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masteryaddleisagilf · 1 year

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Worm Fic Recs

Parahumans/Worm Fanfic that I like and I think you should read:

Paper and Sand by FifteenBadgers

“Inspired by an old thread about the [Thinker] surviving and turning any cape who beats Scion...”

Really well written and a fun to read story. Khepri is terrifying and yet so endearing.

I Woke Up As a Dungeon, Now What? by Aku-dono

Pure LitRPG. If you like LitRPG, read this, it’s great. If you don’t know what it is, give it a try, this is a good place to start.

Basically: Taylor is now a dungeon, she wants to help, and there is a whole world out there trying to implode in itself.

Stepfather would be the closest word but it doesn’t quite fit by WhyWhyNot

An interesting AU where Danny and Armsmaster start dating. Some great comedy, world building and alternate events. Really fun and it gives Taylor and Armsmaster a different dynamic that still works and is quite interesting to read.

Adept (At Magic) by WafflesAndCoffee

One-Shot. Early trigger Taylor leads to her believing she has magic. Really fun.

Worm: I'm gonna kill him. by Fabius Maximus

“When Eden woke up to find herself splattered all over a planet, she realized that 1. something was wrong. 2. It was probably her idiot counterpart's fault, and 3. She wasn't going to get her nap. A story where the cycles are something quite different from what Cauldron believes and an Entity wakes up i an grumpy mood and does her best to help.”

Hilarious. 10/10. I love it.

The Case of the Disappeared Villain by stabbyunicorn

“Did Mr. Gladly hate her? A half-semester group project with Sophia and Madison, and they had to write fifteen pages on Lustrum? “Radical feminist who castrated men” didn’t quite cut it.

But as Taylor, Sophia, and Madison investigate, they begin to wonder if Lustrum was really a villain at all… and someone doesn’t want them to ever learn the truth.“

Really good. It is amazingly written and has a very good plot. Also, it’s complete, which is always a plus in Worm Fanfic

Terrible(ly) Racist. by Sir Bill

So stupid. I love it.

One-shot. Comedy. Must read

Think Tank by asododsteel

One-Shot. I really like this one.

“I heard a knock at the door.

“Strange,” I thought. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and Dad said he was working late. I walked over and opened the door.

“Hello.” said Alexandria, “May I come in?”“

And last but never least, my all time favorite Worm fic:

...Who Needs Enemies? by The Steve

“Picture an Alien Space Battleship, given sentience and orders to pat you on the head. First, it'd have to find you, destroying the roads and buildings along the way to get to you. Then it'd burst through the wall, lacking hands to open a door. Then it'd have to swivel a turret in your direction, find it's a bit too high, and have to tilt it's entire body a bit more in your direction and carefully not fall over. Then it'd bring the turret carefully up and down on your head. Now imagine it had to make you toast...”

So, so good. So much plot and so interesting. Really good. 100/10, I reread it all the time.

#worm #parahumans #taylor hebert #fanfic recs #i recently reblogged a post #that encouraged people to make more rec lists #so i gotta do my part

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zanmor · 7 months

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top 5 roman deaths that could have changed the world

5. quintus fabius maximus verrucosus

hannibal is rampaging across italy, destroying every army the romans raise against him in humiliating defeats. fabian becomes dictator and proceeds to do... nothing. but it works and just keeping a roman army in the field without leading them all to their deaths is important. other commanders adopt his strategy of not engaging unless victory is certain. probably he's why rome survives the second punic war and eventually is able to go on to win it. what if instead he had been assassinated for his 'cowardice' or 'treason' in refusing to confront hannibal head on. what if instead the roman empire had died in the cradle and the carthaginian empire had been born, having conquered its greatest rival.

4. marcus licinius crassus

imagine the dude kicks the bucket on the eve of his debacle in parthia. instead of leading these men and his son to their deaths in the desert sands, the army is mustered and ready to march off but he dies and his son takes over instead. would he have made the same disastrous mistakes as his father or would he have returned to rome a conquering hero greater than gaius julius?

3. constantine the great

diocletian had all his ducks in a row with the previous emperors retiring and their caesars rising to the rank of co-augusti. but constantine (and others who felt their right to inherit the empire was being unduly ignored, but constantine was most successful) is here to fuck all that up. suppose instead he gets trounced at the milvian bridge and even dies or is captured (and then executed). maybe diocletian's succession sticks and becomes a precedent where every 10 years the augusti step down and their caesars step up. and more importantly, maybe the empire never becomes christian.

2. irene of athens

what if instead of blinding her own son and damning her line she had instead kicked the bucket and let the seemingly capable emperor take full control? this period is so wild and so scant for sources that it's even harder to imagine how this counterfactual might play out than any of the others but certainly blinding and killing your only heir isn't a strong play.

antoninus pius

he was supposed to keep the seat warm after hadrian died until marcus aurelis could take over as a capable and long-reigning man. but the 54-year-old kept on kicking for another 23 years, keeping marcus bottled up in the capital with him. even assuming shit still hits the fan upon his death and rome is attacked by those who had been peaceful under the capable emperors hadrian and antoninus pius, rome might have been better able to fend it off a decade earlier. because a decade later a plague was making fighting a war and keeping the army supplied and manned a debilitating task, especially for a man who spend 23 years essentially bookkeeping alongside the emperor.

#ancient rome #roman empire #byzantine empire #what if #counterfactual #pretty light on the byzantines #but these are the what ifs I personally wonder the most about

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toomanyrobins2 · 2 years

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Are You Bald?

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

NOVEMBER

Bruce was once again staring at the clock. It was the 30th of November and he wanted that letter. The October one had been multiple pages and he found himself returning to them at least once a week. He’d even wrote notes in the margin of her assignment she’d sent. In the middle of stuffing it into an envelope, he’d realized what he was doing and threw it across the room. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he heard the doorknob start to turn and quickly looked back at the papers on his desk, trying to seem as though he hadn’t anxiously been awaiting Alfred.

The older man placed the letter down on the desk and as soon as the door was shut behind him, Bruce was tearing into the letter:

15th NOVEMBER

Dear Batman,

Listen to what I've learned today:

The area of the convex surface of the frustum of a regular pyramid is half the product of the sum of the perimeters of its bases by the altitude of either of its trapezoids. It doesn't sound true, but it is--I can prove it!

You've never heard about my clothes, have you? Six dresses, all new and beautiful and bought for me--not handed down from somebody bigger. Perhaps you don't realize what a climax that marks in the career of an orphan? You gave them to me, and I am very, very, VERY much obliged. It's a fine thing to be educated--but nothing compared to the dizzying experience of owning six new dresses. After wearing gingham nearly all my life, this is truly a gift I will never forget. Barbara Gordon came with me to pick them out and tell me what looks good on me. Apparently, because of my skin, I must be careful with my dress. This is a different kind of education from the one you planned for me, but it is apparently very important according to Barbara. I have an evening dress, green mull over silk (I'm perfectly beautiful in that), and a blue church dress, and a dinner dress of royal purple, and another of pale yellow challis, and a grey street suit, and an every-day dress for classes. That wouldn't be an awfully big wardrobe for Harriet Kane, perhaps, but for Y/N Abbott--Oh, my! Of course, one dress would have to be yellow, but it's very pale, nearly a cream. I was worried about the green dress with my hair. I feared I would look like a tree of a person, but Babs was right it is a splendid color. Apparently, I have the perfect coloring for jewel tones. Who knew?

I suppose you're thinking now what a frivolous, shallow little beast she is, and what a waste of money to educate a girl? When I started high school, I entered another period even worse than the checked ginghams.

You can't know how I dreaded appearing in school in those miserable poor-box dresses. I was perfectly sure to be put down in class next to the girl who first owned my dress, and she would whisper and giggle and point it out to the others. The bitterness of wearing your enemies' cast-off clothes eats into your soul. If I wore silk stockings for the rest of my life, I don't believe I could obliterate the scar.

LATEST WAR BULLETIN!

News from the Scene of Action.

At the fourth watch on Thursday the 13th of November, Hannibal routed the advance guard of the Romans and led the Carthaginian forces over the mountains into the plains of Casilinum. A cohort of light-armed Numidians engaged the infantry of Quintus Fabius Maximus. Two battles and light skirmishing. Romans were repulsed with heavy losses.

I have the honour of being,

Your special correspondent from the front,

Y/N Abbott

PS. I know I'm not to expect any letters in return, and I've been warned not to bother you with questions, but tell me, Bats, just this once--are you awfully old or just a little old? And are you perfectly bald or just a little bald? It is very difficult thinking about you in the abstract like a theorem in geometry.

Given a tall, rich man who hates girls, but is very generous to one quite impertinent girl, what does he look like?

R.S.V.P.

Staring down at the letter, Bruce felt slightly put-out. The last letter had been nearly five pages. This was just one. One page front and back. What did he care about pyramids? Where was the discussion of her life, of basketball, and Barbara. He’d even take an update on the insufferable Harriet Kane. Throwing the letter onto the desk, Bruce leaned back in his chair and scowled at it.

DECEMBER

19th DECEMBER

Dear Batman,

You never answered my question and it was very important. ARE YOU BALD?

I have it planned exactly what you look like--very satisfactorily--until I reach the top of your head, and then I AM stuck. I can't decide whether you have white hair or black hair or sort of sprinkly grey hair or maybe none at all.

But the problem is, shall I add some hair to your portrait?

Would you like to know what color your eyes are? They're grey, and your eyebrows stick out like a porch roof (beetling, they're called in novels), and your mouth is a straight line with a tendency to turn down at the corners. Oh, you see, I know! You're a snappy old thing with a temper.

(Chapel bell.) 9.45 p.m.

I have a new unbreakable rule: never, never study at night no matter how many written reviews are coming in the morning. Instead, I read just plain books--I have to, you know because there are eighteen blank years behind me. You wouldn't believe what an abyss of ignorance my mind is; I am just realizing the depths myself. The things that most girls with a properly assorted family and a home and friends and a library know by absorption, I have never heard of. For example:

I never read Mother Goose or David Copperfield or Ivanhoe or Cinderella or Blue Beard or Robinson Crusoe or Jane Eyre or Alice in Wonderland or a word of Rudyard Kipling. I didn't know that Henry the Eighth was married more than once or that Shelley was a poet. I didn't know that people used to be monkeys and that the Garden of Eden was a beautiful myth. I didn't know that R. L. S. stood for Robert Louis Stevenson or that George Eliot was a lady. I had never seen a picture of the Mona Lisa and (it's true but you won't believe it) I had never heard of Sherlock Holmes.

Now, I know all of these things and a lot of others besides, but you can see how much I need to catch up. And oh, but it's fun! I look forward all day to evening, and then I put an `engaged' on the door and get into my nice red bathrobe and furry slippers and pile all the cushions behind me on the couch, and light the brass student lamp at my elbow, and read and read and read. One book isn't enough. I have four going at once. Just now, they're Tennyson's poems and Vanity Fair and Sherlock Holmes and--don't laugh--Little Women. I find that I am the only girl in college who wasn't brought up on Little Women. I haven't told anybody though (that WOULD stamp me as weird). I just quietly went and bought it with $1.12 of my last month's allowance; and the next time somebody mentions pickled limes, I'll know what she is talking about!

(Ten o'clock bell. This is a very interrupted letter.)

SATURDAY

Sir,

I have the honor to report fresh explorations in the field of geometry. On Friday last we abandoned our former works in parallelepipeds and proceeded to truncated prisms. We are finding the road rough and very uphill.

SUNDAY

The Christmas holidays begin next week and the trunks are up. The corridors are so filled up that you can hardly get through, and everybody is so bubbling over with excitement that studying is getting left out. I'm going to have a beautiful time on vacation; there's another Freshman who lives in Texas staying behind, and we are planning to take long walks and if there's any ice-- learn to skate. Then there is still the whole library to be read--and three empty weeks to do it in!

Goodbye, Batman, I hope that you are feeling as happy as am.

Yours ever,

Y/N

PS. Don't forget to answer my question. If you don't want the trouble of writing, have your secretary telegraph. Just say: Mr. Smith is quite bald, or Mr. Smith is not bald, or Mr. Smith has white hair. And you can deduct the twenty-five cents out of my allowance. Goodbye till January--and a merry Christmas!

TOWARDS THE END OF THE CHRISTMAS VACATION…exact date unknown

Dear Batman,

Is it snowing where you are? All the world that I see from my tower is draped in white and the flakes are coming down as big as popcorns. It's late afternoon--the sun is just setting (a cold yellow color) behind some colder violet hills, and I am up in my window seat using the last light to write to you.

Your five gold pieces were a surprise! I'm not used to receiving Christmas presents. You have already given me such lots of things-- everything I have, you know--that I don't quite feel that I deserve extras. But I like them just the same. Do you want to know what I bought with my money?

I. A silver watch in a leather case to wear on my wrist and get me to recitations in time.

II. Matthew Arnold’s poems

III. A hot water bottle

IV. A steamer rug, because my tower is dreadfully cold.

V. 500 sheets of yellow manuscript paper

VI. A dictionary of synonyms. (To enlarge this author's vocabulary.)

VII. (I don't much like to confess this last item, but I will.) A pair of silk stockings.

And now, never say I don't tell all! It was a very low motive, if you must know it, that prompted the silk stockings. Harriet Kane comes into my room to do geometry, and she sits cross-legged on the couch and wears silk stockings every night. But just wait--as soon as she gets back from vacation I shall go in and sit on her couch in my silk stockings. You see, the miserable creature that I am but at least I'm honest; and you knew already, from my record, that I wasn't perfect, didn't you?

To recapitulate (that's the way the English instructor begins every other sentence), I am very much obliged for my seven presents. I'm pretending to myself that they came in a box from my family in California. The watch is from my father, the rug from my mother, the hot water bottle from my grandmother who is always worrying for fear I shall catch a cold in this climate--and the yellow paper from my little brother Harry. My sister Isabel gave me the silk stockings, and Aunt Susan the Matthew Arnold poems; Uncle Harry (little Harry is named after him) gave me the dictionary. He wanted to send chocolates, but I insisted on synonyms. You don't object, do you, to playing the part of a composite family? And now, shall I tell you about my vacation, or are you only interested in my education as such? I hope you appreciate the delicate shade of meaning in `as such'. It is the latest addition to my vocabulary.

The Senior girl from Texas is named Diana Prince. I like her, but not so much as Barbara Gordon; I shall never like anyone so much as Babs--except you. I must always like you the best of all because you're my whole family rolled into one. Diana and I and two Sophomores have walked 'cross country’ every pleasant day and explored the whole neighborhood, dressed in short skirts and knit jackets and caps, and carrying shiny sticks to whack things with. Once we walked into town--four miles-- and stopped at a restaurant where the college girls go for dinner. Broiled lobster (35 cents), and for dessert, buckwheat cakes and maple syrup (15 cents). Nourishing and cheap. It was such a lark! Especially for me, because it was so awfully different from the orphanage--I feel like an escaped convict every time I leave the campus. Before I thought, I started to tell the others what an experience I was having. The cat was almost out of the bag when I grabbed it by its tail and pulled it back. It's awfully hard for me not to tell everything I know. I'm a very confiding soul by nature; if I didn't have you to tell things to, I'd burst.

We had a molasses candy pull last Friday evening, given by the house matron of Fergusson to the left-behinds in the other halls. There were twenty-two of us altogether, Freshmen and Sophomores and Juniors and Seniors all united in amicable accord. The kitchen is huge, with copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone wall-- the littlest casserole among them about the size of a wash boiler. Four hundred girls live in Fergusson. The chef, in a white cap and apron, fetched out twenty-two other white caps and aprons-- I can't imagine where he got so many--and we all turned ourselves into cooks.

It was great fun, though I have seen better candy. When it was finally finished, and ourselves and the kitchen and the door-knobs all thoroughly sticky, we organized a procession and still in our caps and aprons, each carrying a big fork or spoon or frying pan, we marched through the empty corridors to the officers' parlor, where half-a-dozen professors and instructors were passing a tranquil evening. We serenaded them with college songs and offered refreshments. They accepted politely but dubiously. We left them sucking chunks of molasses candy, sticky and speechless.

So you see, Bats, my education progresses!

Don't you really think that I ought to be an artist instead of an author? Vacation will be over in two days and I shall be glad to see the girls

again. My tower is just a trifle lonely; when nine people occupy a house that was built for four hundred, they do rattle around a bit.

Eleven pages, you must be tired! I meant this to be just a short little thank-you note--but when I get started I seem to have a ready pen.

Goodbye, and thank you for thinking of me--I should be perfectly happy except for one little threatening cloud on the horizon. Examinations come in February.

Yours with love,

Y/N

PS. Maybe it isn't proper to send love? If it isn't, please excuse me. But I must love somebody and there's only you and Mother Waller to choose between, so you see--you'll HAVE to put up with it because I can't love her.

Bruce felt like a dirty old man. He couldn't stop the picture of Y/N in her robe and silk stockings. He sat in his study, trying to fight off the images. It was too easy to imagine her sitting in his favorite chair by the fireplace in his study while he worked. She would pad in quietly, her messy locks hanging freely over her shoulders, and head straight for his books. Completely ignoring him and yet, it was the definition of domestic bliss.

He shook his head and, too violently, shoved the newest letter with the others. “You keep the letters?” Clark’s voice startled Bruce, not that he’d ever admit it, “You’ve never done that before.”

“They are entertaining. She is studying to be a writer after all.”

“Of course," Clark just smiled like he knew a secret that Bruce wasn’t privy to, "Now, can we go? The host disappearing from his own New Years' party is never a good look. Lois has called for us three times?"

"Yes, fine." Bruce stood up and stared down at the drawer again. he couldn't help but wonder what Y/N was doing to celebrate.

#toomanyrobins #Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne imagine #Bruce Wayne x reader #battison #battison imagine #battison x reader #Batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #batfam #batfamily #batfam imagine #dc comics #dcu imagine #✉️

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amberthefantasy · 4 months

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Nitimur in Vetitum

chapter one: sanguis (blood)

"Lucretia Julia Caesaris, or as she would be known to history, Empress Lucretia, is one of the most powerful women in the history of Europe, if not the world. However, just hours after the death of Gaius Julius Caesar the 19 year old could never have imagined what she would become." -Roman Women: The Women Who Influenced the History of Rome by Paul Chrystal

Ides of March in the Year of Caesar and Antonius (15th March, 44 BCE)

Lucretia was terrified, but even that may not be a strong enough word to describe her emotions in this moment. Her father's corpse was laid out before her, blood still seeping from the wounds upon his body. No words would come to her, even as Silvius placed a hand on her back and attempted to lead her away from the corpse. "No," Lucretia snapped, pushing her husband's hand off, "I will stay with him."

"Lucretia, he is gone. We must find Marcus Antonius and figure out what must be done," Silvius said in his regular shaky voice.

"No," she repeated, "go if you will, find Antonius. But I will remain by my father's side until his bones have burnt to ash and his blood has watered the roots of the earth."

"You, woman, are too stubborn for your own good," the man snapped, but he didn't argue with her again, simply turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"Why pater? why was he the man you chose? and why did you leave me alone with him?" Lucretia had spent years of her life after when it would be proper for a Roman woman to marry without a single suiter. Her father had always told Lucretia that she could pick her husband, a man she enjoyed. That was until December of the year before, when he had informed her that she was to marry Silvius Fabius Maximus, a friend of her fathers. Lucretia had been furious. Until the exact day of her wedding, she'd screamed and raged at her father. Silvius was not a very attractive man and they'd never been close.

But Lucretia was a roman woman, and roman women did what they were told. So in ianuarius of that year, they had married. Though Lucretia had refused to let him into her bed. He could try, and he had, multiple times since their wedding but Lucretia would not change her mind. She didn't care for him and she would not lose her virtue to a man she did not care for.

Now, just two months later, here she was alone and bloodied. Holding the limp hand of her murdered father.

There was no sound in the darkened house.

It was a long while before anyone entered the house. Calpurnia, her stepmother, had retreated to her chambers in tears when the body was brought in. Now she returned to the tablinum where Caesar's body lay. Three slaves followed behind her, two with buckets in hand. "Lucretia, my sweet, we must prepare the body"

Lucretia blinked, "a moment more stepmother."

Calpurnia sighed, "Nerva, place the cypress at the door." One of the slaves bowed, taking two branches in his hands and heading towards the entrance way. "Come now sweet Lucretia, we have grieved for hours. His body has cooled, we must clean it and prepare for the proper ceremonies."

Lucretia sat still for another moment, her hand laid across the cold body of her father, "yes, yes we must."

Lucretia stood and took one of the cloths from a slave who she did not recognize. She dipped the cloth into one of the buckets and pressed the water onto his bloodied arm. Calpurnia smiled and began to help, "where is the undertaker?" the older woman asked.

"From what I've heard, the streets have been cleared. No one will come here, not for him ," Lucretia whispered, it was bad form to speak loudly around the recently deceased. "Gaius Julius Caesar."

"Gaius Julius Caesar," Calpurnia repeated, and from them they fell into silence. Simply pressing soaked cloths into the bloody skin of the dictator and watching the watered blood run onto the tiled ground beneath them.

It was after dawn the next morning when they were joined by another. And soon many friends of her father's joined them in the household. Silvius had managed to find Marcus Antonius and had brought the consul to their home to plan their next move.

Now Lucretia and Calpurnia were forced to sit in the atrium and wait for the men to tell them what to do.

"I hate this," Lucretia finally snapped, "sitting here, waiting for them to finish their plans. Plans that no doubt will be foolish and rash, given the temperaments of the men in the room."

"Come now my sweet, what else would you have be done?" Calpurnia said softly, reaching out to take Lucretia's hand.

"I don't know, perhaps we shall go to the murderers and take the blood that is owed us!"

"You would have them hunt the conspirators down and kill them all? That is not possible, many support those men and they have many powerful positions-"

Lucretia scoffed, cutting her stepmother off mid sentence, "I would have my own knife pearce their hearts."

"Lucretia-" Calpurnia began with a chiding note to her voice.

"Do not! Do not chide me for wanting vengeance upon those who have slain my father!" Lucretia snapped at her, standing in a single sharp movement.

"It would not be-" Calpurnia tried again.

"-proper? No it would not, but I do not care, my FATHER was murdered and I will have my revenge upon his killers," she hissed, leaning towards the older woman with narrowed eyes.

"What are you ladies discussing?" Marcus Antonius's voice cut off whatever Calpurnia was going to say in response.

"How I shall take my vengeance upon those who killed my father," Lucretia said, turning to him with a smile.

"Oh? Well, perhaps you shall, but not today. Today I will call a senate meeting and then we shall open your father's will once I have discovered the extent of the conspirators' plans," Antonius told her, already fixing the toga clasp at his shoulder.

Lucretia nodded, watching the man, and some others that had joined in the planning, exit the house. "Do not fret my love," Silvius's voice came from close beside her as he placed his hand upon her hip. Lucretia cringed away from him and shot a glare to her right. He didn't react, "Antonius shall ensure we are safe."

"I do not care for my safety, I want my vengeance." Lucretia repeated, pushing his hand away and returning to her father's side. "And I will have it, I will."

Lucretia was furious again. Antonius stood before her, the two were alone as Calpurnia had left to retrieve her father's will from its place in the Temple of Vesta and Silvius had escorted her. "What do you mean you have given them an amnesty?" Lucretia hissed.

"It was best for us all, Lucretia. If I did not grant them an amnesty for the murder they would have named it a tyrannicide, then all would be lost." Antonius said in a placating voice.

"They could not name it such. If they named the murder a tyrannicide then all my fathers laws and appointments would be null and void. They would lose all positions granted to them by him, and the people would be furious."

Antonius raised an eyebrow, "you... know quite a bit about politics then?"

"My father wanted me educated as he would educate a son," Lucretia proudly stated, raising her head slightly. She had expected that reaction, she always got it. Men were always surprised when she revealed her knowledge on these things. She told truth, as to why she knew them, her father had gifted her many books and scrolls full of things that women would not often be taught. He had also spent hours telling her about the decisions he was making in the Senate. She was after all his only blood child, so she had to be informed of the family's political moves.

"How kind of a father he was," Antonius said, though there was an odd note to his voice. At that moment Calpurnia and Silvius reentered the room.

"Porcius," Calpurnia called to one of the slaves, "read this for us."

The pale slave took the will and opened it. The door opened suddenly before he could begin speaking. "Cousin Atia!" Lucretia called, standing to give the new arrivals a proper greeting.

"Cousin Lucretia," Atia smiled, her daughter Octavia stood behind her smiling, "how I have missed your presence, but oh what a terrible way to meet."

Lucretia nodded and smiled softly, taking Octavia in hand and greeting her as well. "Yes well, you have arrived just in time to hear his last wishes."

The three took their seat and Lucretia waved towards the slave, "well, read on."

He bowed, cleared his throat and began. "I, Gaius Julius Caesar do hereby confirm that this is my final will and testament. Having made due provision with the well-being and security of my honest and dutiful wife, Calpurnia, et cetera. I leave the sum of 75 denarii to every enrolled citizen and I gift my gardens to the citizens of Rome to use as they please.

My name and the remainder of my estate, with all legal obligations and benefits, all remaining property, gold, silver, and other monies, I leave to Gaius Octavius. Who is henceforth to be regarded for all intents and purposes and my lawful son and heir."

There was silence. "Gaius Octavius? Cousin Gaius?" Lucretia asked softly.

"My Gaius..." Atia whispered, "adopted... heir?"

"Well, isn't that wonderful," Antonius said, though he didn't sound like he found it wonderful.

"Gaius, he will be..." yes Lucretia could work with Gaius. From what she knew of her cousin, he was a good man, a young one and a promiscuous one, but a good man nonetheless. And if Lucretia could get him to see that her marriage was failing, that would change things. As her new pater familias Gaius would be able to request her marriage be annulled because of its lack of consummation. She just hoped he would return to Rome and accept his adoption.

"Now we have a funeral to plan." Lucretia said.

16th Day before the Kalends of May (16th April, 44 BCE)

This day Lucretia was delighted. Gaius was returning to Rome. For two weeks now, Lucretia had been full of both delight and righteous anger. The day of her father's funeral, on the 13th day before the Kalends of April, those who led the murder of her father had fled the city. This had made Lucretia happy of course, they deserved to fear the anger of the people they had wronged. But it had also made her angry for it robbed her of the chance to plot her vengeance.

Today though, she felt the delight more than the anger. Her cousin, her new pater familias if all went well, was returning to Rome to claim his inheritance. Lucretia hoped that the young man would be helpful in her plans.

"Lucretia! He's here," Atia called.

Lucretia smiled, standing and heading to the entrance of the home. Once she reached the door, she saw the man that had returned to Rome. Gaius's hair had grown out some since he had left for Greece, now it sat just above his shoulders in soft waves. His tunic was pale in colour and tied with a golden belt. "Gaius!" Atia called for her son, taking his head in hand.

"Mother," Gaius smiled, offhandedly giving one of the slaves his horse's reins, "I've missed you."

One of the men behind him dismounted as well, and smiled at Atia. "Agrippa," she smiled, kissing him as well. "I am happy you have returned with my son."

"I am happy to have returned as well," the man, Agrippa said. Lucretia had heard of him, though they had never met face to face before.

"Cou... sister," Gaius said with a smile.

"Brother," Lucretia stepped forward to give him a kiss in greeting, "you are accepting the adoption then?"

"Of course," Gaius said, glancing at his mother, who pursed her lips but didn't speak.

Lucretia looked between them for a moment, before turning to the other man. "I do not believe we have met, I am Lucretia Julia Caesaris of the Julii."

He smiled at her and stepped forward to kiss her cheeks, "it's a pleasure, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa."

They smiled at each other for a moment. "Well," Gaius cut in, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "what have I missed?"

NiV masterlist / full masterlist

#domina mgm+#domina2021 #fanfic #oc

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msclaritea · 1 year

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A Brief History Of Fabianism: Co-opting The Left And Right

"..

Early Fabians tended to downplay their interest in—or debt to—Karl Marx but there can be little doubt that they were inspired by his work, directly or otherwise. I say directly because Marx lived in London from 1849 up to his death in 1883, and spent countless hours working on his Das Kapital in the reading room of the British Museum (which then housed the British Library collection). George Bernard Shaw was introduced to Marx's work by Henry Hyndman, who discovered The Communist Manifesto in 1864 and formed Britain's first socialist political party, The Social Democratic Federation, in 1881. He was the first author to popularize Marx's works in English and introduced them to Shaw around 1882. The Fellowship of the New Life (which later became the Fabian Society) was founded the following year, in 1883, the year of Marx's death.1 Shaw described Marx's Kapital as not a treatise on Socialism: it is a jeremiad against the bourgeoisie…. It was addressed to the working classes; but the working man respects the bourgeoisie, and wants to be a bourgeois. Marx never got a hold of him for a moment. It was the revolting sons of the bourgeoisie itself…like myself, bourgeois, who painted the flag red. The professional and penniless younger son classes are the revolutionary element in society: the proletariat is the Conservative element…. Marx made me a Socialist and saved me from becoming a literary man. (1949, pp. 49–50) The Fellowship of the New Life dissolved in 1898, after which the Fabian Society grew to become a preeminent academic society in the UK. Many Fabians participated in the formation of England's Labour Party in 1900. The party's constitution, written by Sidney Webb, borrowed heavily from the founding documents of the Fabian Society. As seen in the Labour Party Foundation Conference in 1900, the Fabian Society claimed 861 members and sent one delegate. (See World Heritage Encyclopedia, no date given.) The Society grew throughout 1930–1940 over many countries under the British rule, and many future leaders of these countries were influenced by the Fabians during their struggles for independence from the British. These

leaders included India's Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru (whose fashion sense—“the Nehru jacket”—influenced the counterculture2), Obafemi Awolowo, who later became the premier of Nigeria's defunct Western Region, and the founder of Pakistan, barrister Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Lee Kuan Yew, the first prime minister of Singapore, had a political philosophy strongly influenced by the Fabian Society. In the twenty-first century, the Fabian Society's influence is felt through Labour Party leaders and former prime ministers of Great Britain, such as Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. The name Fabian was apparently suggested by the spiritualist Frank Podmore, after the brilliant third century Roman general, Quintus Fabius (Maximus Verrucosus, 303-203 BC). Fabius was made a dictator in 221-217 BC, and, with a small band of fighting guerrillas and superior cunning, successfully defended Rome from Hannibal's mighty Carthaginian army. Fabius's tactics involved “gradualism” and “terrorism,” delaying tactics which were greatly disapproved of by his soldiers and the civilians, and which earned him the name of “the Delayer.” After these tactics triumphed, however, his skill and wisdom was more appreciated. Moving past the more or less established history of Fabianism, I found a compelling, and damning, description of the Fabian plan as central to the whole “New World Order” millennia-long Conspiracy (big “C”), in an archived essay called “Fabian Influence on Council Developments in New Zealand” (Christian, 2006). One premise of the information was that the Fabian Society was behind the various Labour movements in Britain and that it concealed elitist, and even capitalist, interests. This was something I could vouch for from direct experience, having grown up in a wealthy socialist family (we were called “champagne socialists”) who were above all business people but also actively involved in local (and, I was slowly discovering, global) politics, in seemingly reformist and New Left movements such as the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), all having, sometimes obvious sometimes less so, ties to the Fabian Society..."

The Vice of Kings: How Socialism, Occultism and The Sexual Revolution Engineered A Culture of Abuse

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