#octagrippa

[augustus-hater]

Happy birthday to Octavian! I do not know how they took this picture, or how Agrippa has an inhaler, or what they are even doing. All I know is that, for once, they are happy and that Maecenas and Livia must be behind the camera.

[pantheonsofgaynessanddespair]

octavian: hey wanna be my bodyguard? agrippa: will i get paid? octavian: ummm... you'll be paid with the most kinkiest, most mind-breaking sex ever. agrippa: oh sweet!! atia at the back: kids these days.

[boleynscaesar]

I’ve got my basic Roman Republic Toxic Polycule graphic but by favorite badwrong ship is actually Antony/Agrippa

I’d just like to suggest everyone picture Octavian constantly running around like “Do NOT trust Mark Antony he is a slut” and Antony responding by simply fucking Oct’s bf

[tunathena]

Found this when I was looking for the source about that time in 23 BC that Augustus gave Agrippa his signet ring. Apparently Edge knows its audience…

[theromaboo]

Octavian's ship names are always wild and I love it. First Octatony and now Octagrippa.

[belovedbastardremus]

agrippa and gaius octavian when they had their fight about gaius pushing livia away in the first season (agrippa defending livia then straight up attacking gaius was the hottest thing ever, especially since he was completely dominating the fight)

i love when a man is fresh of getting his ass beat. it’s like a pregnancy glow

[perditaiuventus]

there are too many posts about licking swords now i want to. write something about that……..

[augustus-hater]

WOOOOOOOO ITS ACTIUM TODAY!!! Octagrippa at the beach hehe :V

[boleynscaesar]

'ask me about my agrippantony agenda' hello i am ASKING this has very much piqued my curiosity

OKAY SO BASICALLY Agrippa was the smart and strategic one who Octavian couldn’t have won without and Antony was the disaster drunk who cared more about fucking than winning. So naturally I want to smush them together.

Especially since Octagrippa was so clearly happening the inherent comedy for me is Agrippa and Antony fucking hating each other in negotiations and on the battlefield, yet Agrippa can’t stop having hatesex with his bf’s main rival because he’s just so good at it. And with Antony he gets to turn his brain off and doesn’t have to come up with amazing plans all the time.

[belovedbastardremus]

.or if you made your daughter marry him, then he's technically already family...

you can have mos maiorum abiding gay sex .if hes your husband (married to your sister)

[catilinas]

curule aedile, magister equitum, & princeps senatus 😎😎😎

curule aedile: sexiest enemy of rome

so far the list has hannibal, catilina, and zenobia. but we could add cleopatra (i saw the RSC ant&pat this year and it Changed Me) and q. poppaedius silo As Well

magister equitum: an Awful historical novel/movie

OK SO im glad you brought up that pompeii film bcs we watched it in latin at the end of term and HOLY SHIT is it bad. the unnecessary horse stuff??? honestly a valid interpretation of the film is that the main guy and main girl arent even in love, they're both just weird horse people. there’s a horse called verres As In gaius verres. there’s a whole sequence that’s basically lifted from gladiator and so Enraged my latin teacher who loves gladiator. evil senator corvus is evil for literally no reason and his dialogue and actions are predictable and very very funny. the film ends w the protags romantically kissing while being enveloped in an inaccurate pyroclastic surge. the one redeeming feature is Atticus The Gladiator whomst we all love and appreciate

ALSO. tribune of the people, which is a novel abt tiberius gracchus and which i literally couldn’t read more than a chapter of bcs it was so full of typos and grammatical errors and Oh My God. the sad thing is that from what i read the actual plot wasn’t that terrible?

princeps senatus: which province should have destroyed rome

spain. Alternate Universe Where Quintus Sertorius Wins,

in fact ive just realised sertorius kinda counts as an enemy of rome? dare i say s*xy?

[arthistoryfeed]

Dupondius with Octagrippa and crocodile on chain. Nemausus, 20 bce - 14 ce, RIC I 158. https://www.instagram.com/p/CCMArSiFRxL/?igshid=pr8ymcx1xy6h

[garland-on-thy-brow]

Dupondius with Octagrippa and crocodile on chain. Nemausus, 20 bce - 14 ce, RIC I 158.

[marcusagrippa]

expected ofc but obligatory octagrippa for the bingo

FREE SPACE = IM GOING TO EAT THEM RAAARGGH

[augustus-hater]

Octagrippa in a "We have such a nice friendship I don't wanna ruin it by doing anything weird!!" way >>>>

[theromaboo]

@just-late-roman-republic-things

drenched in scarlet yet to be spilled,

in the shadows. your hands shake. more than his. you’re scared. 

it’s stupid, really, isn’t it? to be so scared for such a man. there’s nothing special about him, 

no reason you should care whether he lives or dies, 

other than the fact he is the sun. 

sun? 

son? 

is there a difference? 

you stupid dog, 

there is a thin line drawn in blood between loyalty and love,

and you should not cross it. you should not want to cross it.

a fat bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he cries out. he is shaking. he is dying. 

let him. it would be better that way, wouldn’t it? 

better to watch as his skin pales, his limbs go limp, his cries fall silent.

better to watch as those constellations you have found etched onto every inch of his skin, 

engraved into his skull, tattooed over his heart, finally blink out.

leave him. either he will not live to see the dawn break, 

or he will be the dawn breaking, or he is only hours away from killing 

the last shard of hope that the dawn has left to spear the endless night with.

you stupid dog. there is no going back now. 

you have found a pretty monster to pledge yourself to, haven’t you? 

golden curls, very pretty, fanned out on the pillow. like a halo. like he’s gone already.

but you can see the blood caked under his fingernails still, 

you can hear the screams of those he has butchered. those you have butchered, you 

idiot, why didn’t you stop him? it’s because you’re a loyal little bitch, isn’t it? 

you always come back when he calls you to heel. you are the one with the teeth,

tearing and biting and ripping a blood-soaked path into his new empire.

you could kill him. 

put a stop to all this. it would be a mercy, really - he’s already half-dead. 

there’s that pillow. smother him - he’ll smother himself if you won’t, 

drowning under the weight of his own ambition. 

hurry up and do it! you wouldn’t have to see his eyes, then, 

and his pleading would be muffled, and you wouldn’t have to hear

as he chokes on his honeyed words, 

unfulfilled promises too sweet, sticking in his throat.

but you can’t. can you? because you love him.

i’ll say it if you won’t. you love him, you stupid dog, because who wouldn’t? 

he’s perfect, isn’t he? or are you just blind? blind and weak, 

bound to crumble at the slightest touch of his hand, the gentlest word, the softest command. 

weak. poison in your mind. 

your hands grip his wrists as he thrashes, muscles spasming,

yelling wordlessly. and then your fingers are down his throat, his teeth biting into your skin

as you try to stop his own tongue from suffocating him. this is the closest you’ll ever get, 

something inside you realises. the closest you’ll get to being inside him. 

and you want to kill that part of you, kill it dead because you are not so depraved, are you,

to be thinking such things at a time like this?

but you are.

you are a savage, at heart. a beast at his command. you will always be his dog,

nothing more, nothing less. begging for scraps of his attention

as he sets his sights on greater things than you. 

he coughs around your hand and you feel him hack up blood,

coating your fingers with the stuff. lick it. it's the closest you'll get to tasting him. 

and that way there will be a part of him in you forever. if he is the sun

you are his moon, his mirror, his shade, a pale reflection of his grandeur.

you stare at the blood on your fingers and wonder how the son of a god could be so fragile,

so human.

stupid dog. even gods cannot escape their flesh unless you eat it for them. 

just a taste. he won't mind.

a finger pressed to your lips. the tang of iron. blood of heroes, blood of tyrants, 

blood of kings.

his breathing softens, eyes opening, pale and blue and scared,

and there is an ache in your chest that you cannot quite place.

he says your name, a prayer whispered from his lips, and you shatter.

weak.

he does not love you, not like you love him. but he needs you.

and that is close enough, isn't it?

so you hold his hands, small and mortal, and the dawn does not break. not today.

today, it dies, a little more than a hundred metres away from you,

speared on its own sword and gushing yet more scarlet onto hands forever unclean.

stupid dog. dawn dies with you.