#rome<3< /div>
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
mysticalsoot · 9 months ago
Note
Hi! Bit new to asks but I’ve been a long time lurker! Just wanted to say my peace
While it’s important to always believe victims it’s equally as important to recognize what actually happened and the lack of knowledge we have. I can’t BELIEVE people are so so quick to see the first British boy that sings and is associated with Shubble PUBLICLY (we all know how private Wilbur is about shit) and point out that it COULD be him.
People are literally bashing anyone who decides to be either neutral or thinks it doesn’t add up. But guess what? It DOESNT add up. We’re never given a set date where this happened so it could even possible pre-date when Shubble and Wilbur even met.
There’s so many things people are either missing or just down right refusing to acknowledge. Twitter is nuts, literally everyone and their mom is bashing Wilbur fans, it’s a dumpster fire at this point.
Until he says anything, if he even does, it’s innocent until proven guilty. Ruining someone’s career, someone LIFE, someone’s DREAM, over and IF statement is ludicrous and idiotic.
I’m with you, and everyone who’s sending hate can go fuck themselves.
Sending love <3333333
i agree entirely with your statements!
it is all speculation. we don't have solid background or information to base anything off of. it could be anyone. just because wilbur is your first thought and you think it adds up, doesn't necessarily mean anything here.
there are a lot of details that are being ignored or left out, alot of things that are blurry. I can't even tell you the exact words Shelby spoke because she deleted the vod two days after.
vods don't automatically delete until 30 days. this was intentional.
it's believe the victim yes, but be aware of what is said around you and what doesn't fit. everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and opinions.
thank you for the kindness and support, again I appreciate the hell out of you.
i send twice as much love back<33 thank you.
anon asks are off, don't try sending hate to me or the asker
12 notes · View notes
beatriceportinari · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Sunfish, origami, one square sheet of paper
1K notes · View notes
thunderc1an · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Hold me one more time, so that I never forget how it felt to hug the sun
2K notes · View notes
herewegobebe · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MINHO in ROME #3 💞 [x]
261 notes · View notes
roran01 · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Anyways have some concept art of ancients in the new style
Tumblr media
Personally I like how Rome come out
412 notes · View notes
softpascalito · 9 days ago
Text
Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter III
Tumblr media
! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 6.5k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, More tags to be added (!)
AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist
notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !
Tumblr media
we finally get a little glimpse into the life of the vestals in this chapter. i'm trying to write this in a way that requires no prior knowledge of them, but if it sounds interesting to you, i'd highly recommend reading up on them, it's very interesting! also wanted to mention from here on we will dive into how acacius and our vestal get to know each other (until we reach the plot of gladiator II again). enjoy! <3
vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) vero - yes paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials bonam noctem - good night
Chapter III
211 AD
You whisper small apologies under your breath as you carefully pierce the needle through Acacius' skin, feeling him tremble under your touch. “Only one more, then I am done. I promise,” you mumble, casting an anxious glance at his face and the cold sweat building on his forehead. “Take a deep breath. Stay with me, vero?”
He nods, his voice rumbling deep in his chest when he speaks up. “I always stay with you.”
“That is not what I meant,” you mumble back and wince as he tenses at the last stitch. You quickly tie the loose ends of the thread together and lift the wet rag to his arm again, wiping down the fresh blood that's trickling from the wound. It’s not too much but you do not need to be a medicus to know that he has lost too much of it today.
Your hands shake as you reach for your gown, ripping a long shred off it. Acacius raises his head at the noise, staring at you. “What is this for?”
“What do you think it is for? That wound cannot stay unprotected.” You reach around his arm, beginning to tightly wrap the linen around it, soon covering the red stains that slowly appear on the first few layers. You have seen him wounded–in fact, you can barely recall a time where he has been completely healthy. But you haven't seen him so weak before. His head keeps drooping, like he will fall asleep in his seated position in mere moments.
With a satisfied nod you tie the bandage into place, nudging the General's shoulder as you make to stand. “Acacius.”
Soft brown eyes stare up at yours, a sliver of something odd in them. It only lasts a moment–then he shakes his head as if to get rid of the ill feeling settling over his body. “You have to go.”
“I cannot leave you alone when you are like this. You need someone to watch over you. You’ve lost blood and the wound–” You are cut off by a strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap like it costs him no effort at all. At least he is limiting his movements to his unwounded arm.
“Acacius–” Before you have a chance to speak properly, his lips crash onto yours. The kiss tastes of blood and wine and desperation. You do not have it in you to put up any resistance, instead letting him take what he so clearly needs in this moment. Your hand creeps up his chest, ghosting over his red tunic and the exposed skin of his neck until you reach his hair. A small sigh travels from your mouth into his quite involuntarily when one of his soft curls wraps around your index finger. The world could crash and burn around you. He would still find time to press his lips onto yours, to hold you tight.
When he pulls back, you’re both panting, his chest rising and falling next to you. His arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist and you reach for his hand, intertwining it with your free one. A squeeze is his immediate response. His eyes fly back and forth between your eyes and you can practically feel his words coming. You’re half tempted to kiss him again, just to keep him from speaking.
“Dulcissima, I need you to listen to me.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There is no time. I need you to take the path at the back of the house. Go back to the Temple. If anything happens–”
“What would happen?” You interrupt, your voice shaking slightly. Your stomach lurches slightly as you think back to what he has told you mere weeks before. His troops, that will be landing in Ostia and marching towards Rome.
“If there are riots–”
“No. I'm not leaving you. Not now,” you choke out, raising your voice slightly. It echoes eerily in the otherwise silent atrium. You know your tears are as imminent as the riots outside the door.
“If there are riots–” Acacius repeats, and you hate how controlled and stern his voice sounds. You aren't one of his soldiers. Yet he speaks to you like one. You’re ready to follow him no matter where he goes. But he is not your General. “–I will personally make sure some of our best soldiers are sent to protect you and the others. We have always protected the Vestals with our lives, you know we have.”
A choked sound leaves your throat because he is already speaking like a man who doesn't plan to return in the morning. Acacius pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around your trembling form. His dried blood leaves stains on the linen of your white dress. No matter how careful he is with his hands, he always leaves you stained. Red, no matter where he goes. He turns flourishing cities into battlefields and their citizens into grievers. Wives into widows, children into orphans.
No more.
“Rome will fall. Won’t it?” You whisper into his chest and you feel him sway slightly as he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath before nudging your head back just enough to press his forehead against yours.
“No. The Emperors will fall. Rome will rise out of their ashes.”
His face tells you that he is speaking the truth. And this is precisely what scares you. “I want to stay with you. You cannot make me leave,” you whimper, squeezing his hand so tight that it must hurt. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before nudging you up with his leg, forcing you to stand again.
“Truthfully, I cannot make you. I can only ask.” A sad smile decorates his lips as he looks up at you, his eyes gone soft. “Besides, it is bad luck to touch someone marked for death, dulcissima. You of all people should know that.”
***
209 AD
You carefully balance the slender pot of water between your hands, the ceramic cold against your fingertips. Tending to the herb garden is one of your preferred duties, allowing you to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin while you work. The temple is never cold, not with the fire of Rome burning in its middle. But the longer your shifts become, the more weary you become of the lack of the sky and sun above.
Tipping the pot over ever so slightly, you let a thin string of water flow down onto the row of small herbs that stick out of the ground. Your head tilts upward towards a blue sky, just enough to peek over the roof of the house that you and the other Vestals live in, located right next to the temple of Vesta–and conveniently at the foot of Palatine Hill.
You can see the General’s–no, you mentally correct yourself, remembering your conversation with him–Lucilla’s house from here, at least the part that is not hidden by trees. You haven't seen him again since taking his will and storing it safely in one of the upper chambers, labeling it carefully and placing it on its assigned shelf, to be retrieved only in one of two cases–on his command or his death. The thought makes you shiver and you mumble a quiet prayer for him to the earth below you.
You see people, mostly women, come to the temple to pray to Vesta. To ask the goddess of the house and hearth for safety, for enough food on their table, for the health of their family. You pray with them, of course. You pray for each and every citizen of Rome. But you remember what one of the older Vestals said to you when you arrived at the house as a mere child, picked for nearly a lifetime of service.
Her eyes had been kind as she had bent down, adjusting the veil that was still much too big on your form.
“She is not just in the flame, my child. She is in the smoke that rises above and the earth that stretches below. Vesta will always hear you. She will always be near.”
You bow your head towards the earth at that, setting the pot aside to instead place your hands between the green and brown, fingertips grazing the earth that feeds you.
It is one of your tasks to pray for all of Rome, often with a special few words for the soldiers, to ask Vesta for their safe and victorious return. But the image in front of your eyes shifts as you speak the prayer that falls off your lips so naturally. It summons the memory of the gentle, brown eyes that promised you their trust.
Keep him safe.
It is a prayer you repeat over and over again, sending it into the earth as well as the air as you kneel under the roman sun, asking for the gods to hear you.
When you raise your head again, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust once more to the brightness of the day, he is there.
You called on the gods. But it is Acacius who has appeared.
You see him taking slow steps through his garden, one hand outstretched as he lets it brush past the fields of lavender. Your own hand, still tucked into the bed below you, moves against the herbs absent-mindedly as your eyes stay fixed on the small figure above the Forum Romanum.
He’s too far away to make out his expression–or even his face. But the broad shoulders, the red paludamentum, the gentleness with which he carries himself–they all let you know it is Acacius you’re looking at. It’s like he has heard your prayers and instead of waiting for one of the gods to answer, he has taken them upon himself.
It happens more frequently after that. The courtyard garden of the Vestals spans almost the entire length of the house, with two small pools lowered into the ground on each side. You pass around it by day and by night and your gaze flies between the columns and upward more frequently than ever.
Just in passing, of course. Just for reassurance. A constant, a joyful moment when you spot his figure. A pinch of something else in your stomach, something you force yourself to ignore, when you see Lucilla's robes billowing in the wind while she walks beside him. He rarely wears his armour, but when he does, it glistens in the sun, reflecting the rays of light, almost blinding.
You often wonder what he is thinking about. If he is pondering the next campaign, possibly even politics, though you have rarely heard about him being involved in them. He strikes you more as a soldier than a politician. A man as loyal to his army as he is to the Emperors.
“Senator Gracchus told me that they are moving some troops south,” Severa announces as you settle down for your evening meal. She is about your age, having been chosen in the same year as you. And she has taken the most interest in politics out of all the current six priestesses, often volunteering to deliver and pick up scrolls from the palace or the senate to hear the news of the day.
“Did he say why?” You ask as you reach for the carafe of wine, motioning towards her glass and, at her nod, pouring her some. You repeat the motion with your own glass before leaning back again.
“No. But I suppose the people further south are not happy.” Her voice drops slightly as she speaks. “They do not wish to risk an uprising, that I am sure of.” You nod carefully, casting a glance to the other side of the room where the two eldest vestals are taking their meal. It is not your duty to meddle in politics. You are the guardians of the hearth of Rome. Day and night, one of you is always in the temple, watching over the flame. Making sure it does not burn low.
If extinguished, it is not just the fall for the Vestals. It predicts the fall of Rome. So now more than ever, you do your duty carefully.
“May I ask you something?” Severa leans towards you, always keeping one careful eye on the others. Making sure neither of you are drawing attention to yourself.
You nod, adjusting your voice to her level as you set down your glass. “Of course. Is something the matter?”
She gives a quick, short shake of her head. “No, not the matter. I was just curious–” You raise a brow at that, though you both know neither of you mean each other harm. “Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a Vestal.”
“Curiousity is a dangerous trait for any woman,” Severa whispers back, lowering her eyes onto the floor. You understand why. It is not easy to speak ill of something. It is simply not in your nature. It goes against the years of teaching you have sat through. “You brought the will of the General, did you not?”
You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the mention of Acacius and shift onto your side, hoping that the dim light inside the room hides the way your face flushes. “Yes. The first one I collected, actually.”
“You collect Generals now?”
Neither of you can successfully stifle the giggles that follow her question and you quickly bow your head, just as one of the older Vestals calls out to you. “If you are finished with your meal, please retire to your quarters and get some rest.” You both nod, whispering apologies into their direction as you stand up.
“I am to guard the flame tonight,” Severa adds softly and the other of the two women nods.
“Then you may take your fellow priestess to her quarters and head to the Temple after.” You mumble your good nights to the others, walking along the courtyard in silence. The noise of cicadas fills the night that has settled over the valley. When you stop outside the door to your cubiculum, you pause. “Why did you ask about the General?”
For a moment, you think Severa will not answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly as if to dismiss her prior interest. “I heard some of the Senators speak of him. I merely wondered how he seemed to you.”
“Kind,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He was kind to me.
Her brows furrow slightly but then she nods, giving you a gentle smile. “I better go and not leave the others waiting. Bonam noctem.”
“Bonam noctem,” you repeat quietly. A few moments later, you pull your door closed behind you and begin to undress. When you crawl into the bed placed near the far end of the room, your mind is already distracted and you allow your thoughts to slip out of the small window and rush up the hill. They settle between a field of lavender and wait for a light to appear in one of the windows of the house, just as you extinguish yours.
Tumblr media
! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !
86 notes · View notes
somewhereincairparavel · 6 months ago
Text
Being a pjo fan is having the rippling desire to travel to Greece and Rome because of Percy Jackson and Jason Grace respectively.
137 notes · View notes
renonv · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
I can't stop thinking about them 😭😭 help
631 notes · View notes
terenos · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tobias Menzies as Marcus Brutus in Rome (2005)
Gentlemen, this is not some cheap murder! It is an honorable thing that we do, and it must be done honorably. In daylight. On the senate floor. With our own hand.
1K notes · View notes
gaiusjuliuscaesar · 6 months ago
Text
i don’t think we talk about horace nearly enough
94 notes · View notes
rosielefay · 4 months ago
Text
Romano thoughts: He was spoilt as a child; growing up with grandpa Rome meant spending his childhood grazing on fruit and wine and not doing much other than looking pretty. They're Rome's grandchildren, he and his brother exist to be small and spoilt, to not engage with politics or war but instead take long walks in the emperor's gardens and laze around in the private baths.
But then the Empire turned Christian, and it started losing: the Huns, the Goths - barbarians coming in droves across the river Danube to bring reckless and ruin to its people. Eventually, Rome was sacked; Rome which sits at the heart of Romano's territory.
There's something very poetic about the transfer of power in the western world and Romano's authority figures. The shift from Pagan Rome to Catholic Spain. There's similarities between the two of them: the warm skin and the kind eyes, the desire to build empires and conquer nations, the flirty Casanova personality and their capacity for such endless cruelty.
And then of course, there's God. Of course he's a godly boy; he looks like a Renaissance angle, his olive tones and soft brown eyes. Unlike his brother, he has no smile lines or crows feet, his complexion betrays his upbringing: apathetic, decadent, unmarred.
But there's a scar on his chest, a little cross over his heart - a reminder of beloved grandfather's undoing, of his own unwavering loyalty to Spain.
He loathes himself, the boy. Catholic guilt they say, the belief that something is inherently wrong with oneself - the original sin. Maybe it is a product of his devoutness. Or maybe, just maybe, its guilt: guilt for loving the man who champions the faith which killed grandfather. But he'll never be able to do anything about it, for he wasn't made to live for himself. Holy boy, he who exists to worship another. God, Rome, Spain - to sit at the feet of powerful men and resent its own weakness.
99 notes · View notes
speakofcompersion · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Minho's adventures in Rome~
130 notes · View notes
you-know-i-get-itt · 15 days ago
Note
Jean playing the drums.........the loud noise would probably stress him out but I think if he was in a safe and comfortable environment it could potentially be a stress reliever instead, not to mention very very attractive. I think he would like learning how to do something with his hands other than Exy, something that would take his whole concentration and really exert him but not put too much pressure on his old injuries. Idk but this feels right to me
Wait now I'm thinking about a Trojans band au 0-0
🦋
ohhhh my god. motorcycle jean AND drummer jean, and i’m supposed to survive this??? accepting this hc immediately i need it to be true
trojans band au!!!! i need electric guitar cat now (motorcycle cat AND electric guitar cat okay then i see how it is. the universe is out to kill me)
40 notes · View notes
traces-to-nowhere · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Conrad Veidt + Letterboxd reviews
87 notes · View notes
sweetsdereese · 5 months ago
Text
Finally, Percy is enrolled in New Rome University! Can’t wait to set up his dorm but he isn’t happy that Annabeth’s dorm is like a 30 minute walk, those are 30 minutes too far.☹️
Tumblr media
76 notes · View notes
sicknessinmotion · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
headfirst by maz rome (@sicknessinmotion).
199 notes · View notes