In June 45 BC, Marcus Junius Brutus divorced his first wife Claudia (despite being the daughter of one of his best allies) and married Porcia -or Portia- Catonis, Cato’s daughter. The marriage caused a scandal as Brutus failed to state a valid reason for his divorce other than he ‘truly wished to marry Porcia’. Furthermore, it also caused a rift between Brutus and his mother, who resented the affection Brutus had for his new wife Porcia. She is depicted as being beautiful, full of an understanding courage with an affectionate nature and addicted to philosophy. It appears that Porcia genuinely loved Brutus and both partners seems to have been devoted to each other. They had a son, who died in 43 BC. In 44 BC, Brutus, along with many other co-conspirators, murdered Caesar. He confided in Porcia of the plot to assassinate Caesar, and as sign of his trust, she is credited as being the only woman aware of the plot. Some contemporaries believe that Porcia might have been involved in the conspiracy itself, as her father had been previously Caesar’s greatest enemy in the Senate. On the day of Caesar’s assassination, Porcia is reported to have been extremely disturbed with anxiety and she sent messengers to the Senate to check that her husband was still alive. She worked herself up to the point whereupon her fainting, her maids feared that she was dying. When Brutus and the other assassins fled Rome to Athens, Porcia stayed in Italy. She was overcome with grief to part from Brutus, but tried hard to conceal it. In the biography Marcus Brutus, the historian Plutarch states that Brutus hearing about his wife’s state, said of Porcia “though the natural weakness of her body hinders her from doing what only the strength of men can perform, she has a mind as valiant and as active for the good of her country as the best of us.” In 43 BC, he was declared murderer and enemy of the state for Julius Caesar’s assasination. In 42 BC, Brutus rallied his troops, who totalled about 17 legions. Octavian and Antonius teamed up to face him with their 19 legions. The two armies met in the Battle of Philippi, and the engagement ended in Brutus’ defeat. Knowing that he would be captured, Brutus committed suicide. His wife Porcia was reported to have committed suicide upon hearing of her husband’s death —however modern historians find this tale questionable. According to the historian Garry Wills “Porcia died of illness before the battle of Philippi (…) but Valerius Maximus [mistakenly] wrote that she killed herself at news of Brutus’s death in that battle.“ The claim that Porcia’s death occurring a few weeks before that of Brutus is backed up by a letter sent in before the battle of Philippi –it suggests that Porcia did not commit suicide, but died of some lingering illness. As Plutarch states, in the letter Brutus lamented deeply her death and furiously blamed their friends in Rome for not looking after her. There is also an earlier letter from Brutus to Atticus, which hints at Porcia’s illness and concern about her condition. Cicero later wrote to Brutus, consoling him in his heavy grief.
Chiara, Romano, Feliciano, Felicia, Don Julius Daisy, Katarina, Veneziano and Lovino. They are one of the more influential mafia families.
To break it down Don Julius had two sons who each had four children. (Both wives had quintuplets, a freak phenomenon.) Few years after the children are born both of Don’s Julius’s son and his daughter in laws are tragically killed. (One in a drive by and the other execution style.) Leaving Don Julius to care for all 8 children who he loves more than life itself and will not hesitating bribing, extortion or even killing for their happiness.
While those in the black ties (2P versions) are more than happy working for the family. Those in the white ties (1P versions) don’t don’t really have the drive or the brains to run the family and live normal-ish lives.
Here’s an example of normal-ish: After being turned down for every job Lovio and Fellaico ever applied for.They are accepted as meter maids (Who's always shorted on staff because almost everyone hates the parking authority.) Though it only takes a few days for the parking authority to notice they don’t actually carry out their duty while on patrol and threaten to fire them. It’s no surprise that the head of the parking authority gets a knock on his door 2 am in the morning and has a nice chat with Don Julius himself which just happens to change parking authority boss’s opinion on Lovio and Feliaico work ethic resulting in a pay raise of all things.
The same scenario pretty much goes with white tie gals as well. Though I’m not sure what they do. I think I’m going to make Daisy a waitress.
Paring(s): Bellarke, (some) Minty Rated: T Length: 5,035 words Characters: Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake, Octavia Blake, Raven Reyes, Jasper Jordan, Monty Green, Nathan Miller read it on AO3 here
“Clarke had eaten a waffle on the streets of Brussels, ridden a bike through the winding roads of Amsterdam, and walked the grounds of The Tower of London. She’d lounged on a beach in Spain, taken a gondola ride through the breathtaking canals of Venice, and eaten sausage in Berlin. She’d marvelled at Versailles’s Hall of Mirrors, braved her fear of heights to ride the London Eye, felt the sand of Juno Beach beneath her toes, and walked silently through the tombstones of her fallen countrymen who had given their lives on D-Day. She’d stood on the Cliffs of Moher with the wind ripping through her hair, hiked Portugal’s Parque Nacional de Peneda-Gerês, and sampled chocolate in Switzerland.
“Don’t know why we’re doing this anyway,” Harry moaned as he stood sorting his tie out in front of the mirror of the bathroom of the venue.
“Because we said we would. They’re our friends.” The door was slightly ajar, allowing you to talk to him while he styled himself.
“Who has a wedding in December? We’re supposed to be in Rome right now on a romantic trip together before for Christmas and these two decide to spring a wedding on everyone.”
“They didn’t spring it on anyone, Harry. You better paint a smile on that face ASAP, I’m not having you bring my mood down today because you’re pissed off at not getting what you want.”
He came out of the bathroom, plastering a fake smile in your direction, and you walked together through to the room of the old country house where one of your best friends from school was getting married to one of Harry’s best friends. The ceilings were high, painted all the way around, and huge windows filled the room with light. You were both so happy that you’d managed to have an engagement come from your attempts to be Cupid and of course you both instantly knew you’d be at the wedding when they announced it one evening in the pub. The moans from Harry came though when they suddenly changed the date due to their honeymoon and it meant that the trip Harry had planned to Rome for you both had to begin a day later.
You took your seats in the second row, your hand on Harry’s thigh, his face like thunder. The poor guy always wore his heart on his sleeve which was lovely when he was in a happy mood, but not today.
“Harry, please just smile through it. We can leave early later on, if you want, just behave for now.”
The bride looked beautiful in a her white dress, “she shouldn’t be in white…” Harry had remarked when he saw her coming down the aisle, causing you to shake your head at him, and watch as the groom beamed watching her walk down the aisle with her father to meet him.
Harry’s mood didn’t improve throughout the day and he was worse when he got some alcohol in to him at the dinner. Alcohol had the tendency to exacerbate whatever mood he was already in which was great when he was happy and not so good when he was miserable and you genuinely became concerned that he would say something to the happy couple to ruin their day.
“Cheer up, baby. Come dance,” you told him when you spotted him sat in the corner on his phone, a glass of champagne next to him on the table, placing your hands on his arm to try and entice him over. The reception was in full swing in the marquee set up in the garden of the house but since the meal, you’d barely seen Harry and his grumpy face, while you’d been stuffing your face with snacks.
“No,” he shook you from his arm. “I’ll dance when we’re on our hotel balcony in Rome, not here at a fucking wedding I don’t wanna be at.”
“No. You clearly love this wedding so much, you should stay forever, skip our trip to Rome, who gives a fuck about that?”
“You’ve had way too much to drink.”
“Yeah and you said we could leave early so I guess we’ve both done things we shouldn’t.”
“It’s not even 9pm, give me a break.” You rarely got angry at him but he’d been pressing your buttons all day in an attempt to make you feel bad for setting your Rome trip back by a day. He’d been annoyed when you suggested it originally and he was annoyed now.
“I wanna be home and in bed by eleven.”
“So fucking go home, then!”
“Fine.” He got up and started to walk towards the front of the marquee and out towards where the Audi was parked while you continued shaking your head at him.
He knew and you knew he wouldn’t actually leave, he just didn’t want to be stuck inside the wedding so sitting in the car was far away enough. He opened the door and slid inside the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat so he was leaning further back, switched on the radio, and closed his eyes to wait for however long he had to for you to get tired and come out.
You, meanwhile, weren’t going to give in to him and his tantrum that easily, continuing with your evening and mingling with all the other guests until it was getting really late and you thought you’d put Harry through enough waiting and, if you were honest, you were getting tired as well, and began walk back to the car, remembering that you had a spare pair of flats in the boot of the car for this exact reason.
“You, Mr, have had too much to drink to drive home, give me the keys,” you told him when you approached the driver’s side.
“You woke me up.” He was still grumpy but he handed you the keys and climbed over the middle of the car to get to the passenger seat and allow you to slide in behind the steering wheel.
“Good job you have a pregnant wife who can’t drink and is able to drive you home.”
“I’m not gonna apologise.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
Harry stared out the window for most of your hour long drive back in to London, only moving to adjust the music when he didn’t like the song, but most of the drive was completely silent until you were about ten minutes away from the house.
“I didn’t mean to be a dick, yeh know?”
“I didn’t. I just want you, me, and our boy to be away.”
“Who said we’re having a boy?”
“Father’s instinct, that’s who. We don’t get to see each other half as much as we should and I hate our time being messed about with, yeh know what I mean? It’s Christmas soon, I just wanna be around you all the time.” He pleaded.
“H, it’s ok. I kinda wanted to leave when you did but I didn’t want to come across as rude, like you,” you teased.