not-so-great-bull

[not-so-great-bull]

First of all, why would you assume I'm not immortal despite all evidence to the contrary? Have any of you all actually seen me die?

People are right that he's got absolutely no interest in running an actual country or improving anyone's life. To me, there's no way he's considered succession at all.

It's Caesar’s Legion, and nobody else's. It's little more than a glorified raider warband set up to follow his every whim. After that's removed, it doesn't have any purpose for him anyway, so there's no reason to spend time on making sure it lasts.

Hardcore study mode after I post this I miss Legionposting so fucking much they don't make any sense literally how many years does Caesar have to live post-surgery and can you groom a new 'proper' Caesar in that time and if it's Lanius how will you convince him to have a vision that's not Shrug Emoji Caesar's Will when 1st Caesar is DEAD and what will stop Vulpes from being all assassinasty when the target is so huge like god he's so big my heart hurts

And if it's Vulpes taking the Caesar mantle how on earth will the general populace, let alone the military section accepts Vulpes in a way that doesn't involve a massive fucking assassination party across Caesarland with the Fruitymentos boys (whomst!! Has to be loyal to Vulpes??? Trust in frustmintprius??? HOW?)

[not-so-great-bull]

vulpxes​:

On a tyrant’s ears words seldom mean anything. The screams of the damned are nothing but scribbles on sand that get blown away by gusts, re-written and erased until all meaning gets lost;  rinse and repeat. He was too young to understand that. Too young and wild to let his spirit become broken under the weight of oppression. Of one thing he was assured however, if he was to die today, bleed to death under this bastard’s eyes, he would ensure that his gaze were the last thing he would remember, haunt him here, because he would be damned if he allowed himself to not come back and hunt his fucking ass.

He didn’t seek respect. No pitiful cries of mercy did once break from the clenched jaws that ached, numbed against the swipes that clawed at his back from the bull whip. His was defiance. A silent fuck you to hell and back.

Caesar’s attention quickly drained after the creature’s first pathetic attempt at finding it’s feet. He had found it’s defiance amusing, but the young beast before him would certainly be insolent enough to waste whole minutes of his time if he allowed it, struggling for survival as it’s life ebbed out onto the sand.

His hand twitched upward, ever ready to externalise whatever small displeasure burdened Caesar’s mind and have it’s source wiped from the memory of history, as all those who displeased him deserved. It would stop for nothing save the voice of a dead man, rising unbidden from the shroud of his memory.

“Spare Vulpes.”

The words echoed in his skull, drawn from the deepest recesses of another man’s life. He was used to pleas and protestations of this kind. “Take me, but spare my child.” “Please, he’s no more than a boy.” We’ve never fought against you.” “I’ve served you for all my life.” His ears had been defiled by every possible combination of mewls the wretched mass of pain and suffering called humanity could produce.

It could never change anything. Divine justice would not, could not be sullied by the pleadings of the lesser. They could suckle at sweet Mercy’s teat for the whole length of their existences, never seeking nor needing to better themselves. Mars could afford them no tolerance, lest they deprive the worthy of their just rewards.

And yet, Edward thought, this boy could be none other than the Vulpes Joshua  seemed to love so dearly. He could not break this one last promise, of all the others he’d trampled under his boot. In this moment, he would cast it all to the depths of hell. His Legion, his godhood, his very own life, if it meant the safety of the boy. The safety of the promise the last vestige of Edward Sallow had sworn.

Edward shot up, his eyes searching frantically for the child. His courtiers collectively stepped back, surprised and afraid of this unusual burst of speed from their imperiously languid ruler. The child was gone. He’d lost himself in thought and had the poor thing executed without even realising, just as he’d done so many times before. If he’d had a sword, he would have plunged it in his gut.

His eyes followed the trail of blood and sweat to the outside of his tent, the wasteland scorched by endless sunlight, and the child’s body, it’s breathing laboured but clearly visible. Caesar sat back down, suppressing a sigh of relief. He flicked his hand dismissively. “Take it to the priestesses.” His voice betrayed none of the relief that surged throughout his body.

He would be Caesar, if but for a while longer.  He could be nothing more than Caesar. He would be Caesar until the day his skull finally gave out and burst, and put Edward Sallow out of his misery.

#not-so-great-bull #vulpxes #tw-violence #tw-child abuse

[not-so-great-bull]

Exactly, they’d only be for the most rarefied of ears. Can’t expect everyone to get them.

A legion musical would have about as much watchability as a musical about trains or cats in a dumpster.

[not-so-great-bull]

What what fresh hell have you pulled this out of

“You think a Caesar’s Legion musical number would be any good? Or just a bunch ‘a sociopaths way outta tune…” 

#ooc #why

[not-so-great-bull]

1621​:

Malpais - no, Joshua - shook his head once more. All these words sharpened its bladed edge to a startlingly lucid edge, searing him with his own guilt one after another. It was slow, steady, and it was keen to reap his flesh to the core of his bone.

“I know, Edward.” He replied, feeling his throat constrict. “Bill was my best friend. Your best friend.”

He took a deep breath, clasping his hand around the bottle and slamming as much poison into his body as he could. He felt so sick of himself that he wanted to just, leave. This body, this soul, he wanted it all gone, and he washed them down with more and more of his sorrow and whiskey.

“We killed him.” He said. You killed him, Edward, he thought. But what was the use of blame? He refused to listen. He refused to care. And Bill died due to his inaction - to him, that was as equal as plunging the knife through Bill’s chest himself.

“Nothing,” he replied to Edward’s drunken rant. “It meant nothing, Edward. All the things I’ve said and done for you, it meant nothing. At the end of the day we became the very demons we vowed to protect ourselves from, and one day, Eddie, we’ll be asked to pay up.”

He too felt his cheeks sting. He had done so, so much. Look at his hands, the fingers curling up around a bottle of misery and regret. Slick and drenched in the blood, and for what?

“I’ve -” The Legate’s words were hitching in his gullet, struggling to pronounce amidst the weight of his regret. “Given you the world, Edward. And it’s all for nothing.”

Edward collapsed back into his chair, his rage leaving as suddenly as it’d begun, with only hollowness to take it’s place. Most of the sweet, red liquid was dribbling onto his chest now. His fingers had crooked themselves around the neck of a bottle, but accuracy lay far beyond their reach now. Where was all this coming from? He’d never doubted before. There was no conceivable way he could have. Doubt would only have gotten them all killed. He did what he had to do to get them out. He did what he had to do, to make sure they’d never be weak and vulnerable again. To make sure nobody would be weak and vulnerable again.

“We killed him, Joshua.” He echoed again. “We killed Bill. I killed Bill, and I killed you too. And there’s not a single thing that will hold me to task.” Days like these, he wished there were. He thought he had been strong. He thought he could protect his friends. “Maybe,” he chuckled dryly, choking on the poison he was forcing down his mouth. “Maybe I’ve killed me too. Wouldn’t that be funny?” Maybe that cage really did swallow Edward Sallow whole. Caesar wondered where that man would be now, had he walked out of there alive.

“I’ve given you the world.” The words swam at the edge of Edward’s consciousness, striking him awake like the crash of thunder. He looked up, at the face of that one man he’d once known, as it swirled and multiplied itself. “It’s so very heavy, Joshua.” He said calmly. “So damnably heavy.” “You gave me this burden, greatest and sweetest of all, and what have I done with it?” He asked. “I couldn’t even make a single man understand.” He heard the bottle crash onto the floor, as his hands clutched desperately at the other man’s wrists. “I couldn’t even make you understand, Joshua.” His vision finally focused on the man’s icy cold eyes, staring at him from beyond the veil. “And now you’re gone, and I’m left behind, apologising to a dead man.” He felt his arms opening, and then wrapping themselves tightly around the other man’s frame. He sobbed into his shoulder openly. “All I can do is make it all worth it.”

#1621 #not-so-great-bull

[not-so-great-bull]

I SPENT

TOO MUCH TIME

ON THIS

BLAME THIS ANON

#crack #absolute fuckin' BAE #S M O K I N #LOOK AT WHAT SPADE MADE HAKHJFAHGS

[not-so-great-bull]

Hey, do me a favor and like or reblog this if you’re an active Fallout RPer or have a Fallout AU?

(To be clear, this isn’t a masterlist post. It’s in the same area, but it’s more like a headcount of who’s still here.)

[not-so-great-bull]

Edward was much deeper in his cups than his companion. He hated drink, always had. It was his last true love. “You know I’m right,” he said to the shocked figure sitting next to him. “Just-Just look around you, Joshua. What in the name of God have we done?” He sipped his wine again, struggling to hold onto his running tongue. “The only thing I’d wanted, the only goddamn thing I’d wanted was to get us out of that fucking cage alive.”

“And now Bill’s dead! And they call me fucking Mars!” Tears must have been streaming down his face. He could taste the salt in his cup. Why was he crying? He’d only done what he had to, just what he’d had to. He got up, unsteady on his feet, and threw his goblet to the ground in a rage. “What was the fucking point if we just killed him anyway, Joshua? What’s all this for?” He was sobbing now, his fist clutching a fine woven tapestry. He heard it hit the dusty ground soon after. He could feel his chest contracting, and his skull spiking with pain, following the rhythm of his breath.

" we can't keep going on like this " (for a surprisingly lucid Edward)

The Legate looked up from his bottle.

They wallowed in silence, gaze replied with gaze, and he felt it in the pit of his stomach. He felt so revolted of Sallow, of the world - and most importantly of all, of himself.

The two men had been drinking themselves out of their mind, the only way they could sit in a tent together without Malpais trying his best to rile Edward up.

This time, the two sat as friends. War criminals.

Malpais broke his gaze away.  He was about to be sick. In that brief moment of clarity, ironically brought up by revelry in the name of Edward’s libation to Mars, Edward tore the facade of the heartless monster to reveal the scared, confused, and nauseous Joshua Graham.

He opened his mouth, but there were no words. Joshua Graham had been silenced by the murders he had committed. The sins were stacked upon him like a collapsing tower, chip after chip of his armour falling onto the ground into the meek death cries of bodies he dishonoured.

Joshua Graham is a mute there, in the presence of two murderers. And he shook his head in silence still, but inside, he agreed.

#1621 #not-so-great-bull #WHAT HAVE I DONE

[not-so-great-bull]

Okay first of all, they'd love that

And secondly, you can just

Read the book, with your eyes

I mean you can't but generally speaking

“You got me fucked up if you want to name me Labia-whatever, Eddie. What next, Biggus Dickus?”

@not-so-great-bull

[not-so-great-bull]

"Look, I know you're a caveman, but that's not... That's not how you jerk off to a book."

“You got me fucked up if you want to name me Labia-whatever, Eddie. What next, Biggus Dickus?”

@not-so-great-bull

[not-so-great-bull]

Biggus? Honey, please. Don't flatter yourself.

“You got me fucked up if you want to name me Labia-whatever, Eddie. What next, Biggus Dickus?”

@not-so-great-bull

#Crack

[not-so-great-bull]

Yes. Yes it does.

#ooc #1621

[not-so-great-bull]

Soon.

@betterhealing

Caesar’s gaze had been fixed on the Colorado for hours. He’d had his men erect a raised wooden platform and install his throne on it, facing ever westward, as if the very gaze of the Son of Mars would melt the hated foes that squatted beyond the riverbank.

His eyes wandered, as they often had, to the lights of brilliant Vegas. The jewel of the west. The Rome of his grand Legion. Soon, his savages would befoul the waters of this damnable river with their sandals and snuff the life of every last one of the wretches that clung so pathetically to the scraps of a dead world. Soon, he would lay his hands upon the very beating heart of Nevada and tear it out, by his very own tooth and claw. His Legion, his greatest creation, would finally purge the grandest den of iniquity and corruption the world had known. And of it’s corpse, Caesar would mold the heart of the Great Bull of east and west, the glorious God that would lead this faltering world to it’s rebirth. Soon.  Soon could not come soon enough. He could feel it rampaging in it’s skull, the bull that would cleanse the world. He’d lived long with the sound of it’s hooves, the rhythmic drumming of the war drums that would end the world once more. Perhaps, perhaps once he’d finally fulfilled his destiny the beast in his skull would be appeased. Perhaps he could lie down for once without that damnable pounding. Perhaps this symphony of doom was the only destiny in store for him, a terrible and wondrous beast that would burst the skull of a living God in it’s first glorious breath. Perhaps the burden had simply been too great. Caesar had convinced himself that Edward Sallow had burned with Joshua Graham – That his humanity had at long last been divested. And yet, he felt that thing, he who wore the skin of Follower and Tyrant both, bubbling underneath the surface. “ARCADIUS!” He heard his voice cry, as the threw the flap of his tent open. He scarcely remembered how he found himself there. “Attend to me, medicus. I have need of your services.” And of your companionship, Edward thought. It was so very dark. So very cold. Perhaps he ought to have thrown himself in the flames after all.

“ARCADIUS! Where are you, you miserable wretch?” He shouted again, rushing through his tent-palace in a flurry of anger, or of desperation. “ARCADIUS!” A mockery of a name in and of itself. A play on the slave’s birth name, yes, but also the accursed name of an unworthy emperor. A fitting name for the most favoured of the misbegotten lot that served at his beck and call.

The only one who’s face he still remembered. The only one who spoke yet in the tongue of man, and not the mewlings of chattel. The only one who could keep the death locked in his head at bay a moment longer, and grant him restful sleep, if only for a while.

#not-so-great-bull #betterhealing #tw #just tons of genuine despicableness

[not-so-great-bull]

.

I don’t enjoy killing, but when done righteously, it’s just a chore, like any other, woof woof.

#mawpais wegate uwu #and then he gets mad if you call him hound

[not-so-great-bull]

@1621

#the ACTUAL joshuacore #ooc

[not-so-great-bull]

[not-so-great-bull]

Caesar’s ears had heard the melody of two great legions in his long tenure as the Son of Mars. His great Legion, which spoke only of power, glory and victory, a song of pounding drums and flashing blades. And the dirge of legion of slaves that followed at it’s heels. He had heard ten-and-thousand empty threats and ten times that in pleas of mercy. Neither had ever made much of an impact, the empty last breaths of beings unworthy of life, least of all life in his Legion.

He pegged this one as the begging type. The way his skin clung pathetically to it’s bones and it’s tiny, fragile frame made it look particularly suited for a life of begging in the muck, after all. The whip cracked cruelly five, ten, fifteen, twenty times, and more beyond what Caesar thought it amusing to count. And yet, the mewling never came. The creature, the boy, knelt and accepted it’s punishment stoically. Certainly, this was one way to earn his respect, he thought. Had he been a great warrior or a wise tribe leader, it would have earned him the right to die with honour and swiftness, via the severing of the head. He would not have languished on the cross for days before his final moment. But this was neither. It, he was nothing but a mere boy. Was he too stupid to beg? Too broken to fear death? Too wild to realise he would spend his last painful hours nailed to a cross? Caesar did not know. In a rare moment of genuine curiosity for those who appeared before him, he wanted to find out. And, perhaps, in the deepest recesses of his mind, Edward Sallow feared what the beast that once was Joshua Graham would do if this boy perished under his care. He raised his hand lazily once more, thumb outstretched upward. All of his entourage, the greatest and strongest amongst his Legion fell into a stunned silence. The whizzing crack of the whip was silenced at once, it’s last blow striking only the dirt. The sight pleased him greatly; Even he would not have punished Lucius for failing to turn that blow, and yet the praetorian had done so perfectly. “Rise, child,” he commanded, and the guards at the boy’s side went to force him up, but Caesar waved them away. “You have shown more tenacity in the face of just punishment than many greater men than you, and certainly more than any other of whatever misbegotten people my Legion plucked you away from.” He leaned forward, finally deigning to look the child deep in it’s piercing eyes. His own betrayed no emotion, and yet this was the first time in many long hours when he had broken his comfortable posture. “Arise, and leave my presence by your own power. Or crawl. It makes no difference to me.” He leaned back once more. “Do this, and tell all who would hear that you have earned the clemency of the Son of Mars, or lay your life forfeit at my feet.”

not-so-great-bull​:

Caesar paid little attention to the wounds of his soldiers. Had he had noticed, perhaps he may have been entertained, or even suitably impressed that a creature as pitiful as this had managed any resistance at all. But all of his attention was focused on the thing he had called child but a few moments ago. His error was clearer than the morning sun to him now; for the thing that kneeled before his throne could be no fruit of man.

At the very least, laying eyes upon the wretch had given answer enough to why Graham would take interest in it’s continued existence. The familial resemblance was almost palpable. A half-wild half-man and this thing, born of the unholy coupling of dog and man, if the savages he subjugated were worthy of the name, before having known his civilisation by his hand. Certainly, they made fitting companions, but the fact that his hound yet understood the meaning of companionship, could see it’s own broken self in this shell of a thing brought Caesar a rare moment of mirth. Perhaps he would have his Labienus after all, however long it took. He raised a hand to dismiss it, send it back to whatever hole his praetorians had dug it out of, when at length it opened it’s mouth to utter something that sounded suspiciously like language, however base and unworthy of his ears the sounds it chose to use. “Ah,” he exclaimed, wordlessly motioning to his trusted Lucius to begin administering the punishment. “So you do speak. Your father could have been no dog, then. A Nightstalker, perhaps? He seems to have imparted a measure of low cunning upon you.” He had chosen a dutiful servant in Lucius, he thought. His whip strokes fell swift and harsh upon the thing’s back, but neither their crack nor the pathetic mewlings it emitted in response were allowed to sully his words. “Was this the custom of your dead people, I wonder? To lay with the basest beasts of the wasteland? Or were you as abominable before your own kin as you are now, kneeling before my own eyes?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know you son of a bitch?” he growled trying to shake off the boot that had settled itself between his shoulder and neck. “Mater tua est verisimile eiusdem generis canum !”

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#vulpxes #not-so-great-bull #tw child abuse #tw