms as she rocked him to sleep, the sound of her voice as she hummed a tune he could no longer remember the words of, the look of pain that flickered in her eyes when she spoke of his father.

But every time he tried to cling to those memories, to solidify her face in his mind’s eye and tattoo it on his heart, they disappeared like the morning mist, taking all the fleeting echoes of home with them.

Home.

Britannia had been home once, but was it any longer?

It was the land his father had died for, the land he’d been cut down defending.

It was the land where his mother had given him life, nurturing him and raising him to be a man of honor and pride, as his father had been.

But he hadn’t been a man, not then.

He hadn’t been a man when the Romans came and raided his village. He hadn’t been a man when they burned the only home he’d ever known, not caring that his mother was still inside. He hadn’t been a man when they raped and pillaged, destroying everything he’d ever held dear in their mad thirst for power and control.

He hadn’t been a man when they rounded him up with the other few survivors and carted him off to the slave markets of Rome, the foul center of their even fouler empire.

He hadn’t been a man then, but he became one.

And as he grew under the watchful eyes of Rome, so did his bitterness. As his body grew stronger, so did his hatred for the people who had made him a slave to their savage empire.

The Romans liked to claim that his people were the savages, yet he had never seen a people as thirsty for blood as the citizens of this hellish kingdom. His father had only ever fought out of devotion to his family and his homeland. These people fought for the pure joy of bloodlust.

He hated them.

He hated them and he hated everything they represented.

But most of all, he hated himself for not being able to break free of them. He hated himself for having to submit to their fetters and chains.

One day, he told himself, he would break free. And so he worked hard every day, not for the benefit of Rome, but for the benefit of himself. He built up his muscles and his stamina, he built up his endurance and his strength. He built himself up so that no one would ever be able to hurt him and get away with it.

But perhaps that had been his mistake.

He built himself up so much that it began to attract talk—and attention.

It started out harmlessly enough. His dominus—how he hated that word—would set up street brawls with drunkards and other slaves and collect bets on the outcome of the fights. He might not have been proud to admit it, but it served as an outlet for the rage he’d been bottling up inside since he was a small boy. Each man he fought was the man who had run his father through with a Roman sword, or the soldier who had laughed as his mother screamed in agony while the flames engulfed her. With each swing of his massive fists, he avenged his parents and his people.

But as the fights became more popular, more people began to take notice. And he was too brash and impulsive, too young and stupid, to realize just how dangerous that was.

He would never forget the day that Atticus Cornelius Juventus came to watch him fight, the rich man’s dark, beady eyes never blinking as he watched him destroy his opponents, beating them to within an inch of their lives. At the end of the bout, when he was bloodied and panting and soaked with sweat, the man even smiled, one corner of his cunning mouth quirking up into a satisfied grin.

“I’ll take him, Linus,” he had said, throwing a hefty bag of clinking coins in the direction of his smirking dominus.

His former dominus.

From that day forward, he became the property of Atticus Cornelius Juventus and he knew that he would never taste freedom again.

He had built himself up so that they could never destroy him, and he ended up destroying himself.

From street brawls with drunkards, to armed combat in local arenas, to the public spectacles of the Colosseum, the years passed and his fame grew. “The Barbarian from Britannia” was what they loved to call him. He was their champion, their hero, their undefeated victor. They loved him, worshiped him, adored the ground he walked on.

He hated them.

He hated their cheers, he hated the way they fawned over him, he hated the way they had forced their sword into his hand, the same sword that had slaughtered his father and his people.

He no longer cared whether he lived or died. In fact, he rather wished that death would finally come to claim him one of these days. 

What did he have to live for?

It certainly wasn’t the hope of freedom. He no longer hoped for that. He no longer hoped for anything. His life was not his own, and it never had been.

There were moments when he was by himself late at night, brief and fleeting moments when he felt himself reaching out for something—or someone. It was a desperate ache, a longing deep inside his chest for something he didn’t quite understand.

It didn’t matter. He would root that longing out of his heart, just as he had rooted out every other feeling beyond bitterness and hatred.

Honor and pride were all a man had, and his had been trampled into the dust.

He would never return to his homeland.

He would never escape the blood and sand of the Colosseum.

He would never again be free.

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 1 - FORBIDDEN

They find the Augur of Dunlain in an empty room.

They don’t know that they’ve found him right away, of course, because the room is empty; the hollow heart of the College midden, all grey stone, the grout that lines its cracks dark with mould, and a dank-looking ceiling, and damp, rough-hewn walls. In the middle of the floor there is a low ring of bricks, like the beginning of one of the magicka-wells set in each of the College’s towers, in the middle of its courtyard, the ones everyone always reminds Efri will burn all the skin off her bones if she gets too close, like she didn’t hear them weeks ago when they said it the first time. But there’s no irradiant blue liquid in this little stone circle, no knife-sharp gush of light; it’s like they started building one and then gave up right away. The ceiling bows inwards, like whatever’s above it is too heavy to properly hold. The walls all look damp. Something drips from the uneven roof into the middle of the not-well. The air feels warmer than the rest of the tunnels have, and thin.

The door creaks, loud and heavy and way more dramatic than an empty room needs, and swings rancorously closed behind them.

Efri says a bad word.

(It’s not even a cool empty room. It’s just dim and wet, with stagnant air that makes her skin feel raw. The door had taken so much effort to get open – Kazari had had to charge at it like a battering ram to get the hinges to squeak into movement – and Sissel had said –)

(The Midden sucks.)

“I thought,” Sissel says, and her voice echoes off the walls; “I was sure – it felt – it feels –”

“I hate it here,” Efri complains.

Kazari is stretching out her back, twisting and arching with ever-impressive flexibility (in the exact kind of movements Reldith’s mousing cat would make, which looks a bit odd on someone about a million times its size) but she pauses to blink at Efri, slow and meaningful, and signal, this one thought you liked the tunnels, and then, with an incredible arch of the neck that Efri immediately strains a muscle trying to imitate, this one thought it was an adventure.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Efri says, pressing the heel of her hand to the side of her throat, even though Kazari is already thinning her eyes in laughter. “I said don’t! Mean! And I thought I liked the tunnels yesterday, when we’d only just got into them.” And hadn’t run out of food. Or gotten lost yet. They had already kind of destroyed the only way out they knew about, but Efri thought it would be easier to find another one.

Technically, they weren’t breaking any rules coming into the Midden; mostly because Efri elected not to ask. Better to ask forgiveness, and all, and besides there was the thing with the ghost who wasn’t actually a ghost but instead a member of a secret wizard society (which is the sort of thing that Efri honestly had thought was made up, like a lot of the other stories about mages she’s heard seem to be, but apparently not? It’s confusing), and he made it all sound very secretive, and they weren’t sure what they should say to who or even what they were being warned about because no matter how intrigued everyone is it’s still just a ball. Shows no sign of doing anything but floating. So they didn’t ask anyone about the Augur to their face, and they didn’t ask much about the Midden, so nobody forbade them from going but nobody told them what to look for, either. And now it’s been a day – or something, hard to say with no light except for the scattered torches that definitely shouldn’t still be burning; there was a room with a bed and they slept in it with Efri’s scarf tying their limbs together because it’s weird, down here. Labyrinthine. Hard to track. Efri isn’t totally convinced the tunnels aren’t moving around when she’s not looking because whenever they’ve tried to backtrack they haven’t managed to find the same place twice. There was a room with a lot of bones (too many bones, an alarming amount of bones) and a room with a statue of a gauntlet sitting on a plinth like a religious idol and a crawl space filled with jars and all the strange passageways, twisting and curling like they were carved out of the rock by massive earthworms, narrow enough in some places that Kazari’s sleeves keep getting ripped when she tries to wedge herself through. The cloth is fraying. Efri needs to get them some new clothes, but not now, because they’re still in the Midden, now, and they’re still quite lost, and confused, and no closer to finding the Augur than they had been when they came in, and they’re not sure how to get out because the trapdoor they found was pinned up by a rickety ladder that groaned no matter how lightly they tried to touch it and when Kazari jumped down after them their foot caught it and the whole thing broke into splinters. And Efri really thought they’d found it, this time, because Sissel said she could feel magic in this room, weird magic, and she’s good at these things – but it’s empty. And there’s so many more tunnels to search.

The idea of an elaborate system of caverns under the College building is pretty cool, but Efri can’t say she’s enjoying it much in practice. At least she recognised the mushrooms that grow all over the walls. They taste like mould, but they’re edible, and better than nothing. She filled all her pockets with them. It’s a good thing her orange dress has a lot of pockets.

Kazari, with an air of great and understanding sympathy, leans in to rest their chin on Efri’s shoulder and exhale a warm breath that ruffles her hair. Efri takes a deep, tingly breath and tips her head back so she can blow on their ear. They startle, even though they have to have expected it, and shake their head hard, like they’re sneezing.

“It still feels –” Sissel says, frustrated, takes a long loud step that rings around the room. “It’s – there is magic here, but it’s weird, it’s not – ugh.”

“Do you want a mushroom?” Efri offers, because being hungry can make her grumpy, sometimes, and she digs one out of her pocket. It’s ripped in half and doesn’t look enormously appetising. She holds it out anyway. “Why’s it weird?” Sissel, the prodigy, spell-reader extraordinaire, knows about these things – she’s got a knack with the shape of magic the teachers all agree is impressive. She can say what a spell is without seeing it, if it’s done big enough and she knows it well enough; she can teach herself a spell just by seeing it done and copying its form. If she says it’s weird, Efri believes her, even if all magic is kind of weird, in her opinion.

Strong, Kazari puts in next to her. Very strong.

Sissel screws up her face, eyes shiny in the room’s dim light; “It isn’t,” she starts, and then her expression goes lax, all at once, and she lifts a hand and curls it in the air. She says, “It isn’t doing anything. Nothing’s making it happen. Nothing’s making more of it, or changing it, it’s just – there. I’ve never seen that.”

(Magic, as far as Efri understands, is a bit like fire – in the way that it’s not a thing, it’s the way a thing happens. It needs fuel to produce it – wood and air to eat – the shape of the space around it to guide how it moves. That’s what Tolfdir said. He’s good at explaining these things.)

“That does sound weird,” Efri agrees. She eats the mushroom, since Sissel hasn’t taken it. It squeaks against her teeth.

Very strong, Kazari repeats. Do you feel it?

When Efri takes another breath, it feels thin. Something smells, very, very faintly, like burning. Something drips down from the ceiling again. Sissel’s hand twitches in the air like she’s plucking the strings of an invisible harp.

(She doesn’t feel magic, even if she tries – she doesn’t think her body’s got the infrastructure for it – but she does feel strange. Prickly. Like there’s a fly buzzing around her ears but no matter how fast she turns her head she can’t find it.)

“I don’t know,” she says, thoughtful; another offbeat dribble from the roof. Kazari bats at her shoulder again, and she digs absent-mindedly in her pocket and passes them a mushroom. Figures it can’t hurt, can it, to be polite, so she faces the big empty room and says, “Hello.”

The big empty room says nothing at all. Kazari eats the mushroom. Sissel’s still moving like she’s trying to do an embroidery stitch on the air. Efri says, “I’m Efri and that’s Kazari of Anequina and Sissel Manette and we’re looking for the Augur of… something –”

Kazari clicks an approximation of a D sound.

‘ – I know it starts with a D – we’re looking for the Augur,” Efri reiterates; every word echoes off the rounded walls about three times and it makes it hard to concentrate on what she’s actually saying. “Is that… here? Nearby? Are you in the room? Are you invisible?”

“Not invisible,” Sissel mumbles, still absorbed in her finger-based interpretive dance.

“Not invisible,” Efri agrees, because Sissel would know if it was a person who was invisible, and besides what little information they could scrounge made it sound like it wasn’t a person at all. Connected to the magical energies of the College, apparently, which Efri guesses means the light-wells, their pools of luminous liquid and the glow that cascades up into the clouds, one in the courtyard and all the big halls, contained careful in their little rings of bricks. The ones that make you feel all stinging-raw if you get too near, like skinning your knee falling down the stairs except all over your body, that singe the split ends off your hair and will melt your bones if you touch them, so everyone says.

Hm. Efri tips her head, bitten-down nails tapping thoughtless on the grip of her stick, and looks at the shallow ring of stones in the middle of the floor. There is another out-of-time drip.

(It’s dim, but it’s not dark; the door has closed behind them, Efri hasn’t used her magic gloves to kindle a spark, and they’re so deep in the lopsided cliff-pillar the College stands on that even if there were windows they wouldn’t do much good. And yet – there’s still light enough to see by.)

(Hm.)

“This room is weird,” Efri announces. Kazari brushes her tail against her shin.

Weird like every other room here, she motions when Efri turns to look at her, or important weird?

It is, Efri thinks, a very good question. She flops against Kazari’s side (accidentally jabbing them a bit with the stick – oops) and says, “You know me so well.”

Kazari tips her head in agreement, even though Efri’s now tucked behind it and she can’t see her without craning her neck, and adds, Alas.

“Hey,” Efri complains. “Mean.”

Sissel says, “Hold on,” and then she says, “hold on,” and then she turns, and her face is glacier-bright, and she says, “I think it’s – I think –”

“There’s something important here,” Efri says, and Sissel nods so sharply her plait throws itself over the top of her head and falls back down again. It’s all wispy. There’s strands loose, hanging near the front of her face.

“Yes,” she says; “yes, Efri, I think it’s like a spell. I think – it’s on its own, nothing is doing anything to it and it’s not doing anything and that’s weird, that’s not how that works –”

Another drip; “I know,” Efri says.

“It’s like,” says Sissel, and then she pauses. There’s a long quiet second before she shakes her head and keeps going. “I’ve done it before, or something close, I know the shapes – it’s like a scroll, like it’s all written down, but it’s just in the room instead of on paper. Like it’s been put down, and it’s waiting.”

“Like an enchantment?” Efri echoes, because even though even Kazari, who knows about magic, looks a bit lost, it still feels important to try to understand.

Sissel nods. Her hair is still swinging. “I think,” she says, and looks suddenly uncertain, “I think I can try to trigger it? It looks like a spell I know, but –” she presses a hand to her chest and then pulls it sharply away, like she’s miming ripping a button off her dress, “– backwards. Maybe if I do it…”

Terrible idea, Kazari bats at both of their legs to gripe. Dangerous. You are always wanting to do spells you have not learned, turn yourselves inside out with magics you don’t know the rules of.

Efri blows on their ear again and says to Sissel, “Do it, do it, do it!”

And Sissel, bright-faced in the way she gets when she’s casting, does it; which is to say she tries once – nothing happens – she frowns at her hands and adjusts her posture – and then she explodes into brilliant light, which is very upsetting to watch.

Efri’s eyes are burning like she’s spent five straight minutes staring directly at the sun; it’s so bright she can’t hear anything, can’t feel anything, knocked so off-kilter that she doesn’t know what to make of anything at all. It’s the irradiance of the sun on the ice, of molten metal, of the light-wells. There is a feeling like a breath that scrapes the top layer of skin clean from Efri’s body. Something, somewhere, is groaning. Something, somewhere, is burning.

“Ow,” Efri says, her face pressed into the crook of her arm, and Kazari is lowing, and Sissel is calling her name, and something else is –

Something else is –

Efri raises her head, squinting; swears, because this is a situation that warrants it, she thinks, and she sees the room is gone – not gone – she can’t see the walls but she can almost feel that they’re there, but it’s all so flooded with light she can’t make any of it out. But she can see Kazari, with their teeth bared and their eyes squeezed shut, and she can see Sissel – light suffusing through her pores, eyes glowing bright as sun on ice, and when she says, “Efri? Efri!” her whole throat and mouth is lit up just the same, and when she says, “Efri? Efri!” something else – from her mouth, but unformed by the shapes she makes with her tongue and teeth, and unlike any sound Efri has ever heard anyone make in her life – says

Welcome.

“What,” Efri says, high-pitched – it echoes off the walls too doused in glare to be seen – and then, “Hello,” not very nicely, still in the same alarmed tone, but she doesn’t really think she can be blamed for that.

Sissel says, “Efri? Where are you, I can’t –”

Kazari is making a sound that probably doesn’t bode well. Efri says, “We’re here, we’re right here, what’s – Sissel, are you –”

“I can’t find you!” Sissel cries, sounding very upset – her voice cracks, hollow-dry, on the last word – and her mouth is glowing like she’s a statue with a furnace in her throat, and so Efri, on impulse, reaches out to grab her wrist, still raised up, fingers coiled like springs; it burns, and she flinches away. The skin all down her pointer finger and the web of her thumb stings like bloody hell – seared steaming red, when she looks at it, feeling about ready to blister. Efri swears again (it’s well warranted) and sticks her hurt hand under her arm.

“Sorry,” Sissel stammers, “sorry, I don’t – I don’t think – didn’t mean –” and her mouth is burning, and Kazari is growling, which feels – fair enough, and that extremely weird other voice says

I am that which you seek.

and then, a moment later

I have that which you seek.

and Efri says, “I think Sissel’s possessed.”

“Yeah,” Sissel says, vaguely hysterical, her one hand kept statue-still in her hair but the other one pressing hard against the pale shining moon of her cheek. She shakes her head. “Yes, but – no, I think it’s reflecting off me, I’m – sorry, I can’t, there’s a lot.”

And the voice spills itself out of her mouth to say

Ask.

and Efri ignores it in favour of leaning a trying-to-be-comforting elbow on Kazari’s flank and taking a deep breath for all three of them, because clearly no-one’s really on top of things right now, and saying, “Are you okay?”

(Reflecting off of her, she said; if magic is a fire then the Augur is a flame and the College is a neatly arrayed pyramid of sticks and Sissel is the hearth for it to happen in. Maybe they should have tried to ask a few more people – then they might have been a bit more prepared, and it’s not like being forbidden from coming down here would have stopped them doing it. Oh well. Hindsight’s always easier.)

“Okay,” Sissel says, though Efri’s not sure if she’s answering or just repeating it back at her; she sucks in a breath, fingers curling in her hair. (Her eyes are so bright. It’s like looking head-on at a lighthouse.) Another breath. She says, “I can’t see, and it’s – confusing, but I think I’m all right.” A pause. “I think it’s – I think they normally do this with a – there’s an enchantment? Somewhere? I don’t know.”

“Well,” Efri says with a lopsided shrug, “we’re already doing it this way.”

Kazari’s growling doubles in volume; she sounds unimpressed, but she’s also unwilling to open her eyes against the light, so she’s not doing much to communicate it.

Ask.

says the voice issuing itself from Sissel’s lungs; it sounds like groaning rock and the all-consuming bluster of wind up on the ramparts, and it also sounds faintly irritated, this time, and Efri crosses her arms, almost thwacking Kazari with her stick again, and says, “Don’t snap at us, we’re trying!” and then realises that she’s not even sure what their question is, which probably isn’t good. (Everyone keeps saying that something is happening, or going to happen – the not-a-ghost spoke like it was a portent – and she can’t go near the main hall without feeling on tenterhooks, but there’s no real clue what the something even is, or when it might happen, just that it’s coming.Just that she knows it's coming. There's a feeling like the heavy clouds the moment before they start storming.)

Ask.

says the Augur through Sissel’s mouth again, marginally more gently.

“We found this thing,” Efri tells it – the light all around them is starting to give her a headache; it feels like there’s nothing above or below or around her, like she’s floating in empty space, in the middle of the sun – “in Saarthal, underground, this – they’re calling it the Eye of Magnus, it’s this big ball that just spins, and it never touches the ground, we found it –”

The Augur says

I know of it.

Efri presses her stinging hand under her arm again. “Right,” she says. “Right. Well, it’s – we don’t know what it is but everyone is being weird about it and we met this man from the, uh, we thought he was a ghost but it turned out he was a sigil –”

“Psijic,” Sissel supplies. The hand not holding the shape of the spell like she’s still casting it is clasped over her own shoulder.

Efri says, “Right, and he said we had to find you to ask – to ask –”

You do not know why.

says the Augur, curious as the eye of a storm.

Efri doesn’t tell it to shut up, even if she is quite stressed and she wants to. “Things are,” she starts, waves her hand vaguely in the air – ow – says, “They keep telling us not to worry about it but we need to, because something’s happening, so we need…” and Efri takes a breath that scrapes against the inside of her throat, and she asks: “What do we need to know to keep the College safe?”

And when Sissel smiles – vaguely surprised, like she hadn’t quite meant to – her teeth shine like a bonfire, and the voice like groaning ice seeps out between them, says,

Aptly phrased.

with something that sounds almost like approval, and then the light burns out, and the damp stone walls fizzle back into being around them, and Efri says, “Hey! You didn’t answer!” and then she looks at Sissel, and Sissel’s eyes are still glowing.

Sissel says, fumblingly, “Eye of – Magnus – I’ve got it – I’ve got it,” and even with her face obscured all luminous she looks momentarily very far away.

Kazari is blinking their eyes carefully open. Efri says, “Oh. Thank you.”

You’re welcome.

says the Augur, in the voice of all the Midden’s windless halls, and then Sissel’s hand drops. She scrubs her palm across her eyes.

There’s a blister developing on Efri’s thumb. She ignores it. She asks, again, “Are you okay?”

Sissel says, “The Eye has a staff,” and blinks again. There’s dark circles under her eyes; Efri can make them out again. “It’s long, it’s not made of wood, and on the top it has this –”

Kazari bats at them both. Staff of Magnus? she asks; quirks an ear when they both just look at her, adds, Famous?

Efri considers the name and says, “Sounds about right.”

“It is Magnus’,” adds Sissel, uncertain. “So – I think so?”

Kazari huffs and makes a great show of turning away.

“Sulk,” Efri says to them, and then to Sissel, “Did you see it? Like a vision?”

“I felt it,” Sissel says, flexing her hands. Another drip falls unheeded into the stone ring on the floor. “Like a spell.”

Efri leans over to tap her on the arm with two slightly cautious fingers. (It’s fine.) “That’s so cool,” she tells her; raps her stick on the floor and says, “Damn. You always get to talk to the weird people in the caves.”

“You talked to Kazari,” Sissel says with a sly smile; Kazari makes a rude sound, and she giggles. “You can have the next one. I’ve had enough.”

The weird people in the caves always seem to want someone magical; Efri doesn’t point this out. “We’ll have to get out of this one, first,” she says, and with great optimism, she does not groan at the prospect. When she stretches out her arms, her sleeves ride up, and she sees that the hair at her wrists is all singed off. Magic is weird. It’s very cool that she gets to see so much of it. She says, “Come on! I want to pick more mushrooms,” and, together, they manage to heave the creaking door back open.

[mrsoftthoughts]

I was thinking about Octavian and that make me wonder;

What would be the ethics and morals standards at camp Jupiter and New rome for two demigods Childs of the same godly parent dating??

Just, think about it, since that the gods dont have dna (a completely nonsense for me, but its the canon answer so im sticking to that for now) probably at camp half-blood the tabu of dating with your siblings is only because the camp,with cabins which divides the campers by their godly, parent set up a family dinamic between them you thinks of them as your siblings and that What make it weird i guess

But camp Jupiter doesn't do that, the cohorts are a buch of random demigods and legacies meant to be soldiers, not a family

and heading back to Octavian who is the one that lead me to that question due the fact that at the end of the day he is said to be an Apollo legacy, and only Apollo, Does that mean that Octavian family's just a bunch of Apollo descendants married between them?? Or camp Jupiter just chose to call you a legacy of only the god that's more important for you depending of your position at the legion (in the case of Octavian, as the augur, being Apollo )

Leet me know what are your thoughts about this, i need answers.

[fantomette22]

thank you for responding and allowing requests! i wanted to please ask if you would be okay to draw gehrman and maria gathering lumenflowers?

There you go anon!! 🌻🌻🌻🌻

I said it earlier but it’s absolutely an adorable idea 🥹 You could have just come into my dm and ask me i would have done it no problem! Thank you for asking i was waiting for such an occasion! ❤️

And have some headcanons about them and the lumenflowers as a bonus :

Ok so i imagined that pthumerians probably used to grow them before but you can’t find those flowers in Yharnam anymore.

Maria’s pendant represent of course a lumenflower and she had a rare dry up specimen.

At some point the old hunters & healing church went to Loran for research purpose (for me the surface of Loran is very similar to the nightmare frontier) And in some caves they finally found them, The lumenflowers 🌻✨

At least Maria found them and was just so freaking happy. She screamed so strongly that it worried everyone at first 😅

Gehrman was just half concerned because it sounded more like a « i’m surprised type of scream » rather than a « i’m in danger type of scream ». But yeah she’s fine she just find our precious and rare kin flowers that grow in the dark and glow x)

If she wasn't at the camp or in the underground catacombs (chalice dungeon) she went into the small caves + accompany Caryll & Rom who tested things with the augurs and the flowers.

When they came back to Yharnam, they took some lumenflowers back with them. Like I drew here. They hoped to be able to cultivate them. (Because it's link with the great ones etc. That was before the hamlet too)

It was a project that mostly Maria & Gehrman did together. As Maria have lot of theoretical knowledge on plants and Gehrman have lots of practical one! (they already did that at Byrgenwerth XD Gehrman was a groundskeeper. One of his activity was planting flowers yes XD and after meeting Maria she gave him advices on the timing of when each species will bloom so it would create even prettier flowerbeds. He taught her about medicinal plants too).

I mean those two planted the workshop's flowers and some little trees as well.

After it work out and many plants grew and survived, they put them in what will become the research hall/ orphanage

What about the huge lumen flowers in front of the astral clocktower? Euh... idk Maria tried something I guess 😅 I suppose corpses getting buried at their foot had some effect...

If some lumenflowers remained at the workshop/ other places than the research hall, after Maria passing, Gehrman didn't keep them growing at those places.