#roman ram

[ltwilliammowett]

A bronze Roman battering ram (weight of 204kg) This used to be attached to the bows of Roman warships and smashed the enemy ships of Carthage at the Battle of Aegates off the coast of Sicily on 10 March 241 BC.

[contremineur]

Roman head of a ram (marble, c. 1st century BC to 1st century AD)

from here

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Warship’s Bronze Battering Ram Sunk During a Battle Between Rome and Carthage Found

Found near the Aegadian Islands, just west of Sicily, the bronze rostrum played a role in the last battle of the First Punic War, which ended in 241 B.C.E.

In 241 B.C.E., two empires faced off in a naval clash off the coast of Sicily. By then, Rome and Carthage had been fighting for more than two decades. Rome’s victory in the skirmish, officially called the Battle of the Aegates, brought an end to the First Punic War, the initial conflict in a series of wars between the two ancient powers.

Now, explorers have recovered a piece of that final battle: the bronze battering ram of an ancient warship. According to a statement from Sicily’s Superintendence of the Sea, the ram was found on the seafloor off the western coast of the Mediterranean island, at a depth of around 260 feet. To retrieve the artifact, the team used deep-water submarines from the Society for Documentation of Submerged Sites (SDSS) and the oceanographic research vessel Hercules.

The seabed off the Aegadian Islands “is always a valuable source of information to add further knowledge about the naval battle between the Roman and Carthaginian fleets,” Regional Councilor for Cultural Heritage Francesco Paolo Scarpinato tells Finestre sull’Arte. He adds that the find is yet another confirmation of the work of the late archaeologist Sebastiano Tusa, who spearheaded exploration of the seabed as the site of the 241 battle after a separate ram, also known as a rostrum, was first found there in the early 2000s. In the two decades since, researchers have recovered at least 25 rams from the seabed.

At the time of the Battle of the Aegates, Rome and Carthage had been at war for 23 years, fighting for dominance in the Mediterranean. As the Greek historian Polybius later wrote, the Romans sank 50 Carthaginian ships and captured another 70 along with their crews, taking nearly 10,000 sailors prisoner during the naval battle. Rome forced Carthage to surrender. But the fragile peace was short-lived: Over the next century, Rome would go on to fight a second and third war against the Punic people, winning each time.

“It was very costly, both in terms of human life and economically,” Francesca Oliveri, an archaeologist at the superintendence, told BBC News’ Alessia Franco and David Robson in 2022. “In the last phase, Rome even had to ask for a loan from the most well-to-do families to arm the fleet and build new boats.”

The recently discovered ram has been brought to Favignana, one of the Aegadian Islands, for further study. Though its features are difficult to make out because the object is covered in marine life, researchers have been able to discern a decoration on its front: a relief depicting a Montefortino-style Roman helmet decorated with three feathers.

The battering ram adds to the wealth of war relics found on the seabed, which also include 30 Roman soldiers’ Montefortino helmets, two swords, coins and many clay amphorae (large storage jars).

According to the SDSS, rams were the most important naval weapons of their time. They were placed on the bows of warships at water level so that sailors could crash their boats into enemy vessels, damaging and sinking them. The plethora of rams scattered on the seabed are testaments to the weapons’ effectiveness in ancient battle.

“We are finding so many things that help to illustrate a little better the world of the third century [B.C.E.],” Oliveri told BBC News in 2022. “It’s the first site of a naval battle, in the world, that has been scientifically documented like this, and it will continue to be documented—because the area of interest is very large. … It will take at least another 20 years to explore it fully.”

By Sonja Anderson.

[mudwerks]

(via Roman Gabriel, Star Quarterback of the 1960s and ’70s, Dies at 84 - The New York Times)

Roman Gabriel, one of the leading pro football passers of his time, who complemented his rocket arm with an imposing physique over 16 seasons beginning in 1962, died on Saturday at his home in Little River, S.C. He was 83.

[redstringraven]

For Cassia: 3, 8, 11! And for Nyxram: 1, 6, 11!

<:D!! AAAAA thank you so much!

Secret Ask List

-------------------- .: • CASSIA --------------------

3) what song describes your oc?

cassia is one of those ocs where the music i find for her playlist is almost all vibes and not really based on lyrics. it's the energy of the music, the way it makes you wanna move or bob or sing along. that being said: "rage" by hyper crush and "joyride" by kesha immediately make me think of her. lyrically, "i love it" by icona pop might be a good fit.

8) what hobbies does your oc have? what do they do to unwind?

cassia's major hobby is rollerskating! but she's also super into street art, and she enjoys beautifying her favorite areas of new york in a manner of silly or meaningful ways. when she's at home, she also enjoys random doodling--mostly ideas for graffiti or future street art--learning dances from her favorite music videos, and playing a variety of video games.

11) what was your inspiration for your oc?

i distinctly remember driving to my local movie trading company to see if they had any physical dvds for tmnt'03, and "girlfriend" by avril lavigne came on spotify shuffle. for whatever reason, i got the image of a pink-haired girl in rollerskates, and she wouldn't leave my head. cassia's my first tmnt oc, and i think she was always meant to be kind of like april in that she's a grounding presence in their otherwise chaotic lives. despite how high-energy and mischievous she is, she's extremely stable and does regularly go to therapy, which has made her more thoughtful and aware of others along with herself. her biggest conflicts come from being an out trans-girl in the 90s and early 2000s, but none of it is tied to her immediate family (her parents ADORE her). she is, for the most part, about as ''''average'''' a civilian in the tmnt'03 world as you can get. i dunno! i think i kind of just wanted to give them all another anchor of sorts, another safe haven. cassia's parents, oliver and esme, also become guardian figures to the turtles in a sense (especially mikey). esme loves to mother them.

-------------------- .: • NYXRAM ----------------------------

1) does your oc have a voice claim, if so who?

god yes. nyx's voice claim is shohreh aghdashloo. the moment i heard her as enforcer grayson in arcane, i pointed at the screen and muttered: "you". as someone who's very picky about these sorts of things i seriously feel like it was gift-wrapped to me. >xD shohreh also provides the voice for the dragon in damsel, which is a dumb as hell movie but i will continue to listen to it for the sake of hearing her talk.

6) if your oc is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

kind of a weird question, since 'modern day' implies that this is more a difference in time period? e-e;; i imagine she'd likely still have assassin roots, but. after the rebellion succeeds, the republic begins to rebuild, and the games are disbanded, nyxram takes it upon herself to use her family's "estate" as a sanctuary for the animals used in the games, since most of them can't be returned to their natural habitats due to injuries and/or being raised in captivity. so! i think a potential "modern day" or "human" profession for her might be owning and managing something like an old friends senior dogs sanctuary. providing housing, love, and comfort for older animals when most folks want younger pets, and ensuring that their last few years are happy and safe. she's taken so much life, so... it feels like giving back, in a way.

11) what was your inspiration for your oc?

@/plantdonut doesn't live with me (alas), but if she did, i would have turned to her during our '03 rewatch a few years ago and asked, bluntly, "why do all the triceratons gotta be dudes? where're my giant, amazon warrior dinosaurs?". and within a few days, i was practicing my hand at drawing triceratons, so i could make it so. my two major points of inspiration for nyx come from cassandra cain (2nd batgirl, pre-new52) and john wick. cassandra for being... basically born and bred to be the perfect assassin, only to have 'too much' compassion and love and guilt and go hero instead, and john wick for being a 'baba yaga' to anyone who knows his name. not the boogeyman, but the one you send to kill the boogeyman. the idea of a triceraton assassin was very cool to me, given that they're often a straight-forward, loud, and blunt force to face with little concern for being subtle. it also draws an interesting connection to her and the turtles; at some point nyx comments that despite their practice being tied to assassins such as herself, any blood on their hands comes from self-defense. in some ways, she envies them. but in many more, she doesn't. she's the sole survivor of her clutch, and the only one of her siblings to 'earn' a name. she was, in a way, a political move--a gift/tool offered to the prime leader to ensure that her parents had a connection to power and could continue their own work with protection from punishment. ...they just didn't expect for her to want something else. since the triceratons seem to have a handful of 'nods' and aesthetics pointing toward the roman empire, i named nyxram after the greek goddess 'nyx', the personification and substance of night. i also specifically use greek spelling with her, whereas her parents will have roman spelling of their names to further emphasize her 'otherness' from triceraton society as a whole.

[tumhaari-teju]

Oh look. This girl is watching another adaptation of Ramayana and getting sad over how tragic Ram and Sita are.

[petit-atelier-de-poesie]

NOTE DE LECTURE : Toutes les morts de Laila Starr. Ram V. Filipe Andrade. 2022

Excellent roman graphique ! La couverture marquée du "coup de coeur du libraire" m'avait interpellée et je l'avais gardée dans un coin de ma mémoire, et je ne suis pas déçue. 

Laila Starr est la narratrice d'une histoire de vie et de mort qu'elle raconte comme déesse hindoue déchue et réincarnée. A chaque chapitre de son histoire pour retrouver sa place perdue, elle croisera Darius le pauvre humain cause de sa disgrâce mais aussi toutes les affres de notre humanité qui désormais la rendent vulnérable.  C'est tout simplement beau, le récit est bien construit avec des chapitres, et les répétitions tragi-comiques de Toutes les morts de Laila Starr. Les illustrations sont épurées et chargées, saturées de couleurs, comme dans la culture indienne puisque cela se passe de nos jours à Mumbay. Et pourtant il émane de ce récit une subtile délicatesse, qui s'achève avec la poésie, et ouvre la champ de la philosophie. 

Bref, une BD qui marque en tous points, tout comme l'avait fait auparavant Daytripper : au jour le jour, dont l'auteur a rédigé la préface de cet ouvrage, avec la thématique commune autour de la mort et de notre rapport à la vie.

[overflowingteacupoflove]

I LOVE PIETRO OMG OMG

PIETROOOO I LOVE ANIMAL CROSSING AND I LOVE PIETRO i made a whole island dedicated to him once LMAO

[mary-james-world-of-shames]

Meet my emotions. Empath, Narc, and freaky.

[pudgie248]

(OCs) Trelos and Insania arguing while Nemea cowers in the background *New Version*

[vecnuthy]

Eddie having A Blast™️ in the pit at a metal concert, dodging fists and getting shoved in the swirling mass until he gets shoved towards the front and rams into a guy who's obviously strategically placed in order to keep the pit from reaching the two girls in front of hi-- oh hey that's Chrissy! And she looks really chummy with the dirty blonde that looks to be with the guy, who turns around, and....oh.

Oh.

The glorious din of the metal concert turns into a choir of angels because the guy's gorgeous face is all but three inches from Eddie's, and Eddie's whole sweaty right side is pressed against him, and, yeah, he could stay right there for the rest of forever, thank you.

The Greco-Roman vision suddenly smirks at him, making Eddie's tummy swoop, then swoop again when the guy's hands press against his shoulders with gentle force, sending him backwards back into the fray.

Eddie might have gotten bodied in the pit because he was so distracted, but getting the stunner to laugh at his dazed request for "the kiss of life" made it worth it.

[contremineur]

Roman head of a ram (marble, c. 1st century BC to 1st century AD)

from here

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Memento Vivere

Also on AO3

Part I // Part II // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 4.1k words

Summary: Rome is in disarray. Macrinus has been trying to seize power and therefore, he decides to use you as collateral. But Lucius won't let him win so easily.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, canon events with canon divergence (so, potentially spoilers), graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, abduction, angst (but there's a happy ending!), reader is a courtesan (SW), fluffy smut, unprotected p in v, 69, typical roman wedding customs, some historical inaccuracies potentially, aaaand i think that’s it! But lmk if anything else.

----------

"Love conquers all; therefore, let us submit to love."

–Virgil.

----------

The pounding came late at night, when the moon had disappeared in preparation for the dawn. The raucous sound startled you awake from a dream you immediately forgot, leaving you dazed and slightly panicked. Prima, your chambermaid, hastily draped a cloak over your shoulders and accompanied you to the front of the house to investigate.

The iron gates seemed to shake from the sheer power of the knocking, as if a battering ram was being used. The courtyard was shadowed except for a few small torches and in that moment, you couldn’t help but believe anything could be lurking in the darkness. Gallus, who guarded the entrance, motioned with one hand for you and Prima to stay where you were.

Fear curdled icily in your stomach and you clutched Prima’s arm as Gallus undid the giant latch that held the gates closed. He partially opened one of them, but as soon as he did, a trio of brawny men barreled inside.

One of them, quick as a flash, drew his sword and drove it into Gallus’ chest. He let out a gurgling sound and collapsed, immediately dead. Prima screamed, but you were frozen in shock, a sob clogging in your throat. The other two men started to menacingly make their way towards you, quickly closing the distance.

You shoved Prima back towards the hallway, stepping in front of her protectively.

“Run,” you urged her. “Save yourself!”

She hesitated for a moment, but then her self-preservation instincts took over and she darted into the darkness of the house. Luckily, none of them pursued her, but they weren’t there for her, after all. 

The two men reached you, each clutching one of your arms and dragging you to the entrance. Your heart was pounding like a war drum in your chest, everything coming into sharper focus as adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask who they were or where they were taking you, too afraid they might become more aggressive.

Outside the gate, there were a few more men holding torches, all of them surrounding a man on a pale horse. The rider removed the hood of his cloak and it was none other than Macrinus, Lucius’ master.

“A little bird has told me that one of my gladiators holds you in high regard,” he said by way of greeting, his smile a thin veneer of friendliness. “My champion, as you might recall…”

You dipped your chin in assent, knowing it was futile to lie. His men were restless as if waiting for an excuse to intervene, and you wouldn’t give it to them if you could help it.

“Well, as it happens, I am now in need of some help keeping him in check,” he said, his words less like an invitation and more of a command. “If you would be so kind as to come with us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once more. “I-if I may ask… Where are we going?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” He waved off the question dismissively. “You’ll be perfectly safe in my care.”

You hesitated for a moment before inclining your head, trying to seem polite despite the tremor in your voice. “Of course, I–thank you.”

He held out his heavily ringed hand for you to take and swiftly pulled you onto his horse in front of him. You cast one last fretful glance back at your house as if to commit it to memory. What if you never returned?

No, you couldn’t think like that. You’d do whatever it took to see things through and come out alive on the other side. You could play the game… Whatever it was. But if Lucius was on the line, what exactly was expected of you? 

“Hold on tightly, now,” Macrinus said close to your ear, making your skin crawl. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

He spurred his horse into a wild gallop, the darkened streets of Rome blurring together as they flew past you. The sun was just beginning to rise in the horizon, slowly bleeding crimson and gold.

It could be no coincidence that just the day before, General Acacius had been executed by the Praetorian guard after Lucius had chosen to grant him mercy. You couldn’t be sure what either of them was planning, but Lucius had to be enough of a threat to warrant some collateral. Perhaps Macrinus even thought you might have some idea of what his next move would be.

Anxiousness knotted in your chest as you stared straight ahead. Perhaps if you played your part well enough, you might not just save yourself, but you might also help Lucius, too. All that was left to do was wait.

—-----------------

Outside, the Roman populace was rioting. The fires throughout the city had doubled after the fate of Queen Lucilla was announced. It was no surprise, given their adoration for her and the former General Acasius. That was working in her and Lucius’ favor, but it was also working in Macrinus’s, if things went according to his plans. Things were in a rather precarious position in Rome. Emperor Geta was already dead, and nobody was too keen on the idea of Caracalla having sole power. 

Lucius and his mother met a few days prior to form a plan to defeat Macrinus, and they relied on the element of surprise. Lucius hadn’t summoned you in some time, wanting to keep you away from danger, but he had still tried to send you a couple of messages with Ravi. Much to his dismay, though, he had received no response. He feared that you might be angry at him, but it wasn’t until Viggo boasted about your capture, taunting him, that he found out the truth.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lucius drove his sword into the face of the man who had tried so hard to break him on the training grounds. He could endure his attempts to humiliate him, the sharp bite of the whip tearing open his back, and the leering grins at his suffering. But he could not bear the thought of him laying a single hand on you. 

And still, even after killing him, his rage was not quelled. It would carry him through the rest of the day, like a purifying, righteous flame. 

His fellow gladiators disposed of the rest of their captors, and now they waited to enact Lucius’ plan. He stalked out on the sand, approaching the sacrificial altar where his mother and the senators who had conspired with her were tied. Senator Gracchus was among them, his hunched form and frightened expression like a dagger piercing your heart. Queen Lucilla, for her part, kept her chin raised high, a serenely dignified expression on her face. She would not go down afraid in the face of her enemies.

Lucius looked to the Emperor’s box and momentarily halted in his steps as he spotted you. Beside you, Macrinus smiled, wide and cruel. He had deliberately kept you hidden until that moment, when he knew it would be an irresistible distraction to Lucius. You tried to shake your head imperceptibly, but you knew it’d be impossible for him to see at such a great distance. 

A scream threatened to crawl up your throat, but you stayed perfectly still, your expression neutral. You could betray nothing in that moment, or it might cost you both everything. Fortuna, I beg you, bless him with your favor once more…

Lucius’ rage was incandescent, blazing through him like sunlight itself. Everything else seemed to disappear and he became like the edge of a well-honed blade – the vision of the god Apollo. He raised his sword and pointed it directly at Macrinus – both a promise and a threat. Only one of them would still live by the end of the day.

The master of ceremonies announced what the games would consist of – Lucius would be the sole fighter to defend his mother and the senators from the Praetorian guard. They rode into the arena at the sound of trumpets, the thunderous noise of horses' hooves pounding on the sand reverberating through you. Your vision went dark for a moment and you thought you might faint, but then you felt an arm slip around your shoulders.

“I want you to watch closely now,” Macrinus said, voice low and close to your ear. “This is what happens to those who go against my will.”

You watched as the soldiers circled closer and closer. An archer among them loosed an arrow that pierced through Senator Gracchus’ throat, blood spurting from his mouth like a gruesome fountain. You whimpered, feeling like air had been punched out of your lungs. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes as your patron fell to his knees, dead within seconds. Macrinus’ grip on your shoulders tightened, gripping your chin with his free hand when you tried to glance away. 

At his throne, Emperor Caracalla clapped excitedly over the first death of the spectacle. His pet monkey climbed onto his shoulders, chittering anxiously at all the commotion. With one last menacing look, Macrinus let go of your shoulders and stepped behind the throne to get a better look. Beneath your cloak, your fingers brushed over the small knife you’d stolen from the kitchen at Macrinus’ estate. You sent another prayer to Nemesis, goddess of revenge, so that your hand wouldn’t falter if you were forced to use it.

In the arena, Lucius jumped onto the platform where his mother stood and let out a fierce roar, raising his sword in the air. His battle cry was echoed by the dozens of gladiators that suddenly flooded the arena, immediately engaging the soldiers in a fierce melee. 

Mayhem ensued as the crowd grew wild and rapidly uncontrollable. The people surged forward like a tempestuous tide, fighting back against the Praetorian guards who were meant to keep things under control. Macrinus saw his opportunity in the chaos and slipped a needle-like knife into Caracalla’s ear, killing him. His monkey leaped away, terrified, and lost itself in the commotion.

You stumbled backward, aghast, as Macrinus took the bow of the guard nearest him and fired down into the arena. Unthinking, you unsheathed the knife for protection and fled while he was still turned away. You heard his furious scream and his pounding footsteps in pursuit of you, but soon you were met with the angry Roman mob. 

You glanced over your shoulder, weighing your options, and decided your chances were better if you lost yourself in the crowd. You fought your way through, not letting anything or anyone stop you. Your heart was racing and your breaths were coming out in harsh pants, but no one really paid attention to you. You were jostled and thrown about, but that seemed to be the worst of it.

Macrinus gave up pursuit rather quickly, instead stealing a horse and fleeing towards Ostia, where he would meet his fate. As for Lucius, you had faith in his strength, in the fury that drove him forward. The best thing you could do was find somewhere to hide, at least until things settled down some. He could not have any more distractions now, in the most crucial moment.

And so, you ran.

—-------------------------------------

Countless hours later, after defeating Macrinus in a duel where the fate of Rome was at stake, Lucius revealed his true identity, his grandfather’s ring back on his finger. But he did not stay long to revel in his victory, instead riding back into the city at breakneck speed. He searched the busy streets for you with the desperation of a man who had already lost everything, but was not willing to go through it again. The rage was dissipating into panic, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to it. 

You were praying in a small temple of Fortuna when you heard his hoarse voice calling out your name, the sound growing closer. You threw off your hood and dashed into the street, seeing him in the near distance atop his horse, frantically looking about. Relief at seeing him alive, though bruised and bloodied, flooded through you. You could almost fall to your knees in gratitude, a great weight lifting off your shoulders.

“Lucius!” You called out, waving your arms above your head so he may spot you. “Lucius, over here!”

Finally, he saw you, his expression nearly crumbling with relief. People moved out of the way to let him through, curiously taking in the scene. By the time he reached you, you noticed your face was wet with tears, but you were unable to stop smiling. He let out a breathy laugh, overjoyed, and pulled you onto his horse. He caught you halfway and kissed you deeply, not stopping even as you murmured thank you, thank you, thank you against his lips like a prayer. 

Then he seemed to remember where you were, with dozens surrounding you, and he knew he had to get you out of there. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, barely able to believe his immense fortune. He mentally thanked anyone who might be listening for bringing you back to his side, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

“I told you you’d be the first one I’d run to,” he said, helping you settle in front of him. “We must go, the streets are not safe yet.”

You nodded, pressing closer to him. You didn’t even need to ask where he was taking you, for you would go with him anywhere. To the ends of the earth and beyond, until you were just two shades in Hades, indistinguishable from one another.

He spurred his horse, navigating it up the road and away from the more condensed areas of the city. Soon the cloying smell of smoke and the constant shouting disappeared behind you like a distant nightmare. The clean mountain air revitalized you, finally making you feel a little more at ease. We really did it. We made it through.

When you reached the outskirts of the forest near a cliffside, he finally stopped. The view was breathtaking, the sunset seeming to stretch on infinitely, painting the entire sky in swaths of orange and pink. It was quiet except for a soft breeze, with no one around for miles to intrude in your little pocket of paradise. He dismounted first, but you jumped into his arms before he could help you down, practically tackling him to the ground. 

He laughed and you kissed him, letting him roll you onto your back on the bed of grass. Hands roamed over each other’s bodies with a certain urgency, ascertaining your solidity. You arched against him and he clutched you to him as if his life depended on it, moving to kiss your face and neck.

“I should have known,” he said, his anger self-directed. “I should have done more to keep you safe, I-”

“No use dwelling on what could have been when I am here now, safe in your arms.” You caressed his hair gently, trying to soothe him.

“But what if you weren’t?” he said, stopping to look at you. “I would never forgive myself for it. I would have followed you immediately.”

“Lucius, please…” you tried to protest, but he turned his face to kiss your palm, laying it against his cheek. “The threat is gone. You have defeated Macrinus. There is nothing to fear.”

For a moment, there was torment written on his features, like a long-buried memory had come to haunt him. His eyes scanned your face, searching for comfort in your loveliness — the delicate curve of your cupid’s bow, the slope of your nose, the fan of your lashes against your cheekbones when you blinked. Your gentle gaze, especially, and those soft lips that curved in a smile whenever he was around. He could never grow tired of looking at you.

For the first time in a long, long time, he could see a future ahead of him, waiting with open arms. Without you, it was just not there, and that was why he was still so distressed. He couldn’t fathom being separated from you and he had been foolish not to realize it sooner. He had been stubborn about his feelings, thinking it was better to keep you at arm’s length just to save you. And all for what?

“What is it?” You prompted, gently smoothing out his frown with your fingers, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

“Will you marry me?” He asked.

You immediately sat up, making him pull back with you. You opened and closed your mouth, shocked beyond words. For a moment, you even thought you had imagined him asking that. His eyebrows raised slightly, nervous but expectant. 

“Marry you,” You repeated breathlessly, blinking at him. “You want to make an honest woman out of me, is that it?”

“Not just that.” He chuckled. “But an Emperor’s wife, too.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He showed you his ring, which featured the profile of Marcus Aurelius, his grandfather. Every last piece of the puzzle seemed to click into place then, but it would take some more time for it to fully sink in. You stared at the ring, completely awestruck, and bent your head to kiss it as if by reflex.

“Lucius, I… Is this what you really want?” You asked, not letting go of his hand. “I am just not sure that I’m, you know…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word worthy, but he caught your meaning anyway. His fingers squeezed yours reassuringly, making you look into his eyes. 

“I have never been more certain of anything,” he said. “I would argue you are deserving of better than me. I am not a man without faults, or history, as you well know.”

You shook your head as if he was foolish to worry about such things. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any faults or regrets of your own. You’d already had enough sleepless nights being tormented by them, as you knew he had been. No person had nothing they wouldn’t like to be forgiven for.

“Well, you are plenty enough for me,” you said softly. “Faults and all.”

“As are you,” he said, returning the gesture of worship and respect by kissing your hand. “I want nothing more. I need nothing more. Just you.”

 “Then it is no question, really.” You smiled, on the brink of tears again. “I will happily marry you, Lucius Verus Aurelius.”

Finally, the dark cloud lifted from his expression, and his smile was even more beautiful than the sunset coming to an end behind him. Now it was him who tackled you back onto the ground and you thought he might devour you, his lips intent on not leaving one inch of your skin unkissed.

—-------------------------------------

The ceremony was kept small and intimate, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was an auspicious June day, warm and pleasant, with no clouds in the sky. The air was perfumed with the smell of fresh cut flowers, as there were dozens of arrangements set up all around. Fountains babbled in the gardens, accompanying the echo of your excited voices.

As was custom, Lucius chased you around the halls of the palace in a mock kidnapping. You could not stop laughing, exhilarated, a thrill dancing down your spine any time you looked over your shoulder to see him giving chase. When he finally caught you, he threw you over his shoulder and carried you to a lectus that overlooked the gardens. 

Your veil and wreath came off first as he laid you down on the plush cushions, hair fanning out over them. You helped each other out of your clothes, eager to have nothing between you. When Lucius’ toga was off, you admired his body, running your hands over the hard planes of his stomach and up to his chest. 

He cupped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his greedily. The slide of his warm skin against yours was heavenly, only making you want more and more of him, forever. It was still surreal that what had so recently become a dream of yours was now a reality. You would always thank Fortuna for that.

But that made you remember something you’d been wanting to bring up, except there had not been any opportunity before. You hoped it wouldn’t ruin the moment, but it could wait no longer. 

“Lucius?” You said between kisses.

“Yes, my love?”

You pulled back to look him in the eye, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“Um,” you began nervously, swallowing hard. “I know what our duties are but… Would it be so terrible to enjoy our marriage by ourselves just a little while longer?”

He caught your meaning immediately, nodding reassuringly as he placed his palm on the small of your back.

“I am in no rush if you are not,” he said without hesitation, not minding the idea one bit. 

He’d been having similar thoughts about it for the past couple of days, anyway, and he was glad you’d been the one to bring it up. You smiled at him gratefully, sighing with relief. His eyes dropped to your lips once more, their lure nearly irresistible. 

“My wife is a greedy little thing, wanting to keep me all to herself.”

You chuckled salaciously as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, watching as you teasingly bit his thumb, licking the pad of it. He let out a breathy groan and you pushed him onto his back, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest. His hips jerked as your lips passed his navel, and with the flat of your tongue, you teased the velvety underside of his hard cock.

You heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by him sighing your name. You continued to tease and lick him, making him whimper, his eyes pleading for more when you looked into them. You took him into your mouth and his head tipped back in pleasure, exposing the column of his throat. 

“Come here,” he rasped deliriously. “I need to taste you, too.”

You complied with no protest, only extricating yourself to reposition. You swung a leg over his head to straddle his face, leaning your body forward so you could take his cock in your mouth once more. His tongue lapped at your inner thigh, which was glistening with your arousal. You shuddered, moaning around him. 

You pushed your hips back as he traced the tip of his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. The tips of your fingers brushed his sac as you sucked on the sensitive tip of his cock, and he felt as if he might go wild at that moment. 

His fingers, in turn, dipped into your cunt, preparing you for him. It became like a game, trying to get the other to come first. He won first, but he wasn’t far behind, and he marveled at the fact that you swallowed every drop. From then on, things were a lot more frenzied.

Hours passed without either of you noticing. There were only a few breaks in between, but otherwise, you and Lucius explored every possible position on and around the couch. It was perhaps the longest wedding night in history, with nothing to hold you back any longer. Except for maybe physical exhaustion, which set in when the sun was beginning to rise on a new dawn.

The two of you lay naked, holding each other close, while you watched the sky lighten. The morning was ripe with possibility, Rome feeling like an entirely different realm. Fear had reigned for so long that peace was still a new luxury, but not one you took for granted.

At that moment, before the day really started and you both had to face your new responsibilities, all you wanted was to commit the first moments of your marriage to memory. The matching rings on your interlocked fingers, the adoring look in Lucius’ heavy-lidded eyes, and the mutual promise to take care of each other for the rest of your days. 

“Get some rest, my love,” you murmured, caressing his face. “You’ll need your strength.”

“I shall only sleep if I’ll see you in my dreams,” he murmured, trying to sound playful, but his eyes were already closed.

You chuckled, kissing his forehead. “And when you wake up, you’ll see it wasn’t a dream after all.”

--------

Finis.

[thesilicontribesman]

Replica Cast Head of Zeus-Amun, Roman Period (about 100 CE), Liverpool World Museum

Zeus-Amun was a popular god in Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. He is a combination of the Egyptian god Amun and the Greek god Zeus. He is usually shown with the ram's horns of Amun and the bearded face of Zeus. In 331 BCE Alexander the Great claimed he was told by an oracle that he was the son of Zeus-Amun.

[esoteric-chaos]

Spring Equinox Masterpost- Spoonie Witch Friendly

Art Credit: Anastasia Catris

The Spring Equinox, also called the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, is usually celebrated between the 21st of March in the Northern Hemisphere (In the Southern Hemisphere around September 20th or 21st)

In 2024, Ostara and the Spring Equinox land in the Northern Hemisphere on Monday, March 19th.

The Spring Equinox celebrates the arrival of spring. Celebrating balance, growth, and new beginnings as Winter has finally ended.

Spring Equinox Correspondances

Colours

Light Green

Lavender

Sunny Yellow

Light Blue

Pastel Pink

White

Herbal

Lemongrass

Daffodils

Tulips

Violets

Apple Tree

Cherry Blossom

Primrose

Birch tree

Hyacinths

Dandelion

Garlic

Ash tree

Jasmine

Edibles

Honey

Salad greens

Spring veggies

Fresh berries

Mead

Herbs

Eggs

Seeds

Bread

Edible flowers

Quiches

Custards

Maple

Animals

Hares

Baby Chicks

Snakes

Robins

Bees

Butterflies

Phoenix

Ram

Crystals

Fluorite

Moonstone

Silver

Aquamarine

Clear Quartz

Amazonite

Symbols

Bonfires

Flowers

Rabbits

Eggs

Seeds

Baskets

Flowering or Tree Buds

Lambs

Birds

Spiritual meanings

Purification

Cleansing (removal of stagnant energy)

Growth

Transition

Motivation

Balance

Birth

Good fortune

Kindness

Joy

Fertility

Scents

Coconut

Citrus

Floral scents (rose, lilac, jasmine, etc)

Herbal scents (rosemary, basil, mint, etc)

Gods / Goddesses / Spirits

Eostre –  (Anglo-Saxon)

Aphrodite - (Greek)

Gaia - (Celtic)

Gaea - (Greek)

Venus - (Roman)

Athena - (Greek)

Aurora - (Roman)

Eos - (Greek)

Isis – (Egyptian)

Freya - (Norse) 

Persephone - (greek)

Cybele - (Roman)

The Green Man - (Celtic)

Odin – (Norse) 

Osiris – (Egyptian)

Pan – (Greek)

Thoth – (Egyptian)

Adonis – (Greek)

Apollon –  (Greek)

Apollo - (Roman)

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I've got you covered.

High energy celebrations and ritual

Deep cleaning of the hearth and home

Nature hikes

Visiting farmers markets

Making preserves

Create a fae garden

Create a seasonal altar

Abundance/Prosperity ritual

New beginnings ritual

Low energy celebrations 

Wear pastels

Create flower crowns

Light a candle with scent correspondence

No spoon celebrations 

Opening a window

Journaling Prompts

Keeping hydrated

Drink floral tea

Rest

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you're enough no matter what.

Also please note some stuff is UPG. A great book is Year of the Witch by Temperance Alden for honouring the celebrations and if you wanted to work more seasonally. It's not Wiccan-based and has plenty of resources for every witch.

Feel free to post how you celebrate in the comments or reblogs!

Want to see more of my posts? Check out my Wheel of the Year Masterpost or my Main Masterpost.

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : fight, killing, death, whipping.

A/N : Chapter one guys, so excited to introduce that version of Anakin. It’s kind of a knightfall Anakin, or unburnt Vader. I tried to write as good as I could but I remind you, I’m not English. Enjoy.

• | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ : ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ | •

The Colosseum roared like the mouth of the gods, hungry for blood.

THE GATES OF THE COLOSSEUM CREAKED OPEN, revealing the sun-soaked expanse of the arena. The light hit like fire, reflecting off the gilded helmets of the Roman guards stationed at the edge of the sands. Anakin stepped forward, bare-chested beneath his battered armor, the leather straps across his shoulders darkened with sweat and blood. His sword rested in his hand—a weapon as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

The crowd roared with anticipation. Thousands of voices thundered through the stone arches, shaking the ancient bones of Rome itself. They didn’t care who fought, only that blood would be spilled.

Anakin’s eyes were dark beneath the shadow of his helmet. His expression was unreadable—cold, calculated. He moved like a wolf in a den of lions, his footsteps steady, his presence commanding. His opponent stood across the arena, waiting. A seasoned gladiator, scarred and broad, wielding a spiked mace and a shield emblazoned with a Roman eagle.

The man sneered, raising his mace in a silent challenge.

Anakin didn’t flinch. He didn’t smile. He merely rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles coil like a serpent. His opponent was bigger, stronger. But size didn’t matter. Strength didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered in the Colosseum was who walked out alive.

The signal was given—a sharp blast of the horn—and the fight began.

The other gladiator charged first, his heavy footsteps pounding across the sand. The mace swung toward Anakin’s head with brutal force, aiming to crush his skull in a single strike. But Anakin was faster. He ducked low, the air whistling as the mace sliced through the space where his head had been.

He pivoted on his heel, slashing upward with his sword. The blade caught the other man’s shield, sending a reverberating clang through the arena. The force of the blow made the man stumble, but he recovered quickly, slamming his shield forward like a battering ram.

Anakin took the hit to his shoulder, pain blooming across his body, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he stepped back, circling his opponent with measured grace. His eyes locked onto every movement—the way the man’s shield arm trembled under the weight, the slight hitch in his step. Every weakness was a thread to be pulled, unraveling the illusion of invincibility.

The mace swung again, a brutal arc aimed at Anakin’s side. This time, he sidestepped with ease, his sword flashing like lightning. The blade skimmed across the other man’s thigh—a shallow cut, but enough to slow him down.

The crowd’s cheers grew louder, a frenzied chant echoing through the Colosseum.

“Skywalker! Skywalker!”

Anakin ignored them. He wasn’t fighting for their approval. He was fighting to survive.

His opponent lunged again, swinging the mace in a reckless, desperate arc. Anakin caught the weapon on his sword, the clash of steel ringing in his ears. The impact jarred his arm, but he held firm, twisting his blade to lock the mace in place.

For a moment, they stood locked together, muscles straining, sweat dripping into the sand. The other man’s eyes narrowed, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“You fight like a man who wants to die,” the gladiator growled.

Anakin’s lips barely moved. “No. I fight like a man who’s already dead.”

With a sudden surge of strength, Anakin twisted his sword, breaking the lock. The mace was wrenched from the other man’s grasp, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Anakin didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword aimed for the man’s exposed chest.

But the other gladiator was quick, raising his shield just in time to block the killing blow. Anakin’s blade glanced off the shield, sending sparks flying. The man swung the shield like a hammer, smashing it into Anakin’s ribs.

Pain exploded in Anakin’s side, but he didn’t falter. He twisted away, his feet kicking up sand as he regained his footing. His breath came in short, harsh gasps, but his grip on his sword never wavered.

The other man was breathing hard now, too. Blood dripped from the cut on his leg, staining the sand beneath him. He glanced at his fallen mace, then back at Anakin, calculating his next move.

Anakin saw the hesitation. He saw the fear creeping into the man’s eyes.

It was over.

Anakin moved like a predator, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His sword cut through the air, a deadly arc aimed at the man’s shield. The blow was relentless, driving the other gladiator back step by step. Each strike was precise, calculated to wear down his opponent’s defenses.

The shield splintered beneath the onslaught, cracks spreading like lightning across the wood and metal.

The crowd was on its feet now, screaming for blood.

Anakin’s sword struck one final time, shattering the shield completely. The other man stumbled backward, weaponless and defenseless. He fell to his knees in the sand, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Anakin stood over him, his sword raised.

The arena fell into a tense silence, waiting for the killing blow.

The man looked up, blood smeared across his face. “Mercy,” he whispered.

Anakin’s grip tightened on his sword. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of rage and grief. He saw ghosts in the man’s eyes. Ghosts of those he had killed before. Ghosts of the life he had lost.

There is no mercy in Rome.

With a swift, decisive strike, Anakin brought his sword down.

The blade cut through flesh and bone, clean and final. The gladiator crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Blood pooled in the sand, dark and endless.

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their cheers echoing off the stone walls. They chanted his name, hailing him as a hero, as a champion.

But Anakin felt nothing.

He sheathed his sword, turning his back on the corpse. His gaze lifted to the crowd, scanning the sea of faces. They cheered for him, but they didn’t see him. They saw a legend. A monster. A weapon forged by Rome’s cruelty.

But somewhere in the crowd, a pair of eyes watched him differently. Eyes that didn’t cheer. Eyes that saw through the mask of brutality to the man beneath.

Eyes that remembered him.

Anakin’s footsteps echoed through the Colosseum as he left the arena, the bloodstained sand stretching behind him like a trail of ghosts.

The Colosseum loomed like a monument to blood and ruin, its arches casting jagged shadows across the sand. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and iron, the echoes of battle lingering long after the last sword had fallen. The crowd dispersed slowly, their cheers fading into the streets of Rome, leaving only ghosts behind.

You walked unnoticed through the emptying arena, your form shrouded in the guise of a noblewoman. Mortals glanced your way, but none truly saw you. They never did. To them, you were a passing shadow, a face soon forgotten. But you moved with purpose, your sandals barely disturbing the blood-soaked sand beneath your feet.

The gods had cursed you to wander endlessly, to carry the weight of a legend that time had tried to bury. For centuries, you had drifted through mortal lives, whispering forgotten stories into the ears of poets and scholars. You were the goddess of legends, doomed to remember what the world sought to forget.

But now… something stirred. Something ancient. Something long buried beneath centuries of dust and stone.

You paused at the edge of the arena, your gaze drawn to the sands where blood still pooled. The echoes of swords clashing and bodies falling seemed to resonate in your bones. And beneath it all, beneath the noise and violence, you felt it—him.

Remus, Anakin.

The name lingered on the edge of your mind like a half-forgotten melody. You hadn’t spoken it in centuries. You had buried it alongside your grief, locking it away in the ruins of memory. But now, the weight of that name pressed against your chest, as if the past was clawing its way back to the surface.

Your eyes scanned the arena, searching for the source of that ancient pull. You knew it wasn’t just the place that stirred these memories. It was someone—a presence you hadn’t felt since that fateful day beneath the twin hills where Rome was born.

And then you saw him.

He stood near the gladiator gates, the torchlight casting flickering shadows across his battered form. His armor was streaked with blood, his sword still hanging at his side. His dark hair clung to his face, damp with sweat. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, even as he limped slightly from the battle’s toll.

You felt the air leave your lungs.

It was impossible. Unthinkable.

But there he stood—Anakin.

He didn’t know you. Not yet. The curse of mortality had stripped him of his memories, erasing the bond you once shared. But his soul… his soul was the same. Wild, restless, defiant. His very presence radiated rebellion, a man carved from the bones of the earth and tempered in fire.

You took a step closer, your heartbeat echoing like thunder in your ears.

The gods had whispered of this moment. They had told you that Anakin would be forgotten, his real name wiped from history, while his brother’s legacy endured. But they never said his soul would be lost forever. You had carried hope through centuries of loneliness, a fragile ember that refused to die.

And now that ember flared into a blaze.

Still, doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind. Was this a cruel trick of fate ? A shadow cast by your own yearning ? Or had the gods truly given you another chance to rewrite the legend that had condemned you both ?

Remus—Anakin—turned slightly, as if sensing a presence beyond the mortal realm. His gaze swept over the arena, passing by you without lingering.

But something made him pause.

He was more beautiful than you remembered. The years and centuries had softened the memory of his face, but now, seeing him in the flesh, it was like waking from a dream you hadn’t realized you’d been trapped in. His hair, once trimmed short and once shiny as the sun above your head, had returned in this life as wild, golden curls—disheveled and unruly from the fight, falling into his eyes with a carelessness that no Roman noble would dare. Those eyes… gods, those eyes. Blue as the sky above the Tiber at dawn, fierce and unrelenting, they seemed to pierce through the veil of time itself. He also looked older. Older than when he died, barely a man, still harboring a cherubic face with rosy cheeks and dusted lips. Now he was breathtaking. 

His features were sharp yet regal, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, the high cheekbones of a warrior carved by fate’s cruel hand. His lips, stained with the faintest hint of blood, were set in a line of defiance. He bore the scars of a gladiator’s life—scratches across his broad chest, bruises blooming beneath his armor—but they only added to his allure. He was mortal, yes, but he stood with the bearing of something more, something ancient. He was a man forged by violence, yet he carried the weight of tragedy in every line of his body.

His stature was commanding, taller than most of the men around him, with broad shoulders that seemed made to carry the weight of the world—or your sorrow. There was something about the way he moved, even in exhaustion—graceful yet lethal, like a lion prowling the edges of the arena. He was strength and ruin in one.

And you couldn’t look away.

To the Romans, he was nothing but a slave, a fighter to bleed for their amusement. But to you, he was everything you had lost. Everything the world had forgotten.

His eyes, darkened, narrowed as they met yours. There was no recognition in them. No spark of memory. Yet something ancient flickered there—something deeper than conscious thought.

He frowned, his expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing through the gates.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

He was here. Alive. But he didn’t remember you.

Not yet.

And as you stood alone in the shadow of the Colosseum, you whispered the name the world had forgotten.

"Remus." No… Anakin, you chastised yourself.

The winds carried the name across the empty sands, a prayer to the past. A prayer for what was to come.

Something ancient stirred in the air—a curse left unfinished, a legend waiting to be rewritten.

The crowd gathered at the Forum, eager for blood. Romans thrived on spectacles of cruelty, drawn to suffering as moths to flame. But this was not a battle to the death. There would be no swords, no shields. This was punishment. A public reckoning. And at the center of it stood Anakin, stripped to the waist, his back bared to the lash.

The whip cracked through the air like thunder, and the first strike split the silence. His body jerked, muscles tightening, but Anakin did not cry out. He refused to give them the satisfaction. His back already bore scars from past punishments, reminders of Rome's endless cruelty. This was nothing new. He had endured worse.

The lictor struck again, the leather biting into flesh. Blood beaded along the fresh wounds, trickling down his spine. Anakin clenched his jaw, refusing to show weakness. His pain belonged to him alone; he would not let Rome take that from him. The crowd murmured in approval, reveling in his suffering, their eyes alight with morbid fascination.

But then, his gaze found you.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, cloaked in fine robes, your face pale with horror. You hadn’t come to witness this cruelty. You had come seeking answers, hoping to understand the mortal who haunted your dreams. But now, watching him bleed beneath Rome’s lash, you could barely breathe. This was Anakin. This was the man you loved—suffering from a whip.

Yet Anakin did not see love or recognition in your gaze. He saw judgment. He saw cruelty.

His lips curled into a bitter sneer, and his eyes darkened with hate. His expression hardened into defiance, as though daring you to look away. His gaze was unrelenting, full of fury and accusation, as if to say: Are you entertained ?

Another lash tore through the air, ripping his skin. He grunted in pain, his shoulders trembling under the strain. But his eyes never left yours. His anger burned, hot and unyielding, as though your presence stoked the fire within him.

To Anakin, you were just another Roman aristocrat. Another cold-hearted noble reveling in his suffering. Your beauty only made it worse. He hated himself for noticing the way the sunlight caught the strands of your hair, or the way your eyes shimmered with emotion. He loathed himself for wondering what your voice might sound like, for imagining your hands on his face, soft and kind.

But he buried those thoughts deep beneath his rage. You were a Roman. You were his enemy.

Finally, the lictor lowered the whip. Anakin’s back was slick with blood, the wounds raw and open. The guards dragged him to his knees, shackled his wrists, and hauled him away. The crowd dispersed, satisfied by the punishment, but your feet remained rooted to the ground.

As he was pulled past you, his gaze flickered toward you one last time. There was something in his eyes—pure hatred. 

Back in the dim confines of his cell, Anakin leaned against the stone wall, his body aching from the beating. His wounds burned, but it was nothing compared to the rage simmering in his chest. His thoughts circled back to you, unbidden and unwanted.

The Roman woman.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you ?

He hated you. He hated your kind. The Romans had taken everything from him—his freedom, his dignity, his name. His Master selling his body to the highest bidder of the market for a night. And yet, your face lingered in his mind like a delicious curse. He remembered the horror in your eyes as he was whipped. He remembered the way your lips parted, as though you wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

But hate was easier. Hate was safer.

So Anakin closed his eyes and vowed to forget you.

Yet in the darkness of his cell, he dreamed of your face.

The night brought no peace. Shadows of memory chased you through sleep, weaving dreams from fragments of a life long past—a life you were cursed to remember when all the world had forgotten. A life where Anakin loved you.

You saw him again as he had once been. Young, wild, and full of life. The fields of the Aventine stretched endlessly beneath a golden sky, and the wind carried the scent of wildflowers. His laughter echoed in your ears—low, warm, and unguarded, the way only he could sound. He ran ahead of you through the tall grass, turning back every few steps to beckon you closer.

“Come,” he whispered in your dream, his voice the anchor of your heart. “There is still time.”

In the fields, he knelt before you, hands rough from a life of toil, but gentle as they wove a crown of flowers. His fingers moved with care, weaving stems together until he lifted the delicate circlet and placed it atop your head. You laughed at his crooked handiwork, brushing a stray lock of golden hair from his face.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmured, his gaze soft with devotion.

“And you,” you teased, pressing your forehead to his, “look like a boy playing king.”

His lips found yours then—sweet, tender, tasting of summer and wildflowers. His kiss was gentle, unlike the harshness of the world around you. In those moments, you had been free. With Anakin, there were no rules, no gods, no fates woven by unseen hands. There was only love.

But dreams cannot hold forever.

The fields faded into mist, and the warmth of his touch slipped away like sand through your fingers. The laughter died. The golden sky darkened into the cold gray of stone walls. Rome replaced the Aventine. Blood replaced wildflowers.

And then, there was him again.

You saw him as he had been that day—standing tall, in the Colosseum, sword in hand, drenched in blood and defiance, older... His gaze, blue as a storm-tossed sea, had found yours even as he was punished. There was no tenderness in his eyes, no softness. Only fire. A fire that burned you even now.

“Ani,” you whispered in your sleep, clinging to the name like a prayer. But no. He was not Ani anymore. He was Anakin now—a man forged in iron and rage, a soul reborn into chains.

You woke, breathless, your hands trembling with the remnants of your dream. The gods' curse weighed heavy on you, a burden you had carried for centuries. You were the goddess of legends, the keeper of stories lost to time. And your curse was to remember the one story no one else did—the story of the brother who had been forgotten.

The gods watched you still. Their eyes followed your every step, their judgment lingering over you like a shadow. But you no longer cared for their wrath. You had loved Remus once, and now, you saw him again, alive in the mortal body of a gladiator.

"Anakin," you whispered to the night, letting go of the wrong name. Letting go of the past that weighed too heavily on your heart.

You vowed to approach him. To see him again, to make him remember who he once was, who you had been together. Even if the gods punished you again. Even if the world itself crumbled beneath your feet. You needed his touch, you craved him, his scent, his voice…everything about him made your skin tingles and your heart ache.

Because you would find him. Even if he had changed. 

Even if it meant your ruin.

Roma de cineribus nata est, et tu fusa manus eras. 

Rome was born from ashes, and you were the hand that spread them.