#Claudius Character Study

[theiinkwiitch]

[Tag dump... Again... Save me.]

[hamletthedane]

Hamlet’s Age

Not to bring up an age-old debate that doesn’t even matter, but I have been thinking recently how interesting Hamlet’s age is both in-text and as meta-text.

To summarize a whole lot of discussion, we basically only have the following clues as to Hamlet’s age:

Hamlet and Horatio are both college students at Wittenberg. In Early Modern/Late Renaissance Europe, noble boys typically began their university education at 14 and usually completed at their Bachelor’s degree by 18 or 19. However, they may have been studying for their Master’s degrees, which was typically awarded by age 25 at the latest. For reference, contemporary Kit Marlowe was a pretty late bloomer who received a bachelor’s degree at 20 and a master’s degree at 23.

Hamlet is AGGRESSIVELY described as a “youth” by many different characters - I believe more than any other male shakespeare character (other than 16yo Romeo). While usage could vary, Shakespeare tended to use “youth” to mean a man in his late teens/very early 20s (actually, he mostly uses it to describe beardless ‘men’ who are actually crossdressing women - likely literally played by young men in their late teens)

King Hamlet is old enough to be grey-haired, but Queen Gertrude is young enough to have additional children (or so Hamlet strongly implies)

Hamlet talks about plucking out the hairs of his beard, so he is old enough to at least theoretically have a beard

In the folio version, the gravedigger says he became a gravedigger the day of Hamlet’s birth, and that he’s be “sixteene here, man and boy, thirty years.” However, it’s unclear if “sixteene” means “sixteen” or “sexton” (ie has he worked here for 16 years but is 30 years old, or has he been sexton there for thirty years?)

Hamlet knew Yorick as a young child, and the gravedigger says Yorick was buried 23 years ago. However, the first quarto version version of Hamlet says “dozen years” instead of “three and twenty.” This suggests the line changed over time. (Or that the bad quarto sucks - I really need to make that post about it, huh…)

Yorick is a skull, and according to the gravedigger’s expertise, he has thus been dead for at least 7-8 years - implying Hamlet is at least ~15yo if he remembers Yorick from his childhood

One important thing sometimes overlooked - Claudius takes the throne at King Hamlet’s death, not Prince Hamlet. That is mostly a commentary on English and French monarchist politics at the time, but it is strange within the internal text. A thirty year old Hamlet presumably would have become the new monarch, not the married-in uncle (unless Gertrude is the vehicle through which the crown passes a la Mary I/Phillip II - certainly food for thought)

Honestly, Hamlet is SO aggressively described as being very young that I’m fairly confident the in-text intention is to have him be around 18-23yo. Placing his age at 30yo simply does not make much sense in the context of his descriptors, his narrative role, and his status as a university student.

However, it doesn’t really matter what the “right” answer is, because the confusion itself is what makes the gravedigger scene so interesting and metatextual. We can basically assume one of the following, given the folio text:

Hamlet really is meant to be 30yo, and that was supposed to surprise or imply something to the contemporary audience that is now lost to us

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was written down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text justification of the seeming disconnect between age of actor and description of “youth”

Older actors were playing Hamlet by the time the folio was set down, and the gravedigger’s description was an in-text JOKE making fun of the fact that a 30-something year old is playing a high-school aged boy. This makes sense, as the gravedigger is a clown and Hamlet is a play that constantly pokes fun at its own tropes and breaks the fourth wall for its audience

The gravedigger cannot count or remember how old he is, and that’s the joke (this is the most common modern interpretation whenever the line isn’t otherwise played straight). If the clown was, for example, particularly old, those lines would be very funny

Any way you look at it, I believe something is echoing there. It seems like this is one of the many moments in Hamlet where you catch a glimpse of some contemporary in-joke about theater and theater culture* that we can only try to parse out from limited context 430 years later. And honestly, that’s so interesting and cool.

*(My other favorite example of this is when Hamlet asks Polonius about what it was like to play Julius Caesar in an exchange that pokes fun of Polonius’ actor a little. This is clearly an inside-joke directed at Globe regulars - the actor who played Polonius must have also played Julius Caesar in Shakespeare’s play, and been very well reviewed. Hamlet’s joke about Brutus also implies the actor who played Brutus is one of the main cast in Hamlet - possibly even the prince himself, depending on how the line is read).

[deadhellenist]

types of tagamemnon posts

- "hey did you know in (ancient greece/rome/gaul/asia minor/etc) people used to do this isn't that hilarious"

- (in response to the previous) "hey op i have a degree in greco roman studies and i'm 99% sure that's something the victorians made up"

- (a joke about worshipping hellenic dieties)

- (a not-joke about worshipping hellenic dieties)

- "please enjoy this incredibly detailed fic i made that's a spin-off of a homeric epic"

- "(character from a homeric epic) was a dilf you like you agree you reblog"

- "soooo (roman generals and or politicians, dealers choice) were definately fucking right? right?"

- (twinkified octavian/augustus)

- (in response to previous) "nooooooo you can't do that!! not to my weirdly idolized big macho man!! what would julius caesar think!!"

- (i, claudius gif)

- (percy jackson)

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal Chapter 8

A/N: I know this is slow burn BUT I SWEAR ITS ALMOST OVER HINT HINT!!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 7! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3.4k

“Unhand me!” Cecilia’s furious, yet scared voice echoed through the stone passageway, cutting through the growing chaos of the Colosseum. She writhed against the guards’ hold, her defiance radiating like a flame. “I am the Emperor's wife, and you will let me go!”

Her words reached the ears of Geta and Caracalla, who had just descended into the passage, their faces twisted in anger and disbelief. Valerius stood nearby, his dagger still clutched in his hand, a grim satisfaction resting over his expression.

“What is this?” Caracalla demanded, his tone icy as his sharp gaze locked onto Cecilia.

“Why does the guard have my wife, Valerius?!” Geta yelled.

“She defies you, Emperor Geta!” Valerius said smoothly, bowing his head towards the brothers “I thought it prudent to detain her before her lies could spread further.”

Geta’s brow furrowed, his lips curling into a smirk as he approached Cecilia, his eyes glinting with malice. “Defies me, you say?” he drawled, circling her like a predator. “What an impressive act of courage—and stupidity. I thought you were learning to like your cage, little dove.”

Cecilia met his gaze with unyielding strength. “ I will not cower before you. You may hide behind lies and treachery, but the people will see you for what you are: a coward. A man who kills innocent soldiers and elders.”

Geta chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You think your boldness will protect you?” He turned to Caracalla. “Brother, what shall we do with her?”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened as he studied her. “She’s not entirely wrong. Your acts have made us look like a villain.” He glanced at Valerius, his tone clipped. “You should have thought this through before pulling a dagger.”

Valerius straightened, his confidence faltering under Caracalla’s scrutiny. “She was calling for Acacius, my lord. The crowd could turn at any moment. I acted to prevent chaos.”

Caracalla sneered. “Calling for Acacius, you say?”

“Take her to the palace,” Geta suggested, his tone growing sharper. “Let her stew while we finish this business with Acacius. We’ll deal with her later.”

Cecilia’s eyes blazed with fury. “You think you can silence me? The truth will come out, no matter what you do.”

“Enough,” Caracalla snapped. He gestured to the guards. “Gag her if she continues, but don’t harm her. Not yet.”

The guards nodded, tightening their grip on Cecilia as they began to drag her away. Her eyes darted toward the arena, desperation and determination mingling in her expression.

Caracalla and Geta turned their attention back to Valerius.

“You’ve made a mess of things,” Caracalla said coldly to him. 

“I can fix it,” Valerius insisted, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

“You’d better,” Geta said with a sneer. “Because if you can’t, I’ll see to it that you take the fall instead of us.”

The three men shared a tense silence before turning their attention to the distant sound of the roaring crowd, where Acacius’s voice could still be heard, rallying the people.

“Please,” Cecilia began to beg the guards, “please, if you are soldiers of General Acacius, you will unhand me.”

The men hesitated, their grip on her arms faltering as her plea struck a chord. The name of their commander was a powerful one—Acacius had a reputation not only for his skill in battle but also for his fairness and loyalty to his men.

One of the guards, a younger soldier with uncertainty etched across his face, glanced at his companion. “What if she speaks the truth?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Enough,” barked the older guard, his jaw set. “Our orders come from the council, not Acacius. Do not let her words confuse you.”

“But Acacius is an honorable man,” Cecilia pressed, her voice rising. “You know this. Would he stand by while innocent men are executed for the whims of a corrupt council? Would he let me—a woman he trusts—be treated like this?”

The younger guard faltered further, his gaze dropping to the ground as doubt flickered in his eyes.

“Think of your oath,” Cecilia urged, her tone insistent. “You swore to protect Rome, to follow a leader who fights for justice. Acacius fights for the people, for you. Can you say the same of those who ordered you to do this?”

“Silence her!” the older guard snapped, his face reddening as his authority was challenged. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening.

Cecilia winced but refused to back down. “You know what’s right,” she said, locking eyes with the younger guard. “Please. Help me.”

For a moment, the younger soldier hesitated, his internal conflict clear. He opened his mouth as if to speak but was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Valerius appeared, his expression dark and impatient. “What is this delay?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “You two are useless, I will make sure she has a front seat for the show.”

Cecilia’s heart sank as she was dragged forward, and shoved into Valerius�� grip. She caught the younger soldier’s eyes one last time. A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—shone there before he turned away.

Valerius leaned into her as he took her towards the center of the arena, his voice a low growl. “Nice try, Cecilia. But Acacius isn’t here to save you. You’re alone now.”

The crowd’s roar echoed through the Colosseum, an unrelenting wave of sound that threatened to drown out all thought. Acacius stood at the edge of the arena, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the stands for any sign of support—or betrayal.

But then his gaze locked onto the procession entering the arena’s center, and his heart lurched. Cecilia…

Her hair shimmered in the sunlight, and though her hands were bound, her posture was upright, defiant. She walked with measured steps beside Valerius, who held her arm in a tight grip. 

Acacius felt a surge of fury and panic. He knew this was a deliberate move—a calculated effort to dismantle him.  Valerius was parading her in front of the crowd, making her a symbol of rebellion to turn the people against him.

The crowd quieted slightly as they noticed the group approaching the center. Murmurs rippled through the stands, the name "Cecilia" or “The Empress”  passing from lip to lip.

Cecilia’s eyes searched the crowd, desperate and determined. When they found Acacius, they widened for a brief moment, her expression a mixture of relief and warning for him. 

Valerius stepped forward, raising his voice to address the crowd. “Behold the conspirators who would seek to undermine the unity of Rome!” His words carried, smooth and practiced. “Emperor Geta’s wife has conspired with General Acacius”—he gestured to Acacius—“to sow discord among our people.”

The crowd’s murmur grew louder, some jeering, others questioning. Acacius clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. His mind raced. But as his gaze lingered on Cecilia, he saw something in her eyes— a silent plea.

He couldn’t stand by.

Acacius took a step forward, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Enough!” he shouted, his tone firm and commanding. The crowd quieted, their eyes shifting to him.

“Empress Cecilia is no conspirator,” he continued, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within him. “She is a voice of reason, a beacon of hope for those crushed by the corruption of the council. And these men—these five—are not criminals. They are pawns in a game of greed and power.”

Valerius turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You overstep, Acacius. Will you defy the council outright now, in front of Rome? Our emperors?”

Acacius took another step forward, his voice growing stronger. “I do not defy Rome. I defend it. From men like you.”

The crowd erupted, divided between cheers and cries of outrage.

Cecilia, standing tall beside Valerius, locked eyes with Acacius. In that moment, despite the chaos around them, she felt the connection between them—an understanding that neither of them would abandon the other, no matter the cost.

Valerius shoved her to Acacius as Geta joined him in the center of the arena with the five men, a glint of pure anger in his eyes.

Acacius caught Cecilia as she stumbled, steadying her trembling body with his strong arms. His grip was firm yet gentle, his touch grounding her as the chaos surged around them. Together, they stood at the center of the storm, their eyes locked on Valerius and Geta.

Geta’s smirk was a cruel slash across his face as he unsheathed his sword, the metallic ring of the blade slicing through the air. The crowd roared in anticipation, their bloodlust drowning out reason, their excitement rising to a fever pitch.

“No!” Cecilia’s voice rang out, raw with desperation. “No!”

She twisted in Acacius’s grasp, trying to lunge forward, but he held her back, his arms tightening around her. “Cecilia, don’t,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “They’ll use this against you.”

Tears streaked her face as she struggled, her voice trembling as she sobbed. “They can’t do this! They can’t win!”

“They won’t win,” Acacius murmured, his gaze fixed on Geta, who was now addressing the crowd, his sword raised high.

“These traitors,” Geta bellowed, his voice booming over the cheers as he pointed to the five men on their knees, “would have torn Rome apart with their lies and deceit! Today, we restore order and justice with their blood!”

Valerius stood beside him, his expression smug, his hands clasped as if he had already claimed victory. The five condemned men knelt, their heads bowed, their faces resigned. Manius Cato lifted his gaze briefly, meeting Cecilia’s tear-filled eyes. He smiled faintly, as if to reassure her.

The sight shattered something in her.

“No!” she cried again, her voice breaking. She turned to the crowd, her voice rising above the cacophony. “Is this your justice? Is this the Rome you want to live in—a Rome ruled by fear and treachery?”

Her words momentarily silenced some of the crowd, their jeers turning to murmurs.

Acacius continued to hold Cecilia back as she attempted to lunge forward. He raised his voice, powerful and commanding as he fought her in his grip. “These men are not traitors! They are scapegoats, sacrificed to protect the corruption that festers in the heart of the council!”

The crowd’s roars dulled into a heavy, uneasy murmur as Geta strode toward the kneeling men. The executioner's blade gleamed under the harsh sunlight, a merciless reflection of his intent.

“Enough!” Geta bellowed again, his voice filled with venom, his eyes locking on Acacius and Cecilia with a cold finality.

Cecilia’s legs gave out, and Acacius held her close, his arms a fortress around her trembling body. She sobbed into his chest, muffling the sound of her own cries as Geta moved to the first man in line.

“No, no, no…” she whispered, her fists clutching Acacius’s armor as though holding him tighter could make it stop.

Acacius stared ahead, his body tense as stone. His mind screamed for him to act, to throw himself into the fray, to save them, but he was frozen. Armed guards surrounded the arena, and any move against Geta would mean instant death for Cecilia, himself, and anyone who dared to side with them.

The sound of the blade cutting through flesh filled the air, followed by a heavy thud as the first man fell. Cecilia flinched violently, her sobs growing louder. “No!” she screamed, muffled against Acacius’s chest. “Please, stop! Someone stop him!”

The crowd stood silent now, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a suffocating fog. A few turned away, unable to watch. Others murmured in discontent, their earlier bloodlust tempered by the growing realization of the brutality unfolding before them.

Manius Cato was next. He knelt with dignity, his head held high as Emperor Geta approached. He glanced at Cecilia one last time, his expression soft.

“Do not weep for me,” he said, his voice calm, a faint smile gracing his lips. “We die for a better Rome. Remember that.”

Cecilia cried out as the blade struck, and Acacius held her tighter, his own chest heaving with restrained rage and grief. By the time the final man fell, the arena felt hollow, the air thick with unspoken condemnation. Geta turned to the crowd, raising his bloodied sword triumphantly.

“Let this be a lesson to all!” he declared. “Betray Rome, and you will suffer the same fate!”

The crowd was eerily silent. The victory Geta sought to claim now felt tainted by General Acacius’ actions. Geta’s display served as a stark reminder of the depths to which the brothers would stoop to maintain control.

“And as for these two!” Geta’s voice cut through the heavy silence, his sword still dripping with the blood of the executed men. He pointed dramatically toward Cecilia and Acacius, who remained on the ground of the arena. Her arms remained wrapped tightly around Acacius,  as if she could shield him from the horrors around them.

“Their fates,” Geta continued, his voice dripping with malice, “will be sealed another way.”

Acacius’s muscles tensed, and Cecilia clung to him, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto Geta’s twisted smile. Geta spread his arms wide, turning to address the crowd with theatrical flair. “Would you like to see the great General Acacius fight the gladiators?”

For a moment, there was silence, a collective intake of breath as the crowd processed his words. Then, like a storm breaking, the cheers erupted. The bloodthirsty mob roared in approval, their earlier unease drowned in their insatiable desire for spectacle.

Five men had been killed for no reason, yet they cheered.

Cecilia’s heart sank further as she heard the crowd chant, their voices a deafening wall of sound. She shook her head, her hands gripping Acacius’s arms. “No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “No, this can’t happen.”

Acacius exhaled slowly, his face grim but steady. He gently touched Cecilia’s cheek, forcing her to look at him. “Listen to me,” he said softly, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. “I will not let them hurt you. No matter what happens.”

“But you can’t fight them,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t win against the gladiators. They’ll—they’ll kill you…”

“I’ve faced worse odds,” he replied with a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed his own doubts.

Geta raised his hand, silencing the crowd. “Let it be known,” he declared, “that this is the price of defying Rome’s will. The General who dared stand against us will face his doom in the arena, like the traitor he is!”

Cecilia turned to the crowd, her voice rising in desperation. “Is this what you want?” she cried. “The death of a man who has served you, protected you? Can’t you see this is wrong?”

Her words barely reached the mob, their cheers drowning her out.

Valerius approached, his expression smug. “Save your breath, Empress,” he said mockingly. “The people have already spoken. And they demand blood.”

Acacius stood, pulling Cecilia up with him. He turned to Valerius, his eyes burning with quiet fury. “You forget, Valerius,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The people may cheer for blood now. But even mobs have memories. And they will remember who turned this arena into a graveyard.”

Valerius’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he stepped back.

Guards surrounded Acacius, dragging him toward the center of the arena. Cecilia tried to follow, but two soldiers restrained her, holding her back as she screamed his name.

“Acacius! No!”

He looked back at her one last time, his expression filled with unspoken words. “It’s alright.” Acacius’ voice said. His voice was still so soothing as he tried to comfort her amidst absolute chaos. Then he turned, squaring his shoulders as he was taken away, the jeers and cheers of the crowd roaring in his ears.

Cecilia struggled against the iron grip of the guards as they dragged her away from the arena, her cries for Acacius swallowed by the deafening roar of the crowd. Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between fear for him and the growing dread of what awaited her.

Geta led the procession back to the palace, his expression cold and calculating as the sun began to set. The gleeful cruelty that had animated him moments before was now replaced with a chilling resolve. He said nothing as they entered their shared bedroom, but his silence was far more menacing than any shouted command.

The guards shoved her into the room, where Geta dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand. The doors slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone.

Cecilia straightened, her defiance flickering despite her fear. “You have no right,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “You’ll answer for this, Geta. The people won’t stand for your tyranny. You killed good men…your own soldiers…”

Geta laughed, a hollow sound that echoed off the marble walls. “The people?” he said, stepping closer. “The same people who cheered for Acacius to be torn apart in the arena? Don’t be naive, Cecilia. The crowd is fickle, easily swayed by blood and spectacle. They will cheer for blood, no matter whose it is.”

He circled her like a predator, his piercing gaze making her skin crawl. “You, on the other hand, are a far more dangerous adversary. With your words, your compassion, you inspire loyalty. That makes you a threat—a threat I must manage.”

Cecilia trembled,  meeting his gaze. She was beginning to question how much more she could take. “I will be your wife, I will stand beside you…” she said. “I will stay in this cage… but Rome will see the truth eventually. They will rise against you.”

Geta’s smirk widened as he stopped in front of her, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “You misunderstand, little dove. I don’t need you to bow. I need you to break.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch sending a shiver of revulsion down her spine. “You will stay here, under my watch, until you learn your place. If you refuse to cooperate…” His voice lowered, his tone dripping with menace. “…I will make Acacius’s suffering last as long as possible.”

Her heart sank, and her defiance faltered for a moment. Acacius. She had to conform, or he would face torture and pain. “Let me see him,” she said, “let me see Acacius once before he fights the gladiators.”

Geta’s smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of rage. He stepped back, clapping his hands sharply. “Let you see him?” he asked, “Why, little dove? To conspire one last time? To fuel his defiance with your tears?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. “If you wish to break us both, give me this one mercy. I will do whatever you want, just let me see him one last time.”

Geta circled her, his footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous chamber. He seemed to savor her request, his cruel grin returning. “You think mercy is something I grant?” He paused behind her, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath. “What would you do for this, Cecilia? How far would you go to see him?”

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Anything,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill. “If it spares him further suffering, I will do whatever you ask.”

He laughed darkly, stepping around to face her again. “Anything. What a dangerous word.” He reached out, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “But you’re clever enough to know that, aren’t you?”

Cecilia stared at him, her fear battling with her resolve. She refused to let him see her falter. “Do we have a bargain?” she asked, her voice even.

Geta released her with a dismissive shove, turning away. “You’ll see him,” he said over his shoulder, his tone cold and detached. “But remember this, little dove: every word you speak to him, every glance you share, I will use to control him. To control you. Don’t make me regret this generosity. And do not forget…you are my wife. You are bound to me, no matter what.”

Cecilia’s breath caught, but she didn’t respond. She had won a sliver of hope, and she clung to it with all her might. Whatever Geta’s intentions, she would find a way to protect Acacius, even if it meant enduring Geta’s twisted games.

[beyondmistland]

I read through all your posts about Alysanne Targaryen as Maegor's daughter and am now in a rabbit hole. Thank you. I've been thinking about Maegor's wives and which one of Henry VIII's wives they represent. Ceryse is Cathrine of Aragon and Alys is Anne Boleyn. The others are hard to pin for me since there isn't a lot. What do you think? Would Maegor's reign have been more interesting if his marriages had more similarities to those of Henry VIII?

I think this is where we run into a number of problems regarding the way GRRM wrote Fire & Blood specifically and the way he setup Westeros more generally.

For one, the fairly homogenized nature of southron culture as well as the oversimplification of religious institutions and history means you can't quite get the same dynamism as from real life European history, with its dizzying array of languages, cultures, cuisines, fashions, etc., to mention nothing of the then-ongoing Protestant Reformation. I suppose GRRM could have had Maegor convert to the Old Gods a la Julian (II) the Apostate or the Drowned God (you just know the Ironborn are the one race on the surface of Planetos that would say King Maegor the Good with a completely straight face) or even R'hllor, which would be the best choice in terms of worldbuilding opportunities in my opinion.

Moving on, we run into a handful of problems with Maegor specifically, one of them being the length of his reign. Look, while I can't deny Maegor ruling for 6 years and 66 days is incredibly cheeky, it also isn't anywhere close to Henry VIII's 36 years as king. With so little room timeline-wise, there isn't a lot of flexibility when it comes to telling new stories and fleshing out preexisting ones and all that is before you factor in Maegor himself.

I won't hold back. For all GRRM's talk of moral ambiguity, the human heart in conflict with itself, good men who were bad kings and bad men who were good kings, etc., his Targaryen monarchs are, for the most part, numbingly one-note. Aegon I is a literal enigma, Aenys is weak, Maegor cruel, Viserys I a party animal, Aegon II and Rhaenyra mirror-images of each other in their disqualifying vices, etc. As I've written before with my post reimagining Maegor as more of a Ivan (IV) the Terrible figure there was room to make him a genuinely controversial figure of historiography but instead GRRM doubled down on sensationalism and apathy-inducing slasher porn for lack of a better word. The fact Maegor is also the first and last of Visenya's line just adds more salt to the wound but that's part of GRRM's more general (and for me personally, vexing) habit of keeping family trees incredibly small.

(I do recall another alternative someone once brought up to the late Steven Attewell. Namely, turning Maegor into the Westerosi version of Macbeth by way of Der Untergang.)

This brings me to my semifinal point. GRRM didn't have to write Fire & Blood as Procopius' Secret History on steroids with a dash of Suetonius' Lives of Twelve Caesars and I, Claudius (the entire Saera episode is practically lifted wholesale from the scandal that envelops Augustus' daughter, Julia) but he did, which is doubly disappointing because not only does the final product suck quality-wise as a result but also because there were so many other avenues available to him.

He could have written Fire & Blood as a proper history (with less focus on the sex lives of teenage girls for one) or as a mirror for princes or as a dialogue between two characters or even as a character study. You can even see GRRM struggling with the constraints imposed by his use of Gyldayn in certain sections like the death of Maelor and the entire Hour of the Wolf episode, where you get reams of dialogue and characterization as well as more traditional narrative trappings like build-up, mood setting, etc.

Now, to answer your actual question (lol), I don't think any of Henry VIII's other wives map well onto Maegor's. Tyanna is, more or less, his female counterpart in terms of cruelty and zero redeeming features and entirely a fantasy construct. Elinor and Jeyne are both married to Maegor for only a year (with poor Jeyne dying in childbirth because Jeyne Westerlings, like the Brackens, Peakes, and Florents, cannot catch a break in Westeros) and before said marriage takes place neither appears on the page. As for Rhaena, well, credit where its due, she was a rare (and unexpected) highlight of Fire & Blood.

Thanks for the question, anon

[wardentabriis]

Characterization Cheat Sheet: Claudius Mercar Vesperian

I couldn't figure out how to fit my other characters into the Rook's Roost AU, considering they're very specific to my canon worldstate. However, Claudius was made to fit in wherever he needs to. Just ask @purple-frost :3

Name: Claudius Vesperian (goes by Mercar when undercover)

Age: 27 Gender: Cis man (he/him) Race: Human Faction: Shadow Dragons

Skills: Subterfuge, information networks, making contacts, intimidation, deception, using his family name to get what he wants, staff-based combat, entropy magic, Tevinter military knoweldge Languages: Trade, Tevene, Nevarran, Antivan (he had the kind of education afforded to him by an Altus family, languages from important trade partners were essential)

Body Language/Physicality

General Behavior: Almost a bit too relaxed. Never quite sits or stands straight, always finding something to lounge against. He often gives off the impression of being a little buzzed on some substance or another, but it's usually a façade. He's tall and muscular, so he takes up a lot of room, and tends to spread out to take up more. Overall, very difficult to ignore when he's not trying to hide.

Flirting: It seems to come naturally to him. Half the time, he seems like he's flirting in normal interactions. He smirks and sits with his knees open like some kind of romance novel protagonist. Maybe it's an act. It's hard to say.

With Established Romantic Partner: Oddly reserved, compared to his flirting. When he's committed so someone, he just seems...content to be next to them. Might touch their shoulder or kiss their cheek, but otherwise takes cues from them as to how much they're comfortable with.

With Friends: Even more easygoing and friendly. He tends to lean against people, put his arm around them, give (platonic) kisses if they're comfortable. If he senses someone threatening them, makes himself look as large and intimidating as possible.

In Combat: Infinitely more poised. He has military training and studied in the Minrathous Circle, so he takes battles very seriously, and slings spells with the utmost precision.

Dialogue/Speaking

Voice: Deep, smooth. Similar accent and cadence to the Viper (total coincidence, definitely not from the same family, don't worry about it). When he's not on a job, he talks like he doesn't have anywhere else to be, pretty relaxed in general. If he's working, his sentences are more clipped and formal.

Humor: Tends to have a bit of a filthy sense of humor. Spent enough time away from the upper class he grew up with that he sounds more at home in a Dock Town bar.

With friends: Loud, boisterous, often unserious. He lacks the decorum some of his peers have when he's around people he cares about.

Romance: His voice softens quite a bit. It's still low (a bit seductively so), but he's still quite light-hearted with his partners. Often asks if they're comfortable or if they're alright with him doing whatever he's doing.

Anger: The high-born Altus mage comes out when he's angry. He was more explosive in his youth, but now it's a cold, seething anger. He's towering, intimidating, and will let you know exactly how quickly he could kill you if things get intense.

Cursing: All the time. He's a bit of an embarrassment to the family.

[janeeyreofmanderley]

I am still baffled...

Yesterday at the screening of Macbeth with David Tennant and Cush Jumbo a young woman said, that from the three Shakespeare plays wiht the same plot Hamlet is still the best.

Then she elaborated that Hamlet, Macbeth and Richard III all had exactly the same plot.

And....honestly I don't see it? Even if you go with "royalty" and ....well "revenge" as topics (though honestly Macbeth is not really about revenge, at least not until later, when he gives MacDuff reason to seek it, it is more about making revenge happen!) these are three very different stories????

You could argue about some similarities between Macbeth and Richard and Claudius. Killing their way to power. But then you have Macbeth, becoming more and more ruthless, Claudius being ruthless too but in a decidedly more cowardly way and Richard? Richard knows not what remorse is but happily kills his way through the plot.

A good story is not necessairily one you have never heard before, with dramatic plot twists (which mostly are only unpredictable if badly told), but one that is well told, that gives you time and space to get invested into characters, see what makes them tick, study their situation etc.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

Okay but as a literature nerd I fucking LOVE that the new Ghost shirt design is a John Everett Millais reference. The pre-Raphaelites were a group of poets and artists we got to discuss and study when we were studying Victorian literature during my second year at uni and I was so fascinated by them that I wrote one of my assignments on the male gaze within Dante Gabriel Rossetti's poems Soul's Beauty and Body's Beauty (and their accompanying paintings).

More than that, though, it also fascinates me as a Shakespeare fan that Ophelia was chosen. Ophelia, who either is driven mad or falls into a deep, inconsolable despair in Hamlet because of the way she is used by the titular character and suffers bc of the political games within the family. I talked about this with someone on discord and we both agreed that this feels very Copia.

Could Ophelia's tragic fate within Hamlet be a hint towards Copia's? Or what about events in the broader play? Will the events that unfold within Ghost lore running up to Copia's departure from the band mirror the events in the play? After all, he's already arguably haunted by his father's ghost, just as Hamlet was. And when he cries out "no" and runs off the stage during Rats, could that not be argued that it's a sign of him beginning to spiral into despair? Will we see him dripping poison (literally) into Saltarian's ear in a plot to kill him? (I say Saltarian bc Imperator would take the role of Hamlet's mother, Gertrude, while Saltarian would be Claudius)

But hey. That's just a theory. Maybe it has no meaning at all and it's just a cool shirt design.

[horaitos]

one thing that I think should be emphasized in Horatio’s character is the fact that no matter how educated or court-assimilated he is, he will never be treated as anything other than lower because of his birth.

Horatio is smart, he knows court speak and etiquette, and he studied alongside a prince. But the only people who acknowledge his education are Hamlet, his friend, and the guards, who aren’t royal and therefore are probably more comfortable around Horatio. Gertrude and Claudius see him as little more than a servant, despite what he’s accomplished when it comes to schooling. They don’t mention him at all when it comes to Hamlet going back to Wittenberg. Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Osric don’t even acknowledge his presence. He’s a nobody to practically everyone at the court. Despite the face that he studied at Wittenberg along Hamlet, he isn’t seen as anything more than lower.

[lizardrosen]

@glintglimmergleam, @avocado-moon, It's finished!!

Every year at Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton siblings convene on Boxing Day to mount a Shakespeare play under their acting company, The Viscount’s Men. Every year Eloise gets mad that they wouldn’t choose a gender neutral name, and every year she’s shouted down because it’s a historical reference to Shakespeare’s own troupe, The Lord Chamberlain’s Men. The argument she’s bound to lose is as much of a tradition as the play itself. The audience has always been exclusively their parents and the Aubrey Hall servants, and maybe Lady Danbury if she's visiting for Christmas. In 1814, the play they choose is Hamlet.

Relationships: Hamlet/Ophelia (Hamlet), Claudius/Gertrude (Hamlet), Gertrude/Hamlet Sr. (Hamlet), Edmund Bridgerton/Violet Bridgerton, Henry Granville/Lord Wetherby

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton

Hamlet (Hamlet), Laertes (Hamlet), Polonius (Hamlet), Gertrude (Hamlet), Ophelia (Hamlet), Claudius (Hamlet), Hamlet Sr. (Hamlet), Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (Hamlet), Horatio (Hamlet). Fortinbras (Hamlet)

Additional Tags: Theatre, Performance Art, Grief/Mourning, Character Study, Retelling of Hamlet, Anthony Bridgerton Loves His Family, Artist Benedict Bridgerton, Good Sibling Benedict Bridgerton, implied Hamlet/Laertes, Implied Hamlet/Horatio, but Anthony doesn't know he's playing a bisexual character

Word Count: 19,598

[ilredeiladri]

I just found this attempt to the task "change an existing story by letting a character appear unexpectedly and ruin the ending" in my drafts. I'd totally forgotten that I ever wrote this but I must admit that I love it 😂

>“This is the final round, Laertes”, Hamlet growls. “Prepare to lose!”

“We will see”, Laertes retorts and raises his rapier.

“Oh, stop it, boys!” a high, very familiar voice rings out from the entrance of the throne room. Both fencers spin around to search for the speaker. As they see the girl, that is standing there soaking wet wearing a white dress and a flower crown, they gasp for air.

“I know, I know”, Ophelia sighs, “you are totally shocked to see me. But guess what? I don’t care. I’m sick to death of your childish behaviour – no pun intended. Hammy, you already killed my dad because of this lunacy, so leave my brother alone. You aren’t much of a fighter after all, are you? So better stick to your books and your little loverboy – yes, I mean you, Horatio. Please take this fool of a prince back to your studies. Whatever you do there... I don’t care. Just leave! And Laelae? Stop bitching around just because you’re frustrated by your trip to France. Guess what, people can survive getting dumped without starting a revolution. Maybe it’s time to grow up and accept that you aren’t as irresistible as you think. Other people can live with that and so will you. Just grow up, big brother! And STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Both of you!”

As if by command Hamlet and Laertes drop their gazes to the floor. It’s hard to tell which of them looks more ashamed and embarrassed. Nobody in the room, not even the king, says a word.

“Have I made myself clear?!” Ophelia asks and the two boys that were about to kill each other a second before nod in unison.

“Good”, Ophelia smiles pleased. She steps forward and picks the rapier from Laertes’ hand. “Let me take this before someone gets hurt. Do you have anything to say before I leave?”

“I love you”, Hamlet grovels. “I’d drink Eisel for you!”

“I love you more”, Laertes hastens to affirm. “I’d drink Eisel AND eat a crocodile.”

“Oh, don’t be pathetic, you two!” Ophelia snorts rolling her eyes. Then she walks straight up to the golden goblet filled with wine that’s standing next to the king.

“Do your highness mind if I take that?” she asks and grabs the goblet without waiting for an answer. Claudius’ eyes widen as she raises the cup to her lips.

“Don’t drink that, girl! It’s poison!” he shouts in horror.

“Yeah, I should hope so”, Ophelia rejoins with a shrug. “I’m so sick of this stupid world. And after I reckoned that drowning isn’t the best way for suicide when you are an excellent swimmer, this might be a more successful attempt. Cheerio, you losers!” Nobody tries to stop her as she downs the wine in one gulp while starting to walk back towards the double door through that she had stepped in just a few moments ago. The last thing the thunderstruck people she leaves behind see is how she carelessly throws the goblet on the ground and struts out of the door, Laertes’ rapier still in hand.

Minutes tick away until someone dares to move again.

“Wow”, Hamlet whispers. “What a woman.”

“Hands off of my sister!” Laertes mumbles automatically.

“Well, if the king spoke the truth, she may be dead already” Horatio objects "So..." He tellingly arches his eyebrows. Hamlet and Laertes interchange a look before they both break into tears as if they have gotten an invisible signal. Horatio sighs.

“Well… I kind of understand her”, he mutters while patting Hamlet’s back. “You two are actually the biggest dumbheads I ever met.”<

[shmreduplication]

Ok i downloaded a full cast audio production of Hamlet to better imagine them wearing the costumes from Seussical and I am still holding p firmly to the idear that Ham was acting wholly logically at least thru not looking behind the curtain

But

This version has a lot more encouragement from the ghost that Ham should kill Claudius than the version I saw. This is unabridged and 3.5 hours long. The version I saw was 2.5 and edited to fit smoothly with R&G Are Dead, which they did in repertory, it was incredible. So it seems like they cut a lot of the ghost's lines and it's reminding me of Dream Ghosts from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. It's a song about how main characters will have revelations from talking to ghosts, often in dreams, and the ghosts say info that the protag will have already known or wanted to believe and generally it's left ambiguous if the ghost was real or not

Basically you can't be sure if the ghost is real unless it tells you factually true & verifiable information that you didn't already suspect. Hamlet thinks he can assume the ghost is real because other people see it first, and that's fair but the ghost only talks to him and says stuff he already suspected so the dialogue from the ghost doesn't pass the test. Sorry Ham, maybe go back to college and retake your ghost studies class

[justforbooks]

The career of the actor Andre Braugher, who has died of lung cancer aged 61, was benchmarked by two performances in police dramas a generation apart. In the groundbreaking drama Homicide: Life on the Street, from 1993 until 1999, he played Detective Frank Pembleton, whose drive immediately made him the anchor of an impressive ensemble cast led by Yaphet Kotto and Ned Beatty. He drew a younger audience with the comedy Brooklyn Nine-Nine (2013-21) as Captain Ray Holt, who takes over a chaotic homicide squad and whose intensity again makes him the heart of the show.

Braugher’s deep, resonant voice and seemingly effortless control drew the respect of all he worked with. David Simon, creator of Homicide and The Wire, said: “I’ve worked with a lot of wonderful actors. I’ll never work with one better.” His classical training, at the Juilliard School in New York, made him a regular at the Public Theater’s Shakespeare in the Park, and indeed his portrayal of Henry V in 1996 won him an Obie (the off-Broadway equivalent of the Tony awards).

He brought the projection of the stage to the small screen. Pembleton was the master of “the Box”, or the interrogation room. He explained to his rookie partner in Homicide (played by Kyle Secor), it was “salesmanship … as silver tongued and thieving as ever moved used cars, Florida swamp land or Bibles. But what I am selling is a long prison sentence.” He dominated those small scenes, but the episode Subway, with Vincent D’Onofrio as a character pushed between subway trains, who will die once the trains are separated, was a two-hander whose intensity might have come from the stage of Beckett, Pinter or Mamet.

In Brooklyn Nine-Nine, as Holt, he played it straight in two senses. The adage of comedy being funniest when played straight gained resonance from Braugher’s ability to show the audience with a gesture or line-reading that he, like you, got the joke. But Holt is also gay. His gayness is never an issue, except as motivation for his progress within the police. It was as if Pembleton were stepping into Kotto’s “Gee” Giardello, a black man with an Italian father who was determined to rise in a white-dominated department.

This drive reflected Braugher’s own background. In the tough neighbourhood of Austin, on Chicago’s West Side, both his parents worked for the government; his father, Floyd, was a heavy equipment operator for the state of Illinois, and his mother, Sally, worked for the US Postal Service. He recalled he might have “pretended I was hard and tough and not square”, but he won scholarships to the Jesuit St Ignatius College prep and then to study mathematics at Stanford University, California. After walking into a student production of Hamlet, and playing Claudius, he decided he wanted to act.

Another scholarship took him to Juilliard. He graduated in 1988 and almost immediately was cast in a TV revival of Kojak, as his assistant. His first film role came in Glory (1989); he was so impressive as the educated Thomas Searles, forced to serve as a private soldier in the all-black regiment commanded by his white friend, that Hollywood came calling, but the parts were standard stereotyical roles. His father had questioned how a black actor would make a living, and Braugher later explained: “I’d rather not work than do a part I’m ashamed of.”

He played the lead in a TV movie, The Court-Martial of Jackie Robinson (1990), playing Robinson, the first African-American player in major league baseball, who earlier in the 1940s, as a US army lieutenant, had refused to ride in the back of a segregated bus; and appeared in another TV film, The Tuskegee Airmen (1995). He was an egotistical actor in Spike Lee’s Get On the Bus (1996), about the Million Man March on Washington DC the year before. In 1998 he won his first Emmy award for playing Pembleton; he was nominated 11 times, and won his second in 2006 for his role in the miniseries Thief.

After Homicide, he starred as a doctor in Gideon’s Crossing (2000-01), as a cop in Hack (2002-04), as a car dealer in the comedy-drama Men of a Certain Age (2009-11) and as the captain of a submarine which goes on the run after he refuses to obey orders to fire nuclear missiles in Last Resort (2012-13). He had another series of remarkable two-handers in a recurring role as Hugh Laurie’s psychiatrist in House, was a defense attorney in episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, and voiced Governor Woodchuck Coodchuck-Berkowitz in the animated comedy BoJack Horseman.

He made the most of supporting roles in films such as Primal Fear (as Richard Gere’s investigator), Poseidon (captain of the sinking liner), Salt (as the US secretary of defense) and most notably as a New York Times editor in She Said (2022), covering the Harvey Weinstein scandal. He also starred in 10,000 Black Men Named George (2002), the story of the unionisation of Pullman railway porters, who were always called “George” by passengers.

Braugher admitted that his career “could have been larger, but it would have been at the expense of my own life”. He lived in suburban New Jersey with his wife, the actor Ami Brabson (who played Pembleton’s wife in Homicide). He said he wanted his three sons, Michael, Isaiah and John Wesley, raised in a “true context”, away from being a movie star’s offspring in Hollywood.

He is survived by his wife and sons, his brother, Charles, and his mother.

🔔 Andre Keith Braugher, actor, born 1 July 1962; died 11 December 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[daughterofhecata]

2, 3, 6 and 25 for Hugenay? (And maybe for Milo if you want (cause I'm obsessed 🙈))

[character ask game]

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

Victor: On one hand, I'm admittedly a sucker for the whole gentleman thief thing, but on the other hand, I also do love the tension that comes from the original episodes vs the german episodes/translations, because uh. he *does* make people almost crash their cars on more than one occasion. And also, "no violence" or not, he's still manipulative af and I do love that.

Milo: Almost everything??? I love how kind he can be and how appreciative of people (that moment in Time Bomb where he says to Alex "I think you're worth listening to. I always thought so" lives in my heart) and how protective he gets (both of Rick, esp in Murder Book, and also of Alex - that one scene in Survival of the Fittest is A Lot). And honestly, I may have my problems with Kellerman in some regards, but I will always be grateful that he decided some time in the fucking 80's to just. write a crime novel series prominently featuring a queer cop.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

Victor: I don't think have a least favourite thing? I'm probably supposed to mention the Brittany thing but, I genuinely think that was pretty fucked up but also very interesting. He can be absolutely awful and I love that.

Milo: that part in Over the Edge, idk if you remember, where he goes on a tangent about murders in the queer community/scene, that shit was uncomfortable as fuck. Also the newer books sometimes have him make weird digs at "PC culture" which. ugh.

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Victor: Probably nothing. Nothing canonical at least. Fanon/head canon wise an interest in literature, I guess. (And a disinterest in romance, if we're reading that into his interactions with Vivienne in Mord unter Palmen xD)

Milo: Gay? 😄 Also, always make sure to tip at restaurants etc? (even if I can't afford the same level of tips) And *also* interest in literature, he did study it after all.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Victor: Well. I heard Mr Claudius say "Hugenay kann. Der ist so raffiniert, dass er es kann" when I was approximately eight years old and I've been in love with him ever since. I *am* however making an effort to acknowledge his less gentlemanly sides lately.

Milo: Genuinely do not remember my first impression, I picked up one of the later books as a teen on a whim and it initially didn't leave a bigger lasting impression than other crime novels I liked, I didn't really think deeply about it. Nowadays, Milo is absolutely one of the most important fictional characters for me, because I sincerely don't know if there is *anything* like him, a cop in a mostly mid long running crime novel series who just so happens to be gay. 90% of the time it has no bearing on the story really, he just *is* gay. And that means a lot to me.

[pascalhowlett]

Ethereal Chapter 4

A/N: HELLO HI VERY IMPORTANT! This chapter has some triggering scenarios when it comes to r!pe and non-consensual relationships between Geta and Cecilia. If that is something that triggers you, I ask you please do not read this chapter!

If you prefer to read on AO3, that can be found here!

Warnings: Mentions of r*pe, implied r*pe, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, smut

Summary: After the Roman Empire takes over Numidia, Cecilia is purchased by Emperor Geta as a pawn in his attempts to take over Rome. What will happen when she meets General Marcus Acacius, the soldier who was responsible for the death of her lover, Atticus Claudius?

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Original Female Character

This is Chapter 4! Find the rest of the chapters on my Tumblr here!

Word Count: 3k

That evening, Cecilia took her place beside Geta at the long dining table. Caracalla sat across from them, his expression a perpetual mask of discontent. The feast laid out before them was almost obscene in its abundance—a spread that could have easily satisfied a dozen soldiers, yet it was prepared for only the three of them. Golden loaves of bread still warm from the oven, succulent porchetta glistening with herbs and juices, bowls of vibrant fruits bursting with color, and pitchers of red wine stood in silent testament to the brothers’ grotesque privilege.

Despite the abundance of Roman delicacies, Cecilia could barely touch the slice of bread resting on her plate. Her stomach churned, not with hunger, but with unease. She knew she had to sing a different tune with Geta now in order to make him believe she had become smitten.

“I cannot believe the General,” Geta suddenly muttered, his voice thick with disdain as he speared a piece of meat. “Running off like a coward and leaving us to fend for ourselves. Taking my wife like she is more important than us”

Caracalla snorted in agreement, his grip tightening on his glass. “The man deserves nothing less than execution for such betrayal. Beheading would be a mercy for General Acacius.”

Cecilia hesitated, her fingers brushing the rim of her cup. She noticed that their words about the General angered her in a way they had not before. “He was shocked, that’s all,” she said softly, willing her voice to remain steady. “I’ll make sure he understands his duty—to protect the both of you—next time.”

“Next time?” Geta shot her a sharp look, his brow furrowing. “Where did he even take you, Cecilia? I pray there will not be a next time.”

“He… he just brought me back to the palace,” she replied, forcing a smile that she hoped seemed genuine as she picked at her food. “I stayed in our room until you both arrived.”

Geta seemed satisfied with her answer, nodding as he resumed eating, though Caracalla’s narrowed eyes lingered on her a moment longer. Cecilia lowered her gaze to her untouched bread, her heartbeat quickening. Lies came easier with practice, but the weight of them never lessened.

She still was shaken up from the news of Atticus. She felt betrayed, like he had been lying to her. What would she have done if Acacius hadn’t told her? She asked herself. 

Breaking the tense silence, she looked to Geta, her voice trembling despite herself. “Geta, my love?”

Her words felt foreign, unnatural, as if they belonged to someone else. She cringed inwardly, but there was no turning back now.

“Speak, little dove,” Geta commanded, putting down his utensils to drink his wine.

“I…I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the games today,” she swallowed, she felt like her throat was swelling as she forced the words, “I love you, and I shouldn’t speak unless spoken to.”

For a moment, silence once again enveloped the room, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches mounted on the walls and the clinks of dishes as they were passed about the table. Geta leaned back in his chair, studying her with a faint smirk curling his lips.

“Well, well,” he mused, swirling his wine. “I suppose even a bird can learn its place with proper training.” He reached across the table and tilted her chin up with a finger, his grip deceptively gentle. “You’ll remember that next time, won’t you, my dear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “I will, your highness.”

Caracalla snorted softly but said nothing, his eyes flicking between Geta and Cecilia before returning to his plate. Cecilia lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She fought to steady her breathing, desperate to hold onto the mask she wore.

Beneath it all, her mind churned, replaying the words of General Acacius. Atticus had known of the plans that were made for her. He’d lied. The sting of it was almost unbearable, but now was not the time to unravel. If she crumbled in this room filled with watchful eyes, she would lose more than her pride.

She forced herself to lift her goblet, the wine sloshing slightly as her hands trembled. “To your honor both of you,” she said to the brothers, her voice thin but clear.

Geta raised his cup, his smirk broadening. “To mine.”

As they drank, Cecilia’s thoughts swirled with growing clarity The room buzzed with conversation again, but Cecilia’s mind was already elsewhere, turning over the plans she barely dared to entertain. If she wanted to survive, she would need more than apologies and submission. She would have to give him what he really wanted. 

“Will the games continue tomorrow?” she asked, assuming she could speak.

Geta paused, his goblet midway to his lips. His dark eyes fixed on her, narrowing slightly, as though weighing whether her question warranted his breath. “They will,” he finally said, his tone clipped. “Why do you ask?”

Cecilia hesitated, feeling the weight of Caracalla’s gaze settle on her like a predator studying prey once more. She licked her lips, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I was just curious,” she replied. “The people seemed so lively today. I thought they might want more.”

Caracalla let out a sharp laugh, setting his goblet down with a thud. “The people always want more,” he sneered. “Blood and spectacle—that’s all they understand. That’s all they’re good for. But I must say, I find pleasure in it as well.”

“Enough,” Geta said, raising a hand to silence his brother. He turned his attention back to Cecilia. “If you must know, tomorrow’s games will be grander. More beasts, more gladiators, more death.” A thin smile played on his lips. “I imagine you’ll enjoy it, little dove.”

Cecilia forced a small smile, though her stomach twisted at the thought. She nodded, lowering her eyes to her plate. “Of course, my love,” she said softly, “I am sure whatever you two have planned will be a spectacle.”

“What I have planned, little dove,” Geta corrected her, “Caracalla is no use when executing the games. He does no more than pleasure himself to the sight of the gladiators’ bloodshed.”

Caracalla’s goblet clinked against the table loudly as he set it down with deliberate force. “Careful, brother,” he said, his voice low but dangerous. “Your tongue wags a little too fiercely.”

“Oh, does it?” Geta replied, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Tell me, what exactly do you contribute, Caracalla? Besides criticism and the release of your desires?”

The tension between the brothers thickened, and Cecilia sat frozen, her pulse quickening. The air felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. She did not realize how much they argued, purely to see who was more powerful than the other.

“I contribute more than you could ever hope to understand,” Caracalla shot back, his eyes narrowing. “While you play your games and parade your purchased wife like a pompous fool, I see the bigger picture. The games are nothing without the politics behind them, the alliances they secure. The relationships they create. Perhaps you should pay attention to the matches rather than your trophy of a woman.”

Geta’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, waving a dismissive hand. “Politics,” he scoffed. “You mean the web of lies you so enjoy weaving? Spare me.”

“Enough,” Cecilia interjected softly, surprising even herself with her words. Both men turned to her, their sharp gazes cutting like knives deep into her soul. Her heart pounded, but she kept her voice steady. “Please, this is dinner, not a battlefield.”

For a moment, neither brother spoke. Then Geta chuckled, breaking the silence. “You see, Caracalla? Even my little dove has more sense than you.”

Caracalla’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, reaching for his goblet instead as he shot daggers at Cecilia. She exhaled quietly.  The tension had momentarily diffused, but she knew it was far from gone. The animosity between the brothers was a fire constantly smoldering. She took a sip of her wine. If she could navigate their rivalry, perhaps there was a way to exploit it. If they were too busy fighting each other, they might overlook her. And if they overlooked her, she could crumble the two of them from within.

The conversation moved on without her, Geta and Caracalla discussing the logistics of the games and the political power they wielded through them. Their voices faded into a dull hum in her ears as she stared at the table, her mind elsewhere.

Tomorrow. The games would be bigger, louder, bloodier. She would be expected to sit there, to smile and applaud like a devoted wife. But the thought of it churned her stomach. Tomorrow would come, and with it, more pointless death. But perhaps, it would also bring a chance to tip the scales. 

The only comfort she could find as she tried to prepare herself for the games was the idea of General Acacius. Even if she had to act like she enjoyed the horrid events, she would have the General to guide her, to ground her. Even amidst the looming dread of faux smiles and forced applause, the idea of his presence brought a sense of peace. She thought about his embrace that seemed to pull her in when she felt she was drifting away. The same embrace that kept her sane when her world had changed forever just mere hours ago. In that moment, as her world had tilted and fractured, his touch had grounded her, keeping her from drifting into the darker corners of her mind.

The memory was bittersweet. She thought about his broad stature, the way he exudes a commanding yet understated allure, a quiet confidence that draws the eye without demanding one’s attention. She thought of his bold attributes—sharp cheekbones softened by a well-kept, gray beard. His face carried a weathered charm, as if etched by the passage of time and the weight of countless decisions. His gaze is always one full of thought, one that always peered into his soul. 

There’s a sense of quiet passion about him, an intensity that suggests he loves with the same fierce devotion he brings to his duties. The thought of that overwhelms her, a crimson blush painting her cheeks as she brings herself back to the dinner table. There was comfort in the thought of Acacius, but also an uneasiness that ebbed and flowed along with it. She knew her reliance on him was growing into a…dependence. That scared her, especially after the news of Atticus’ dishonesty.

“Little dove,” Geta said, bringing her back to reality, “are you ready for bed?” 

Her stomach churned, not for sleep, but for the forced implications of laying with the emperor. “Yes, my love,” she stated, standing from the table and bidding goodnight to Caracalla.

Caracalla smirked at the two of them. “You should send her my way sometime, brother,” he nearly laughed, “we always enjoyed each other’s company at the brothel.”

Cecilia froze, Caracalla’s suggestive words hung in the air. Her face burned with humiliation, though she refused to look at Caracalla. She was always disgusted with him, but he was always the highest bidder, of course. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, hidden by the folds of her dress.

Geta’s expression darkened, an arm wrapping around his wife as he spoke. “Watch your tongue, Caracalla,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s mine now, and I don’t share.”

Caracalla chuckled, raising his goblet in mock surrender. “Of course, brother,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” But the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise, a deliberate taunt that left the tension evident. Caracalla was a disgusting man. She knew Caracalla probably did dream of her, her image radiating in his disturbing fantasies. Emperor Caracalla did not care if Cecilia was wed to his brother, he would have her either way.

Cecilia forced herself to move towards her shared bedroom with Geta, her legs stiff as she stepped away from the table. Every step felt like she had bricks tied to her ankles. As she reached the doorway, she dared a glance back to look at her husband. Geta was looking at her hungrily, his eyes full of lust and desire. 

There was no denying that Geta considered Cecilia one of the most beautiful women in Rome. She had heard him boast about her beauty countless times to senators, dignitaries, and even his own brother. But to her, his admiration felt hollow, empty and seated only in expected desire. She wasn’t his equal, nor his partner. She was his possession—a living, breathing trophy he displayed to assert his dominance in comparison to his older brother. 

Her fingers tightened around the doorknob as she tried to collect herself. She had learned long ago how to endure, how to play the role of a pleasured woman. But tonight, as the memory of Caracalla’s taunt echoed in her ears and the weight of her husband’s gaze lingered on her skin, she felt her act begin to diminish.

For now, all she could do was walk forward towards the mountain of sheets, step by agonizing step, toward a night she wished she could escape. As Geta locked the door, he turned to kiss her. She forced herself to stay still, her lips barely responding to him as his lips pressed against her own. When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered on her, searching for something she wasn’t sure she could give. “You’re mine, little dove,” he murmured, “Don’t forget that.”

Cecilia managed a faint nod, her throat tight as if the words she wanted to say were caught there. “Of course, all yours…your highness,” she whispered, the lie slipping from her lips with practiced ease.

Geta smiled, seemingly satisfied, and moved to the edge of the bed, removing his ornate outer garments. Cecilia stood frozen in place for a moment, her hands trembling at her sides as she urged her body to do something…anything. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of his high, impractical expectations for her. She moved toward him, her mind racing for ways to endure another night of this charade.

-

Just before the rise of dawn, she met Acacius in the alcove just as they had promised one another the afternoon prior. Acacius had beat her there, and was welcoming as she entered their small hideaway. His broad frame was bathed in the faint glow of the first hints of morning light, his silhouette calm and steady as he leaned against the wall, posed just like the support she needed him to be. When he saw her approach, his face softened, and he straightened. He stepped toward her with a warm smile.

“Cecilia,” he said, his voice low but filled with adoration, “You made it.”

“I couldn’t stay another moment in that room,” she replied, but still managed to smile at his comforting gaze. The tension she had carried all night was still coiled tightly in her chest, but something about Acacius’ presence began to ease it. She started to feel like she could breathe again.

As she stepped fully into their little hideaway, he reached out, his hands brushing her arms in a gesture that was both protective and grounding. “You’re safe here,” he murmured, reminding her gently. “What happened?”

Her throat tightened as she looked up at him. The words threatened to spill out, but she hesitated, unsure of where to begin or how much to say. She did not like speaking about it. She felt she could never truly tell him, as the reminder stirred feelings deep within her that caused terror.  “It’s…it’s nothing new,” she finally managed, “Just more of the same.”

Acacius’ jaw clenched, his hands briefly tightening on her arms before he let out a controlled breath. “You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice rough with restrained anger. “Any of it.”

Cecilia shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes. “I don’t have a choice, Acacius. Atticus signed me up for this pain, and I must follow through.”

“Atticus wronged you,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “But I won’t let you be.”

His words wrapped around her like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her hurt. She let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his chest. She knew he was right. Atticus had wronged her, and she had needed someone else to tell her that. For a moment, the world outside the alcove faded away, leaving only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Acacius wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as though he could shield her from the weight of the world. His touch was firm yet tender, his hands settling on her back with a protective instinct that warred against the fire steadily growing within him. He knew he shouldn’t let himself feel this way about her. She was young, fragile. But she was also forbidden to him, bound to a man unworthy of her. Yet, no matter how fiercely he tried to fight it, his feelings for Cecilia only grew stronger with each stolen moment they shared in the small hideaway. Every glance, every word, every touch chipped away at his resolve, leaving him powerless against the tide of emotions he felt soon he would be no longer able to control.

Acacius closed his eyes, his cheek brushing the top of her head as he tried to bring himself back down to earth. Her presence was intoxicating—a bittersweet ache that made his heart race. He wondered if she could feel his heart rate quicken as he held her. He wanted to fight it, to push her away for both their sakes, but every time she sought him out, every time she looked at him with those pleading, vulnerable eyes, he was a goner.

“Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “I wish I could take you far away from here. Away from all of this.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her gaze filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “If only it were that simple,” she whispered.

He reached up, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, his touch gentle as though she might break under his touch. “One day,” he said quietly, the words more a vow than a hope. “One day, I’ll find a way. You will not live in this reality forever. I promise.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the air. Acacius knew the dangers of this attachment. He knew it could cost them both dearly, but in that moment, with her in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

[liviasdrusillas]

Hi! I was wondering if you hav any shows/book recommendations on Livia/her family. After watching Domina I wanted to read/watch more on them!

hi! yes, i'd be glad to give some recommendations!

in terms of shows, there aren't many out there, unfortunately. the only one i can think of is rome hbo and that only really touches on augustus' life before the fall of the republic and his side of the family so if you're interested in learning more about augustus, agrippa and octavia, that would be a good show to watch!

there's also i claudius (which is also a novel) but i really don't recommend it. it's literally just one long character assassination of livia <3

now for books, here's a few i would recommend:

livia: first lady of imperial rome by anthony barrett --> this book does a good job of not only studying livia's life but also explaining some of the takes that ancient writers had about her and some of the rumors/theories that surround different events in her life. this book is a bit old so bear that in mind when reading

dynasty: the rise and fall of the house of caesar by tom holland --> one of my favorites! it does a great job of analyzing the julio-claudians' place in history in a compelling fashion!

domina: the women who made imperial rome: guy de la bedoyere --> one of my favorites! this book goes beyond the scope of livia and her immediate female relatives but the parts discussing livia, octavia and the agrippinas were great! my only complaint is that i wish it had been longer!

The First Ladies of Rome: The Women Behind the Caesars by Annelise Freisenbruch --> Another great book similar in focus to the title above!

Roman Women: The Women Who Influenced the History of Rome by Paul Chrystal --> Okay I really dislike this book but if you want to learn more about the place of women within roman society, this would be a good read! I read it to learn more about influential women in Rome and was disappointed because I wasn't looking for that more generalistic perspective

Hope these recs help <3