#1) the imperial march

[imaginative-joy]

BD wonders why he wasn't allowed to get a cool Imperial disguise like Cal at Nova Garon.

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Seeing the same people who perpetuated or sent vicious misogynistic hate to Hannah Schmitz, as well as disgusting racist abuse towards Yuki and Alex because of FUCKING CONSPIRACY THEORIES and those who just straight up ignored it, now up in arms regarding whatever the fuck is going on between the FIA and the wolffs is beginning to piss me off. Because now that it's not someone red bull affiliated involved, it's somehow now unacceptable.

[nando161mando]

Νέο Ηράκλειο αντιφασιστική πορεία 1/11/24

New Heraklion anti-fascist march 1/11/24

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

NEED TO HEAR THIS VERSION OF THE BOTCHED SONG

[xkcdbracket]

Literal March Madness

Imperial March. Star Wars

The Nissan March. A supermini car

[avastrasposts]

Bona Dea - part 2

It was too tempting to continue the story of Marcus Acacius and the woman who shows him how to celebrate Bona Dea so here is part two for your enjoyment!

Warnings: smut, porn with a bit of plot, slaves and really ancient views on women and their status, unprotected sex, Marcus is a stern softie

Bona Dea - part 1

A bit of context for those who don’t know about the status of women in Imperial Rome. In short - women were seen as inferior. Women had no rights, held no influence, couldn’t vote, even if they were Roman citizens. Their main role was to care for the family and honour the family name.

Daughters were married off to whomever their fathers deemed suitable for the family’s gain. Divorce was allowed, as was remarrying. But the marriage was strictly monogamous, for the women and for men. When a woman married, she remained under the control of her father, her husband had no legal control over her. 

During the imperial age, we have some sources indicating that if a father found out his daughter was having an extramarital affair, it was in his right to kill her, he would also be expected to kill her lover. Husbands who found out their wives were cheating could kill the lover, but only if he was a slave or not a Roman citizen. So in this story, our reader's husband could not kill Acacius if he caught his wife committing adultery with him, but her father could (theoretically at least). A woman found out could be divorced by her husband and she was barred from marrying again. She also lost her status in society and some sources claim she’d be made to wear a toga rather than the traditional stola to mark her “fallen” status. For men, under the laws of Augustus, which regulated adultery, a married man who had sex with a slave, a prostitute or a “low class woman” was not considered committing adultery. It was only adultery if the woman was another man’s wife. 

Letica - litter used for carrying people as a mode of transport

Sobrina - female maternal cousin 

“Wife, where are you?” 

Your husband’s voice echoed through the rooms as you heard his sandals slap against the floor. Ordinarily he left you well alone during the day, always busy with affairs and politics. And whores you presumed. But now he was striding into your private thermae, interrupting the servant's gentle massage of your sore body. 

“Here, husband,” you called to him when you realised he wouldn’t relent. 

“There you are, why aren’t you ready yet? Alba, why is your mistress not ready to leave? We need to leave for the feast!” 

You pulled the sheet of the bench around you as you sat up, your servants stepped away and dropped their eyes to the floor. 

“What feast? You have not told me about any feast tonight?” 

“Wife! You will be the death of me! There is a great big army camped outside the town walls, their general is staying in Villa Amira, how many times do I have to tell you, he is hosting a feast for all the town’s dignitaries tonight! Come! Hurry!”

Your husband waved his arms impatiently for you to get up, and you rose up, slow realisation creeping through your limbs. You were certain your husband hadn’t said a word about a feast or an army camped outside the town wall, but that didn’t matter, what mattered was who the general was. Fear made your skin clammy and cold as you tightened the sheet around your body. . 

“Who is this general who so graciously treating us all to a feast?” you asked, praying your voice was steady and betrayed no nerves while your insides churned. 

“General Acacius, returning from his campaigns to the north. He and his officers are resting their men here for a few days before marching on to Rome.” 

You followed your husband as he left the thermae, barely hearing him as he droned on about how important it was to make a good impression on the general, how it would be a wonderful opportunity to make connections, maybe even garner an invite to Rome.

“I’ve heard he is close with the emperors, with his recommendation, I could expand my business, trade in Rome, make some real gold for a change!” 

Your husband was panting with excitement, a dog who’d seen a bone and now he was drooling in his eagerness to get to it. 

“Alba,” you turned to your younger cousin who also served as your maid, “the new silk gown, the deep cobalt one, please bring it to my room.” 

“Yes, sobrina,” she replied and hurried off, as you followed your husband to your bedroom. You didn’t share it with him, gods forbid, but he brought you there now to further hammer in the importance of haste. 

“The letica is waiting, have Alba do your hair simple, just decorate it with the new ivory comb, to show our status to the general,” he said, ushering you into the bedroom and hurrying off again, no doubt to make sure every part of the letica was spit shined and the slaves carrying it dressed in the family’s livery. 

When he’d left, you sank down on the bed, head in your hands. A feast, with Marcus Acacius as the host. The man who had left your body tired and sore, but still aching for more after Bona Dea. The man who only last night had buried his face between your thighs and then made you cry out for him while he took you hard from behind, fucked you the way you’d begged him to. Bona Dea was often just a night of wreckless celebrations, too much wine and gleeful gossip among your friends. Not since before you’d been married had there been a man foolish enough to wander alone on that night. But Marcus had, and now you understood why. He was a stranger to this town, unaware of the irregular custom of Bona Dea, and he’d wandered straight into your house and given you, and two of your friends, the best Bona Dea celebration in many years. 

And now you had to face him again, less than a day later. 

The rational part of your mind was terrified of seeing him again, with your husband there nonetheless! Bona Dea was a wild ceremony, but what happened during it were closely guarded secrets among the inhabitants of the town. ‘Don’t ask and don’t tell’ was the mantra that all the women repeated. But Marcus was not from this town, would he tell your husband? Marcus had nothing to lose, he could just continue on to Rome, the celebrated general. Your husband on the other hand, could divorce you, throw you out and send you back to your family estate in disgrace, if your father would even take you back under those circumstances. 

You had nowhere else to go in this world. You weren't sure at all that your husband, or the town's rigid society, would accept something as outrageous as spending a night with an unknown man, even if it was during Bona Dea. Society was cruel against women who stepped outside of the marital bed. 

You dug your fingers into your damp hair and whimpered into the empty room. Fear took a tighter grip on your heart, you knew nothing of this man, not his morals, his values or his temper. You knew his body intimately, but nothing of the man. 

How would he react when he saw you at Villa Amira? 

Alba arranged your hair into a simple and elegant style, saying nothing of your drawn face and the way you chewed your lip. You didn’t reveal to her that the man you were about to see was the man she had also taken advantage of during Bona Dea. She had not put two and two together and you decided it was best to keep it that way. 

As she dressed you, even the cool silk of the gown felt restrictive, despite the loose and flowing fabric. The cape she arranged over your shoulders felt stifling, even worse so when she arranged your veil. 

“Leave it, Alba, I’ll only be in the letica and then at the villa, no one will see me on the street,” you said, waving away the delicate fabric you detested so much. 

Alba nodded and stepped back, your husband entering the room just at the right time and barking orders. 

“Time to leave, we’re already late,” he snapped, signalling for you to hurry out of the door and to the waiting transportation. 

The trip to Villa Amira was swift, your husband urging on the slaves carrying the box and they arrived drenched in sweat. A servant of the house bowed low as you stepped out from the letica and entered the vestibule, your husband striding ahead of you, greeting a few business acquaintances as you made your way over to a few of the other wives you were friendly with. They had also all just arrived and together you made your way into the large reception room. Cups of wine were being passed around by servants and you gratefully took one and retreated into a corner of the room with two of the wives you knew best, Antonia and Octavia. 

“It seems the army of Rome brings better wine on their marches than what my husband serves at home,” Octavia giggled as she lifted her cup to yours. You could only agree after tasting the smooth wine, it went down very easily into your nervous belly. 

“Oh, there is our host!” Antonia exclaimed in a hushed voice, she’d been scanning the room for a glimpse of the general, and now she nodded in his direction as the crowd parted for the tall man. Your stomach swooped. Last night he’d been dragged into your house wearing his tunic and cloak. Tonight he was in his full armour, looking every bit the triumphant general he was as the polished dark leather and gold drew everyone's attention. 

“He’s older than I thought,” Octavia mumbled, “and I still haven’t been able to find out if he’s married, Cornelia needs a husband and I would not mind a general as a son in law.” 

“He must be at least twenty years Cornelia’s senior,” Antonia noted, “Those marriages only work if he gives her plenty of free rein. You need to know what kind of man he is or your daughter will rebel, you know what she’s like.” 

“That’s why I must find out if he’s married first. The servants may know, I need to give instructions to my maid to get friendly with the house slaves before they leave for Rome.” 

The prattle of your friends couldn’t keep your attention, Marcus was on the other side of the room, greeting his guests and your eyes were glued to him. The curls that had been so unruly last night, were tamed and combed back, fighting to escape whatever oil his servant had used. They gleamed in the golden light of the lights, as did his armour. The polished details catching the flames and making the Medusa head on his chest plate look almost alive, it must be a terrifying sight on the battlefield. As he shook yet another man’s hand, the taught muscles of his arms moved and rippled, the strength of the man evident in the way he held himself, simply in the way he stood, at ease, with one hand on his hip. 

Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, maybe he noticed the bright colours of the gowns the wives, clustered in on one side, were wearing, but his eyes moved across the room, and fell on you. Even at a distance you could see tension suddenly grip his body, how he squared his shoulders, the hand on his hip suddenly dropped and twitched. It lasted only a moment, then he looked away, politely greeting yet another guest.

You carefully let out a long exhale, forcing your eyes away from him, over to your friends and then your husband. He was standing at the edge of the crowd surrounding Acacius, looking eager and nervously shifting on his feet, looking for an opening, an opportunity to swoop in and shake the general’s hand. He caught sight of you, and with an impatient gesture, he waved you over, his eyebrows pulled together in an annoyed frown. 

“Wife,” he hissed as you came to his side, “if he is married, or has a sister or daughter, I want you to make friends with her, make yourself useful.” 

“Yes, husband,” you nodded, lowering your head and keeping your eyes downcast. 

Marcus was so close now, you could hear his voice as he conversed with a few of the guests. The tone was so different to last night, sharp, authoritative and dominant, so far from the man that had been yours to command during Bona Dea. His voice then had been low, laced with need and lust, groaning as he both received and gave pleasure. Just remembering his needy moans had your insides twisting as you stared at the mosaic beneath your feet. 

“General Acacius, it’s my pleasure to meet you, I’m Balventius Lunaris, let me introduce my wife.”  

You heard your husband’s voice as he took hold of your arm and pulled you forward, forcing you to look up and meet Marcus’s eyes just before he bowed his head to you. 

“We are very grateful for your service to Rome, general, for your conquests in the name of our great emperors. Our empire relies on the greatness of such men as yourself, where would Rome be if it wasn’t for its great generals.” 

Your husband was grovelling with such insistence that it made your cheeks heat up on his behalf, you glanced up at Marcus. He looked at your husband with thinly veiled disdain before he met your eyes. 

“My pleasure, Lunaris, I’m grateful for the reception of the town, it has been a pleasure resting here.” 

You could swear his mouth quirked in the smallest of smiles as he said the last part, making another wave of heat run through your limbs. 

“General Acacius,” you replied, “it’s an honour to have you and your army in our town.” 

He bowed his head again in acknowledgement as your husband began to speak, falling into a clearly well rehearsed monologue. You stood next to him, your husband attempting to subtly brag about his accomplishment to the general while Acacius’s face went from polite interest to contempt. 

“Excuse me, Lunaris,” he suddenly said, interrupting your husband mid-sentence, turning on his heel and making his way to two of his officers, leaving your husband with an open mouth and a stunned expression on his face. He closed his mouth and opened it again, snapping it shut once more, like a fish gasping for air.. 

“Wife….” he scowled, “Find his wife or something, make yourself useful!” 

With a dark look at Acacius, he stalked off towards one of his business partners who was also at the feast, grabbing a cup of wine from one of the servants on the way. You made your way back to some of the ladies of the town, maybe one of them knew if there was a wife, or a sister to befriend, anything to appease your husband. Marcus was making your skin tingle just by standing on the other side of the room, but he and the army would leave soon. You would stay here, with your husband, and keeping his mood good was more important than the general, no matter how much you wished for him to not have a wife. 

You joined the other women, slowly sipping a cup of wine while they gossiped. Your eyes kept drifting around the room, always landing on Marcus. He had his proud profile to you, not once glancing over in your direction. Your stomach sunk, like a lead ball in the pit of your belly. He could not acknowledge you here, of course not, and you should not be looking at him. But you desperately wanted his attention, one look from him seemed to give more excitement than a lifetime with your husband. As minutes passed, the prospect of sacrificing your life, your position and social standing, became a small price to pay to be in Marcus’s presence. 

The wine sat sour in your belly, and when the servants guided you all into the dining room for the feast, you were already nauseous. These dinners went on for hours, into the early hours of the morning, and the prospect of being in the same room as Marcus for so long without being able to acknowledge him, even talk to him unless he spoke to you first and your husband was next to you…it made tears of frustration burn behind your eyelids. 

Your husband’s status earned him a seat at the main table, but towards the end. You were seated next to him, and on your other side your husband’s nephew, learning the ropes of the business. As was customary, General Acacius honoured his guest by seating himself and his officers at the middle table, at an angle from the main table. But it meant you were reclining almost opposite him, his proud profile yet again in your field of view. He had removed his armour, changed into a soft looking dark red tunic, richly embroidered, and the claps seemed to strain against the width of his shoulders. As you looked at him from the corner of your eye, he brought a cup of wine to his lips and sipped it. A drop escaped and his tongue came out to swipe over his full bottom lip, and you bit back a whimper. Less than a full day ago, those lips, that tongue, had been intent on giving you the greatest pleasure you’d ever felt. Now his tongue ran over his lips, catching the errant drop, and his eyes found yours. Just for a second or two, but it was enough. Heat pooled between your legs, as you parted your own lips, and Marcus’s hand tightened around his cup. You dropped your gaze, he looked away, and the moment was gone. 

Servants began to bring in the first dishes, placing them on the low tables, and the guest began conversing. Your nephew was trying to get Acacius’s attention, to make up for your husband’s failed attempt, but with little success. You toyed with the dishes presented to you, the opulent, rich food making your stomach turn. The oysters, usually your favourite, smelled off and you left them untouched. Instead you waved to one of the servants behind you, and put your hand up for the woman to help you to your feet. You gave a bow to your husband, who took no notice, and to your host, who met your look and bowed his head too. 

The servant guided you to the latrina and waited outside as you closed the door. Sinking down onto the bench, you leaned back against the cool wall. The evening was tortuous, even more so than usual. Playing the good wife to your loathsome husband was never a role that came easy to you. Having Marcus so close was slowly eating away at what little composure you would usually muster for night’s like these. And to make matters worse, your husband would inevitably want to come to your bed tonight, he always did when he’d had too much wine. How would you be able to stomach him belching and puffing above you? 

The very thought made you shudder and you quickly stood up, smoothing out the silk of your stola, before you opened the door. The hallway behind it was deserted and the servant nowhere to be seen. It was odd, but not disconcerting and you stepped out, turning towards the dining room again. You made it only a few steps before a hand grabbed your arm and pulled you through an opening. You gasped, ready to scream, when a large hand clamped over your mouth, and someone pushed you up against the wall. 

“Quiet, my domina, do not let them hear you.” 

Marcus’s voice was low and soft, close to your ear, as he pressed you against the wall, his hand slipping down to hold your other arm. As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you heard the footsteps of servants in the hall, passing just by the dark opening he’d pulled you into. The warmth of his body radiated through your stola and the smell of his beard filled your nose as you looked up at him in the dim light. He seemed to be holding his breath, his head turned towards the opening as he waited for the footsteps to disappear. The strong line of his throat was just by your mouth, and on impulse, you pressed your lips to his soft skin, tasting him, a faint hint of salt on your tongue. Above, you heard him inhale, and his grip on your arms tightened. . 

The footsteps faded and Marcus turned his head to look at you, his eyes meeting yours before slipping down to your lips. It took him only a split second to make up his mind, his hand came up to cup the back of your head as he pressed you into the wall, his mouth finding yours with a low groan. Parting your lips to him, his taste flooded your brain as he licked into your mouth. Your fingers found purchase around his shoulders and with a moan you felt him press his hips into you, the evidence of his arousal evident through the fabric of his tunic. 

This kiss left you breathless, his hand wrapped around your neck, holding you tight even though you were desperately pulling him as close as possible too. It felt like your lips would be bruised, your hair in disarray, but they were secondary thoughts, all that filled your senses was Marcus; his smell, the hard muscles of his shoulders, the soft tickle of his beard against your lips, and, more than anything, the way he was holding your hip, his body pressed into yours while the sound of his muted groans filled your ears. Need for him rushed through you at breakneck speed, the events of the night, the tension of being so close to him at dinner, it all came to a head and you whimpered his name into his mouth. 

It seemed to shake him out of the frenzied kiss, his hand found yours as he pulled away, begging you to follow, leading you across the atrium garden he’d pulled you into. The moonlight filtered through the branches of the tree that stood in the middle, a pool surrounding it, cooling the air. He led you to an alcove on the opposite side, shielded from view by the leafy greenery of the small garden. Once seated on the bench, he pulled you onto his lap, strong arms around your waist and shoulders, cupping your cheek and seeking your lips again. 

“We don’t have long, carissime,” he mumbled, “my absence will be missed and we can’t return to the dining hall together.” 

You nodded and let him press his lips to yours, finding the soft curls at his neck with your hands, and holding him close. His kisses were gentle now, his hands caressing your cheek, your throat, down your back as the warmth of his palms, rough and calloused, left trails across your skin. The sounds of the villa had faded, tucked away as you were in a dark corner, only soft moans could be heard, quiet breaths.

Eventually, you pulled away a fraction, seeking his eyes again. They were warm and mild, so unlike the sharp edge they’d held earlier in the night when he conversed with his guests. 

“I loathe to say it,” you whispered, placing another soft kiss on his lips, “but I should go.” 

He nodded, his warm palm still on your cheek, “Leave now. I’ll follow in a little while when I’ve done my rounds with the guards.” 

“When do you leave for Rome?” you asked, letting your fingertips caress the outline of his jaw, the contours of his lips. 

“Tomorrow, carissime,” he replied, taking your hand from his face and pulling you to your feet, “Leave now, I’ll try to see you again before we leave.” 

He pressed a final kiss to your lips and swatted your hip with a small smirk, “Go, my domina.” 

The evening dragged on after you returned to the low table, your husband barely acknowledged your presence. When the general joined the party again some time later, your husband raised his cup, saluting the victorious general in a loud voice, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

Slow hours passed, and by the time the final dishes were brought in, you were well and truly bored. Your husband and nephew were too busy trying to catch the attention of any of the more prominent guests, especially the general, and didn’t speak to you. Marcus was ignoring both them and you, and none of the ladies you were close with were at your table. You were reduced to studying the officers reclining around the tables, all of them strong and powerful looking, scars decorating their skin, some fresh, revealing the nature of their occupation. It made you wonder what kind of campaigns they’d seen in the months they’d been away from Rome, what battles they’d fought, and the bonds they shared now. It was evident to you, as you studied them, that they all deferred to Marcus, he was the centre of every conversation, even if he wasn’t speaking. The officers would catch his eye, nod to him, share a look and a toast, and the admiration and loyalty his men held for him was noticeable. 

Your eyes flitted back to Marcus, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked grin as one of his men retold a story from their march. All eyes were on the officer, and Marcust must’ve felt your gaze as he placed his cup back on the table. With a barely perceptible turn of his head he looked over at you, his eyes drifting down to your lips, gliding down over the folds of your stola, your hips, your thighs, lingering there for a moment, heating your core with looks alone. 

A raucous laughter jolted him back to the moment, turning his head away and joining in the cheering.   

Next to you, your husband suddenly shuddered, grabbing the edge of the table as he groaned. 

“Husband, you look pale, are you well?” you asked, as he shook his head and grimaced. 

“My stomach is plagued by cramps,” he muttered, “I feel like Mars is fighting a battle in there.” 

“I am not well either, uncle,” your nephew groaned, clasping his belly, beginning to get up, “Pardon me, general, I must excuse myself to the latrina.” 

Your husband stumbled to his feet as well, a feeble bow to the table, and they both hurried away, followed by two servants. 

“I-I apologise, general Acacius,” you stuttered as you began to rise to your feet. 

“Lady, please, do not trouble yourself,” Marcus made a gesture for you to sit down again, “My servants will see to that they are comfortable. If you are needed, they will come for you.” His eyes were kind, suddenly openly focused only on you, as the rest of the guests began to eat and converse again, now that the commotion of your husband leaving was over. 

“Thank you, general Acacius,” you replied, bowing your head in deference to him, as he raised his cup and bid you to drink with him. You did, and the wine went down smoothly again, warmth blossoming in your chest as you kept your eyes downcast and away from him. 

Marcus turned away as someone else tried to get his attention, but his demeanour was changed now and he turned back to you regularly, including you in the conversation as he praised the town’s thermae, asking if you knew who was responsible for the beautiful mosaic at the entrance. As the evening stretched on, your mood lifted, and you all but forgot about your husband and nephew, until one of the servants returned. 

“Domina,” the man bowed to you as you turned to look up at him, “Dominus Lunaris will return to the villa in the letica, they are both too ill to return to the fest. He bids you come at once.” 

You nodded and began to rise from the table, the other guests were also beginning to rise, and depart, thanking Acacius profusely for the feast. But the general waved one of them off with barely a glance as he heard the servant's words. 

“She cannot be exposed to whatever foul illness has befallen her husband and nephew,” he said, striding over to you as you were gathering your cloak to leave, “Lady, we have many guest bedrooms, it will be no trouble for you to stay the night and you can return to your house in the morning when the physician has examined your husband.”

He said it with such a commanding voice, it didn’t even occur to you that you could refuse. And he was already waving over one of his own servants, giving orders. 

“Go with Lunaris to his villa, and bring the lady’s maid back here with whatever the lady will need for the night,” Acacius ordered and then dismissed the man and turned back to you, “One of my servants will show you to your quarters for the night, I wish you a good night and I hope your husband is well in the morning.” 

With a sharp bow he turned away, and strode across the room to his officers, leaving you blinking and dazed. A female servant approached you and bowed. 

“Domina, please, let me show you to your quarters,” she said, holding out her arm for you to follow. With a quick backwards glance at Marcus, he was deep in conversation with one of his officers, you followed her into the private areas of the villa. Soon you were in one of the guest rooms, a luxurious space with all you would need for the night, and a bed for your maid in an alcove. As you sat down on the bed, the servant who had led you to the room, bowed and closed the door behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Marcus had been very quick to suggest that you stay, you hadn’t even had time to consider the implication. It wasn’t unheard of staying overnight when a feast ended late, but you’d never stayed on your own. And you were pretty sure it was the oysters that had given your husband and nephew upset stomachs. Oysters spoiled fast and although you loved them, you were always weary. There was no illness to be spread to you, and you wondered if Marcus didn’t know that too. If that was the case, what was his plan with keeping you here overnight? Alba would be sleeping in the same room as you, and although Alba had her fill of Marcus on Bona Dea, it was an altogether different prospect if he was to come to your room in the middle of the night. 

A knock on the door made you stand up and Alba entered, escorted by one of the servants who put down a bundle on a bench and then retreated. 

“Well, this is a strange situation,” Alba stated, as she sank down on the small bed in the alcove, “Lunaris returns home without you, his toga stained with the remains of dinner, reeking like a back alley, and then I’m told you’re to stay here tonight? Why couldn’t you come home?” 

“Our host was worried it was something foul that would pass to me if I went with them,” you said and Alba frowned, her pretty, round face questioning. 

“Our host, is it the same general as the one who…?” she let the rest of her question remain unspoken and you nodded as her eyes widened. “It occurred to me after you’d left, a new general in town, the man from…and now he’s here? Have you seen him?” She asked in a low voice. 

“I have, but he has said nothing of Bona Dea, thank the gods,” you exclaimed, “And he all but ignored Lunaris the whole evening, much to his irritation.” 

“He was in a nasty mood when he came back,” Alba said, “he even hit Siro when he wasn’t quick enough in opening the door.” 

You just shook your head at that, your husband was often in a foul mood, but he seldom took it out on the slaves in the household. But you knew he’d taken Acacius’s disinterest as an insult, and with the disastrous end to the evening, he’d be lashing out. You were sure you’d hear about it tomorrow as you returned to the villa. 

“Let that be tomorrow’s problem,” you said, “Let’s get some sleep, you must be tired, being dragged across town in the middle of the night.” 

Alba nodded and began to help you get undressed, taking down your hair and removing the silk stola, letting you pull on the simple tunic you slept in. You slipped under the covers as she undressed and extinguished all but one of the oil lamps before getting into her own bed. 

“Sleep well, sobrina,” she mumbled from the alcove, “dream sweetly about a handsome general with a huge…” 

You bit back your giggle as she laughed and left the end of her sentence hanging in the air. 

“You’re the worst, Alba,” you chuckled, “Sleep well indeed.” 

You rolled over onto your side and closed your eyes, but you knew sleep would be hard to find. His face swam into your mind, not the one from tonight’s feast, but the one he’d shown just this morning, when you’d been alone in your room. His deep brown eyes, warm and sleepy, satiated from the night, and the change in them as you’d kissed, his reluctance to leave. Maybe it was simply that it had been so long since a man made you feel that good, but Marcus had a dangerous hold on you. The memory of his hands, his mouth, it made you ache for him, even more so when you knew he was somewhere in this villa, probably already naked in his bed. Unbidden, the image of how he’d stood in the middle of the hall in your own villa, floated into your mind. He’d been blindfolded but proud, back straight and those wide shoulders squared as his cock grew hard just by the knowledge that all the women in the room were circling him, discussing how to use him. 

With a sigh you rolled over onto your back, Alba’s soft snores already came from the alcove. Your core ached and you carefully caressed your breasts, trying to remember what his mouth had felt like, wet and hot. 

A low, slow, knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts and you sat up, glancing first at the door and then at Alba. She hadn’t stirred so you pulled your cloak over the tunic and tiptoed to the door. A low knock came again, and through the wood you heard his voice. 

“Domina, it’s Marcus, I wish to speak with you.” 

You briefly closed your eyes to the tremor that ran through your body at the sound of his voice and what you were about to do. With shaking hands, you quietly opened the door. Marcus was standing on the other side with a small oil lamp in his hand and his handsome face pulled into a frown. 

“Please, come with me, we cannot be seen out here,” he whispered, “Is your maid asleep?” 

“Yes,” you whispered, glancing back at Alba, “and I trust her with my life, she’ll say nothing when I’m not here if she wakes.” 

“Good. Then come, quickly.” 

You silently closed the door behind you and followed Marcus’s retreating back, your bare feet silent on the floor of the hallway. He led you only a few doors down, quietly opening a door furthest away, and letting you step inside. It was pitch black, the shutters closed, but as you waited he moved into the room and lit a lamp, placing the one in his hand on a shelf. 

He turned and came to stand just in front of you, his hand taking yours in his, wrapping gently around your fingers. He was wearing a simple tunic and a cloak much like you, his hair looked like he’d tossed and turned in his bed before getting up again. Your hand felt small in his, his thumb stroking the thin skin of your wrist as he glanced down at it. 

“I didn’t know you’d be at the feast tonight, I wish I’d known,” he said in a low voice, “I fear I was very dismissive of you tonight in front of my guests. But I feared I’d betray too much if I spoke to you with your husband near.” He looked up to meet your eyes and the memory of how your husband had growelled for him came back to you, making you wince. 

“Marcus, I have to apologise for my husband’s behaviour, he is far too eager to impress you, I was-.” 

Marcus cut you off with a low growl, “My opinions of your husband weren’t very high to begin with after last night. But now? I cannot believe a woman like you is forced to live with such an oaf.” 

At the mention of last night, your cheeks heated and you dropped your gaze to the floor. 

“It was a good match for my father, in this town Lunaris is influential, and I was getting too old for marriage.” 

Marcus tilted his head to the side and regarded you as his eyes went soft and gentle again, “Carrisime, I can’t imagine there being anything but a long line of suitors at your father’s door. You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, even a rival to Juno.” 

His praise, spoken in such a soft voice as his words filled your heart, made you feel almost shy as you shook your head. 

“I had a reputation for being difficult, headstrong. My younger sisters were much more meek and pliant, they were married off quickly. But when Lunaris' first wife died in childbirth, he married me for my father’s olive groves.” 

Marcus smiled, a small chuckle escaping him, “Headstrong, that I can easily believe,” he replied, “Never have I met a woman who so easily takes charge and orders a general around.” 

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” you gave him a crooked smile back, “You seemed to be fighting against it in the beginning.” 

Marcus huffed, his grin widening, “I’ve never seen Bona Dea celebrated like that before, and you’re right, I was uncertain at first. Being ordered by a woman is not something I’ve ever experienced since my dear mater told me off as a young boy.” 

“You got used to it quick enough,” you replied as his hand gently tugged at yours, pulling you closer. 

“I did, it was exhilarating, hearing your voice, touching me without seeing you, and then you asked me to make you as wet as the meretrix…” Marcus trailed off, his hand now caressing your bare arm, raising goose bumps on your skin. “I’d decided I wasn’t going to seek you out when you left the dining hall tonight, yet I found myself waiting for you in the hallway,” he said, caressing your shoulder, sliding his hand up along your neck. “And I’d decided I wasn’t going to say anything more to you after our kiss, let you leave with that oaf, but then he got sick, the gods must have heard my prayers,” his fingers were in your hair now, his body pressed to yours as you rested your palms on his sides, every one of his breaths felt in your fingertips. 

“And wasn’t going to come to your room tonight, I wasn’t going to touch you again, not lose myself in your scent, your soft lips, this warm body…” Marcus bent his head and ran the tip of his nose along your cheek, inhaling deeply as you exhaled into his ear, his breath skated across your skin as the soft strands of his greying beard raised more goosebumps on your neck. 

“But I want to lose myself in you,” he mumbled, his lips now close to your ear, his hand drifting over your curves, grabbing at what soft shapes he could find, “lose myself again in this wet cunt, so wet and warm for me already I think.” 

“Marcus…” you whispered, the need clear in your voice. This was foolish, dangerous even, but your body ached for him as you caressed his sides, hands sliding over his strong back, feeling it shift and flex as he moved his mouth over your skin, his hands lifting your tunic and grabbing warm flesh, fingers digging into your thighs. 

“If we’re caught, Marcus,” you mumbled against his hair as he buried his face against your neck, and you felt him nod. 

“Will you regret it?” he asked, still trailing wet kisses over your neck, the skin exposed by the neckline of your tunic. He wasn’t asking if you wanted him to stop, he already knew the answer to that, the way your hands were holding his body told him.  

“No, I wouldn’t be without this, I don’t want to-”  You cut yourself off, your mouth and heart running faster than your mind, in your head the rest of the sentence floated; “live without this.” 

“I would not be without this either, carissime,” Marcus whispered, guessing your words, “Maybe you truly are Diana, casting a spell on me.” 

You felt him smile against your neck and you tugged lightly at his locks, pulling his face up to yours to meet his warm eyes. 

“Maybe you’re Mars, that’s the only explanation for your spell on me,” you smiled at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he guided your mouth to his, his hands slipping higher up under your tunic, exposing you to him. 

It was difficult to remain quiet as you stumbled to the bed with Marcus holding you up. Your tunic dropped on the floor, followed by his as he settled between your spread legs, his shoulders holding them open for him. He gave you a wolfish grin as he dipped his head, running his nose along your slit with a satisfied growl at what he found. Biting down hard on your lip, you fell back on the bedding and tangled your fingers in his hair. The anticipation of what he was about to do, how it had felt the last time, made you tremble under his hands. He opened you up, spreading your folds and you could see him rake his eyes over what he saw, his tongue coming out to lick his lips before he glanced up at you. With a wicked smile he leaned forward and blew air over your sensitive nerves, making you clench around nothing and gasp. 

“I’m glad I get a chance to do this again, domina….” he murmured, nuzzling closer to your heat, inhaling deeply as his fingers spread you open more for him. You could feel his breath on your skin, ghosting over your folds as he seemed to relish in the smell and sight before him. The anticipation was building in you, making you tighten your grip on his curls. 

“Marcus….” you whispered, your voice low and pleading, but the rest was lost when he let his tongue lick a broad strip through your dripping core, rendering you speechless when his nose edged the swollen pearl at the apex of your sex.

As he had the night before, he all but feasted on you when he dove in. You could feel his tongue nudging deep into your opening, his nose circling your centre until he closed his mouth around it and sucked, teasing with his soft tongue. You bit back a loud moan when he slipped in two fingers, stretching you open. You felt him groan into you, mumbling under his breath as his fingers drove in and out, curling and stroking to bring you to the edge. It felt like an eternity but also like no time at all. You clapped your hand over your mouth and cried out as the wave broke, your hips pushing against his mouth, arching your body. His free hand held you down as he made you ride it out, prolonging every shudder through your body. 

With a deep breath you fell back against the bedding again, your body lax and shivering. Marcus moved up over your body, trailing sticky kisses across your abdomen as you caught your breath. You could feel his hard cock dragging over your skin now, leaking fat drops as he sought out any friction, moaning as he made his way up. His arms came around you, rolling you over on top of him and he spread your legs, putting your knees on either side of his hips. It took your addled brain a moment to understand what he wanted, but he pushed you both up, grabbing his cock with his hand and you felt him set the head at your opening. He hissed as he nudged against your wet folds. 

“Ride me, domina,” he mumbled, looking down between your bodies to where he was beginning to stretch you open. He sounded almost wrecked, pleading with you as you felt his hand on your hip tighten, pulling you down. Steadying yourself with your hands on his wide shoulders, you sank down, letting him guide you. Rocking up and down a few times, you worked him inside, the stretch making you inhale sharply, sinking down over him until there was no more space between you. 

Marcus was groaning into your skin, his face pressed against your neck, digging his fingers into your hips. You could feel him rolling his hips and his teeth nipped at your flesh, biting down, and he gave your thigh a slap, the sting jolting you up. 

“I said ride me, domina,” he hissed, “fuck yourself on me and let me feel you come again before I send you back to that groveling husband of yours with a my seed dripping out of your tight cunt.” 

It shouldn’t feel so good, but his words had you clenching hard around him as you lifted yourself up, only the head of him inside. The very thought of going back to your home tomorrow, with Marcus’s marks, bruises and seed in you…it made a fresh wave of arousal rush through. 

Marcus groaned like an animal when you sank down over him, his head tipped back and teeth bared. It made you feel powerful, this celebrated general of Rome, commander of armies, so lost to the feeling of you sinking down over him. With a smile you lifted yourself up, teasing him with the tip of him just inside your opening, moving your hips, and he hissed again, cursing low under his breath as he opened his eyes.  

“Domina…” he growled, panting hard as you slowly let him slip inside again, holding against his hands trying to pull you down faster. 

“Shouldn’t you obey your domina, general,” you smiled at him as you lifted yourself up again. The groan Marcus let out made your insides flutter, he was staring up at you with his beautiful dark eyes filled with lust and need, mouth parted and breathing heavy. 

“Domina…” he moaned, “I’ll obey your every word, please…” 

With a sigh you slowly sank down over him again and was rewarded by a deep groan from Marcus, his hips bucking under you as he held you tight. 

“How long can I keep you like this, general,” you mused, holding back a moan as his thick cock filled you up again. 

“With my cock inside you?” he said, air rushing out of his lungs as you rolled your hips over him, “not much longer, domina, your cunt is so tight, I will spill very soon…” 

You rolled your hips and lifted off him, only to slide down again, clenching around him, and he hissed, his fingers digging again into your hips as he cursed. 

“How long can I keep you in this room then?” you asked in a lower voice, moving over him as he nestled deep inside you. 

“Forever,” he panted out, “Always, carissime, stay with me,” his breath was coming out strained, almost pained as you picked up your speed, driving him in and out of your slick cunt. 

His words filled your heart and you cupped his face, kissing him fervently as you let his hands guide your hips up and down over his shaft as fast as he needed. His mouth was open under yours, his tongue tangled with yours as your hot breaths mingled and you could tell how close he was. When his thrusts became erratic, he pressed himself to you, groaning into your mouth and bruising your skin. As you felt his first hot spurt fill you up, your own climax broke and you stifled a cry, your body clamping down around him. Marcus was pounding up into you, his hands moved up from your hips to your shoulders, pulling you down over him, heady moans into your skin as he buried his face against your shoulder. 

You felt your breath slip from you as you slumped in his arms, your legs burning, the rush of your orgasm leaving you limp and drained again. Marcus was moving slowly under you, his arms flexing as he lifted you off him, pulling you down onto the bed. His body was hot and slick, a thin sheen of sweat, as he pulled you on to his chest. The thrumming of his heart was loud under your ear, calming down as you closed your eyes and relished in the feel of his warm body so close. The smell of his sweat, a scent that repulsed you when it came from your husband, made you feel content and safe under his arms. 

“Don’t sleep, carissime,” he whispered, his hand finding your hair and brushing it away from your cheek, “we can’t stay here, much as I’d like too.” 

“Just a little while, Marcus,” you mumbled, and you felt him nod above you while his hands caressed your back. 

“Just a little while then.” 

He let her fall asleep on his chest, staying awake while he felt their sated bodies cool down, drying the sweat on their warm skin. Then he carefully moved her sleeping form, slipping from under her soft body and leaving the warm bed. He donned his tunic and cloak, leaned down to kiss her cheek one more time, the sweet taste of her skin making him close his eyes and steel his resolve. 

He would not let this be the last time. 

Bona Dea - Part Three

Tagging the lovely crowd from the preview post!

@angiewatson @i-own-loki @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @nerdieforpedro @legendary-pink-dot @musings-of-a-rose @for-a-longlongtime @oberynslady @chaoticfestninja @joelssapologist @mduluozz @jessthebaker @hellofeyradarling @pascalislove @flyingthroughheaven @criticalarchitecture @brittmb115 @dammit-hoechlin @li-anne @luly0607 @snow3096-blog @rainbowcat164 @suddendownpour @sherala007 @groovy-hippie-chick @grippysockedtoebeans @bonafideslacker @tupelomiss @rhiannon-girl @verge-of-tears-again @truffles-cat @jay-zzle @rav3n-pascal22 @chronically-ghosted @allaboutthebeskar @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @casa-boiardi

[wearethekat]

Anticipated Upcoming New Releases

Anticipated by Me. Asterisk for titles where I haven't read anything by the author previously (ie sounds cool but unvetted)

*Single Player, Tara Tai. f/nb romance about a romance storywriter and her video game dev boss.

*Hammajang Luck, Makana Yamamoto (14 January). In a far-future world, a thief is approached by the partner who betrayed her for one last job just after getting out of a prison planet on early parole.

*Death of the Author, Nnedi Okorafor (14 January). Recently unemployed Zelu starts to write a new science fiction book, as the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur.

*Modern Divination, Isabel Agajanian (30 January). Young witch has carefully balanced her witchcraft with her demanding life at Cambridge University—only to find that her magic powers are fading.

Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales, Heather Fawcett (11 February). Book three of a series, in which Emily deals with the repercussions of being engaged to a faerie king.

*But Not Too Bold, Hache Pueyo (11 February). Novella. Sapphic retelling of Bluebeard featuring a giant humanoid spider.

Wooing the Witch Queen, Stephanie Burgis (18 February). Romantasy in which an evil sorceress queen gets catfished by a disguised imperial archduke pretending to be a librarian in a gaslamp setting.

*Greenteeth, Molly O'Neill (25 February). The legendary Molly Greenteeth teams up with a local witch to defeat an evil pastor.

*The Fourth Consort, Edward Ashton (25 February). A human representative to what's supposed to be a pan-species space confederation finds out he's actually on the wrong (and losing) side, and gets trapped on another planet.

The River Has Roots, Amal El-Mohtar (4 March). Novella. Two sisters living at the edge of Faerie tumblr into trouble when one of them takes a faerie suitor.

Once Was Willem, MR Carey (4 March). In medieval England, the eponymous Willem drags himself out of his grave to defend his village against an evil threat.

The Tomb of Dragons, Katherine Addison (11 March). Reportedly actually coming out this year! In book 3 of the series, Thara Celehar investigates a case involving an old cemetery and a miner's group.

A Gentleman's Gentleman, TJ Alexander (11 March). Alexander sticks their nose into the Regency genre with this t4t lord/valet romance.

Idolfire, Grace Curtis (11 March). One woman searching for a last chance and another woman looking for redemption travel to a sleeping magical city.

*Murder by Memory, Olivia Waite (18 March). A sci-fi mystery novella set on a generation ship, where a ship's detective investigates a mysterious murder.

*Aunt Tigress, Emily Yu-Xuan Qin (18 March). Reformed monster Tam investigates the murder of her aunt in Chinese folklore inspired urban fantasy Canada.

*The Keeper of Lonely Spirits, EM Anderson (25 March). Cursed to live forever, ghost hunter Peter starts to settle after two hundred years in a small town in Ohio.

A Drop of Corruption, Robert Jackson Bennett (1 April). Sequel. Our Sherlock Holmes coded detective investigates the disappearance of a treasury officer with the help of her trusty assistant in a complex secondary fantasy world.

*Where the Axe is Buried, Ray Nayler (1 April). In a crumbling near-future Earth, a brilliant scientist flees, because her new invention might be key to assassinating the immortal uploaded President.

*A Duke Never Tells, Suzanne Enoch (1 April). In this Regency romp, somehow both a young lady and the man she's affianced to are in disguise below stairs.

Don't Sleep With The Dead, Nghi Vo (8 April). Vo returns to the fantasy Great Gatsby setting with this novella from the POV of Nick Carraway post-novel events.

*The Raven Scholar, Antonia Hodgson (15 April). Seven candidates compete to become the next emperor—until one of them is murdered. The emperor's scholar attempts to find the killer.

*The Gentleman and His Vowsmith, Rebecca Ide (15 April). An accidentally falling in love with your wedding vendor by during your arranged marriage book, now with a locked mansion murder mystery.

*Notes from a Regicide, Isaac Fellman (15 April). Trans Griffon's adoptive parents die suddenly, leaving him to sort through their papers, which follows the failed revolution they fled.

Advocate, Daniel M Ford (22 April). Book three of a series. Insufferable lesbian necromancer Aelis is summoned back to the capital to investigate an accusation against her former teacher.

Saint Death's Herald, CSE Cooney (22 April). Sequel to my particular favorite Saint Death's Daughter. Lanie Stones must contain her murderously ambitious (and dead) great grandfather before he conquers the world.

*The Sun Blessed Prince, Lindsey Byrd (29 April). Queer romance between a prince with healing magic and the assassin sent to kill him.

Brighter than Scale, Swifter Than Flame, Neon Yang (6 May). Emissary and dragon hunter Yeva is sent to a nation that worships dragons to seduce their queen. Novella.

Drop Dead, Lily Chu (6 May). Rival journalists Nadine and Wesley spar for the scoop on a reclusive author-- until she dies suddenly, and the executor grants them both three weeks to study her papers together.

Ascension, ST Gibson (13 May). Sequel to Evocation about the contentious urban fantasy wizard polycule.

The Incandescent, Emily Tesh (13 May). A professor at a magical academy deals with some troublesome demons. (I'm VERY excited for this one)

*Anji Kills A King, Evan Leikam (13 May). In an impulsive moment, a laundry maid assassinates the king. She flees, pursued by a band of mercenaries with magic masks.

The Starving Saints, Caitlin Starling (20 May). After a six month siege, a castle is freed by a group of cultlike saints. As the castle descends into cannibalism orgies, can three women find a way to save themselves?

Strange New World, Vivian Shaw (20 May). The fourth book in the Greta Helsing series, in which Greta escorts an angel and a demon across America .

*Behooved, M Stevenson (20 May). Princess Bianca agrees to marry a prince in order to end the war—only to have a botched assassination attempt turn him into a horse. They flee together in order to unravel the evil plot.

The Grimoire Grammar School Parent Teacher Association, Caitlin Rozakis (27 May). Ordinary parent Vivian has to rapidly adapt to the world of magic schools when her kindergartener is bitten by a werewolf.

June and later releases under the cut

The Listeners, Maggie Stiefvater (3 June). Hotel manager June is put to an unexpected test when the hotel's rich owners make a deal to host captured Nazi officials.

The Witch Roads, Kate Elliot (10 June). An arrogant prince enters the haunted Spires against the advice of their guide, leaving ex-slave Elen with the unenviable task of guiding a man who isn't quite the same as the one who entered.

The Mercy Makers, Tessa Gratton (17 June). Criminal heiress Iriset uses her ability to create magical disguises to infiltrate the palace and free her father, insinuating herself into the lives of the emperor and his sister in the process.

*This Princess Kills Monsters, Ry Herman (17 June). A sapphic retelling of the Grimm fairy tale The Twelve Huntsmen.

A Far Better Thing, HG Parry (17 June). Changeling child Sydney escapes and crosses over to the human world during the French Revolution to get his revenge on the fairie that took his place.

A Legionnaire's Guide to Love and Peace, Emily Skrutskie (24 June). Two redshirts unexpectedly don't die in a fantasy apocalypse after a band of plucky heroes intervene, forcing them to contemplate their one last night stand.

The Bewitching, Silvia Moreno-Garcia (15 July). A multigenerational story about three women and the curse that stalks their family.

The Memory Hunters, Mia Tsai (29 July). Secondary world academia about using memory magic powers for archaeology.

Hemlock & Silver, T Kingfisher (19 August). A retelling of Snow White from the point of view of a healer trying to cure the poisoned princess.

*Terms of Service, Ciel Pierlot (23 September). Luzia sells herself to the mysterious fae-like Astrosi who live above the metropolis in order to rescue her nephew.

[madmeks]

Her Space Marine: Part 1

Pairings: Titus x Mira

Author's note: 18+ Inspired by this ask requesting some jealous Titus. For backstory, Zev (the Mordian officer from Fantasy: Part 2 and Fantasy: Coda) was on the same troopship as Mira when it was lost in the warp storm. His regiment was folded into the same army group as hers when they emerged after the events of Space Marine 2.

Warnings: Sexual content. Unprotected sex. Mention of past partners.

Description: Seeing Mira and Zev share a moment together after a battle, Titus gets a little possessive.

Tagging: @beckyninja @yanagikou @flunkyofmalcador @finchly-tintinnabulation @kit-williams @justanothermemestrider @theemeraldwings @wormiusdebilius @74rn @severalpossiblemusiks @vspin @blukitty40k @nereidof40k If anyone would like to be tagged in future fics, please let me know :)

If you're interested in reading any of my earlier fics, check out my pinned post.

With a final rattling cough, the Chimera’s engine gave a last groan of overheated pistons and died. Mira gripped the sides of the cupola as the treads lost traction and the tank slowly slid back down the sandy hill before catching up on a boulder. Cursing, she called to her command squad crouched in the rear compartment.

“Everyone out! We’re on foot from here!”

Reaching above her, she threw open the turret hatch and clambered onto the top of the Chimera. Around the crippled vehicle troopers streamed up the hill. There were Cadians, Mordians, even two or three scattered Attilan Rough Riders weaving through the ranks on their mounts. All were headed to the heavy troop carriers waiting on the raised ferrocrete field that topped the hill. Above her, the night sky was lit with tracer fire from Hydra flak tanks firing on the move. Whenever the autocannons flashed, the retreating troops could see Imperial Thunderbolts dueling with Ork Fighta-Bommas, desperately trying to keep a flight path open for the last transports off Daedalus V.

The Imperium forces had been engaged with Votann miners who’d come to strip the world for resources for the past four months, and had been near victory when the first ork roks had entered the system. That had been three weeks ago. The greenskins had fallen upon Squat miner and Imperial trooper alike, pushing both forces into retreat off world.

Mira gathered her command squad and abandoned the Chimera, joining the ranks of Guardsmen trudging uphill. Just as they crested the top, she saw Major Sarkaana striding toward her, a Commissar at her side.

“Lieutenant! We need your troopers to form up here and dig in,” Sarkaana shouted over the din of the autocannons and the troop lander engines firing up. “General Montelion of the Mordian Iron Guard and his life company are still inbound. Orders from the Lord Marshall are that we stall the ork advance to give the General time to make it to the landers.”

Mira turned to look over the expanse of scrubland beyond the landing field. In the far distance, she could just make out the lights of ork vehicles as they advanced inexorably toward the last humans on the planet.

“Ma’am, my company is exhausted,” Mira said, turning back to the Major. “We’ve spent the last three days on a forced march to make it here in time.”

“Your company are soldiers and they will do as the God-Emperor wills,” growled the Commissar at Sarkaana’s side. Letting out a resigned breath, Mira saluted and turned back to form up her troopers.

***

“WAAAGH!!!”

The ork battle cry echoed through the hastily dug trench Mira’s company crouched in as the greenskin jumped over the lip and brought a buzzing orkish chainsword down on the Commissar’s head. The whirring blades split the man’s peaked hat and the skull beneath before Mira and Corporal Antioch’s combined lasfire brought the xenos down.

Cursing, Mira turned back to the line, raising her laspistol and firing down the hill at the orks clambering to get at the Crassus Assault Transport in Mordian colors that was lumbering its way up toward the landing field and the last troop carrier that remained waiting for them.

Out of the ork ranks, a missile corkscrewed crazily over the heads of the Cadians, flying straight into the open hatch of the landing craft. There was a moment of silence as the flare from the missile disappeared down the gullet of the massive ship, then a series of muffled explosions sounded. Suddenly, bits of the lander were flying everywhere as the reactor detonated.

The Cadians stared in disbelief for a moment at the destruction of their only escape offworld, until Sarkaana shouted ‘For the Emperor!’ Taking up the cry, the Cadians charged down the hill toward the embattled Crassus Transport, determined to take as many of the orks with them as they could.

Just before they met the ork line, the front rank of greenskins disappeared in a blossom of fire. Looking up, Mira saw a Thunderhawk in the blue livery of the Ultramarines hovering above them. Standing in the open ramp, armored and helmeted, was Titus with his squad. The space marines mowed down the second rank of orks in a hail of bolter fire, then leapt down to land amidst the Cadians as the Thunderhawk spun and headed for the landing pad.

Titus landed beside Mira with a ground-shaking thud. She smiled up at him as he inclined his helmed head toward her.

“Nice of you to drop in, Ultramarine.”

“You thought the Sons of Guilliman would pass up the chance to tear apart a few more of these greenskins, Lieutenant?” Even through the distortion of his vox grill, Mira could hear the amusement in his voice.

They were interrupted by the rear hatch of the Crassus thumping into the ground. Mordians filed out of the transport, lasguns leveled at the second wave of orks. They added their volley fire the the Cadians and Ultramarines, then all began a fighting withdrawal toward the waiting Thunderhawk. The space marines ushered the surviving troopers aboard and the gunship roared away from the surface.

Packed in among the Cadian and Mordian troopers in a hold designed to fit far fewer, Mira let out a weary sigh. She took her vox headset off, then let out a yelp as hands grabbed her and spun her around.

“Mira!”

She blinked, staring into a familiar face.

“Zev!”

Impulsively, Mira wrapped her arms around him. He surprised her by leaning in and capturing her lips with his own. Laughing, he pulled back, but kept her in the friendly embrace.

“We owe you, Mira! Your troops kept the way open for us. I doubt we’d have even made it to the base of the hill without you holding the line.”

Mira listened as Zev went on, recounting the tale of his company’s flight from the orks. It turned out old General Montelion had died of heart failure en route to the landing field. As Zev continued, Mira looked over his shoulder and noticed Titus standing near the front hatch of the Thunderhawk, unmoving. The eye lenses of his helmet were fixed solidly on the Mordian officer’s back, even as the gunship jostled its way free of Daedalus V’s atmosphere.

***

Aboard the orbiting Ultramarine strike cruiser, the surviving Cadians and Mordians rested as the ship followed the Imperial fleet out of the system.

After reporting to Major Sarkaana that her troopers were settled in an unused cargo bay, and promising Zev they’d catch up more later, Mira set out to look for Titus.

Despite being the liaison officer between the Cadian 8th and the Ultramarine forces accompanying the Astra Militarum troops, Mira had never actually been aboard their strike cruiser. Eventually, with the help of a servo skull and the muttered directions from a few chapter serfs, she finally found her way to Titus’ quarters.

Slipping inside and keying the door closed, she found kneeling before a small altar covered in purity seals. He was out of his armor, wearing a loose robe.

“Will you allow me to demonstrate my...appreciation...for the timely reinforcements, my lord?” she asked him, playfully drawing out the title.

Titus rose to his feet and turned to Mira, towering over her in the small room.

“Who was that man? The Mordian officer in the gunship?”

Mira blinked. “Zev? He’s an old friend. His regiment was on the toopship with mine when were lost in the warp storm.”

“He kissed you.”

“Ah, yes...well,” Mira glanced away for a moment. “He and I...well, as I’ve told you before, life in the Guard can be lonely. Sometimes you find...companions.”

“You’ve had sex with him,” Titus said.

Mira blushed. “Ahem...yes. A few times, years ago now. We’ve stayed friends, but we...oh!”

Mira yelped as Titus surged forward, his strong hands grasping under her ass and pulling her off the floor against his chest. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he moved with her, pressing her against the wall of the room. He tilted his head down to kiss her hungrily, his tongue probing between her lips as his hands squeezed and caressed her ass. Finally, he broke the kiss and stared into her eyes.

“I need you,” he growled. Through his robes, she felt his erection pressing under the curve of her ass.

Catching her breath, she grasped his face in her hands, leaning in to offer another kiss.

“Take me.”

Titus’s captured her lips passionately with his own, moaning almost desperately into her mouth. Between them he was working at the closure of her tunic, his large hands fumbling with the small fasteners. Frustrated, he curled his fingers into the material and pulled almost effortlessly, tearing it open.

Mira moaned against his mouth, her tongue sliding around his. She ground down against his cock poking against her ass, legs locked around him as she shrugged out of her tunic. Titus grabbed the straps of her tank top and bra, yanking both down her arms to bare her breasts.

“Need you,” he said again, now grinding his hips against her. He bent to circle his tongue around her nipple, licking and sucking. She threw her head back against the wall, running her fingers through her hair as she panted under his attention.

Grabbing her thighs, Titus turned and carried her to the opposite wall of the room, setting her on a small desk mounted to the wall. It was little more than night stand, but it was built for an Astartes, and carried her wait easily. Mira watched as he took a half step back and pulled his robe off. She stared hungrily at his massive form, eyes falling to his erection as it waved in front of him.

Titus knelt to pull off her boots, and Mira raised her ass for him so he could slide her pants and panties off in one smooth motion. She slipped her arms free of her tank top and bra, leaving them bunched around her waist as he stepped in again to kiss her. Yanking her to the edge of the desk, he slid a hand between her legs and ran a finger along her pussy, finding her already soaked. Moaning he reached down to grab his cock, fitting it against her and rubbing the head over back and forth over her clit.

“Need...you,” he choked out as he slid inside her. Mira’s let out a gasp as she felt him stretching her. Throwing her hands around his neck, she thrust her hips forward to meet him as he speared into her, trying to push him deeper.

Growling, he cupped her ass again, lifting her fully off the desk. He let her sink fully onto his shaft and stood in the center of the room. She moaned as she locked her legs around his hips, clinging to his neck, pussy tight around him as held her impaled on his cock.

“Mine,” he rumbled.

Mira met his gaze, seeing an intense desire burning behind his eyes. He stared back at her, leaning forward to capture her mouth in a kiss.

He began to fuck her then, hands moving to her waist and sliding her up and down against his thrusting hips. She closed her eyes as he bent to nip and bite at the tender flesh of her neck. One of his hands under her ass easily kept her supported as the other reached up to cradle the back of her neck. Her breasts flattened against his massive broad chest as he clutched her to him.

“Yes…” she moaned. She leaned back, hanging off his neck as he bucked against her. She rocked her hips over him, slamming down again and again. “You’re going to make me come, Titus.”

“Yes!” he gasped, fucking into her even faster. Mira gasped in pleasure as she bounced up and down on his shaft, her breasts bouncing on her chest as he drove her closer and closer to the edge.

“...Oh yes...Throne, Titus!...I’m coming!”

Her body went stiff, eyes closing as her pussy contracted and pulsed around him. As she came down from her orgasm, she opened her eyes to see him staring intently at her.

“You’re mine,” he growled. His thrusting began to pick up speed again. “Mine.”

Dazed with pleasure, she pulled herself against him again and kissed him. She squeezed with her legs, pressing her entire front to his as tightly she could, delighting in the feeling of his abs moving against her stomach. The feeling of her nipples dragging against his chest as her bounced her up and down on him. Breaking the kiss, she brought one hand to cradle his face.

“Yours,” she agreed.

“Yes! Fuck!” Titus grunted as his rhythm stuttered. He managed one more hard thrust and then began spurting thick ropes of cum into her. Feeling his cock pulsing inside her, Mira shuddered again as another orgasm overtook her.

Breathing hard, Titus stepped to his bed and sat down, keeping Mira in his lap. He drew her in for one long passionate kiss before he lay down on his back, drawing her down with him.

Continued in Part 2.

Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or reblog. I'm new to writing fics, and love to see readers' reactions. :)

[cherubimcore]

golden bars, fragile hearts

pairing: caracalla x reader

part 1 | this is part 2 !

the roar of the colosseum faded behind you, the cheers and jeers melting into the oppressive silence of the imperial guards marching at your sides. your steps felt heavy, your legs trembling beneath you, but you forced yourself to keep moving. you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you stumble.

especially him.

the streets of rome stretched wide and desolate under the twilight, their usual buzz of activity reduced to scattered groups of beggars and merchants pulling their carts home. the guards paid no mind to weary faces that turned to watch their procession, their armor gleaming dully in the fading light, you caught glimpses of their stares - some pitying, others indifferent, but most of them were glimmering with curiosity, you realized it wouldn’t take long for your name to be whispered in the tavern and marketplaces: the girl who traded her freedom to save her father.

you grind your teeth to not yell and curse at them, it wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t their fault they couldn’t do nothing to help but stare while you were being taken to your ruin, you took a deep breath and thought about your father hoping he wasn't blaming himself for your actions, if they had let you at least talk to him for one minute after taking you…

“move faster,” barked one of the guards, his voice sharp enough to snap you from your thoughts.

you quickened your pace, though every step felt like you were walking towards your doom.

as you approached the towering gates of the imperial palace, you couldn’t help but tilt your head back to take in its full scale, the marble façade glowing faintly in the dim light of the setting sun.

one of the guards steered you towards a side entrance. the corridor you entered was narrow and dimly lit, the walls bare and the air heavy with the scent of old stone. you shivered, though the evening wasn’t cold.

“do you know what awaits you?” one of the guards muttered, you noticed his tone wasn’t mocking but wasn’t kind either.

you decided to not respond, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

you didn’t want to admit you had no idea what caracalla would do to you, what his plans were for someone that so boldly defied him and his brother, but you were certain of one thing.

it wouldn’t be pleasant.

for you at least.

you passed through more winding halls, the grandeur of the palace growing more oppressive with every step. gold leaf adorned the ceilings and mosaics covered the floors, depicting scenes of battles and the triumph of rome. it was beautiful in a way that made your stomach churn, each piece a reminder of the suffering that had built this empire.

finally you stopped before a heavy wooden door. one of the guards knocked twice, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. a moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a small, wiry man with sharp features.

“is this them?” he asked, looking at you up and down.

you winced in discomfort and bit your tongue to not say or do something you would regret later.

“yes,” the guard replied. “the emperor ordered them to be brought directly”

the man nodded, stepping aside to let you in. you looked up to the guard that had tried to talk to you moments before silently pleading for something, something, anything that not even you knew what, but he kept his gaze fixed on the door, seeing no way out of this situation as you walked inside.

“you’ll live here from now on,” the man said, stepping outside next to the guards, his tone brooking no argument.

you nodded silently while the door shut behind you with a heavy thud, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

the servants’ quarters were a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace halls. the walls were bare stone, cold and unwelcoming, and the cot you had picked up hoping it was empty, since you haden’t been assigned one, was narrow and hard. a single, thin blanket did little to ward off the chill that seeped through the air, it could have been worse, you thought to yourself. you laid on your back, staring at the cracked ceiling above you, your mind replaying the events of the day in relentless detail.

your father’s anguished face as the guards dragged you away. the roar of the crowd when the deal was struck. the way caracalla had looked at you, his gaze sharp and calculating.

you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the memories to fade, but they only seemed to grow louder in the dark.

after what felt like hours when you finally drifted into a restless sleep, it was no reprieve. your dreams were filled with shadows and echoes - your father’s voice calling out your name, the crowd’s cheers morphing into jeers, and the chilling image of caracalla’s smirk as he claimed your fate, you wanted to yell at your father you would be fine, that he shouldn’t be worried about you but you couldn’t, caracalla’s icy blue eyes freezed you in place, kneeled in front of him you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you barely could breathe the only thing he let you do was look at him, only him.

you woke with a start, your heart pounding and your breath ragged. the room was silent except for the faint murmur of the other servants breathing around you, but the sense of dread lingered, heavy and suffocating. you sat up, wrapping the thin blanket around your shoulders as you stared into the darkness giving up on your sleep knowing those images would torment you for the rest of the night.

when morning came, you could feel a headache coming from the lack of rest but still you rose with the others, moving through the morning routines in a haze, your thoughts clouded and heavy, caracalla’s eyes still haunting you.

it wasn’t long before a guard appeared at the door, his stern expression drawing murmurs from the other servants.

“you,” he barked, his voice cutting through the room like a blade, the man looked directly at you with an emotionless stare.

you stepped forward, your stomach twisting in knots.

“the emperor wants to see you,” the guard said, motioning for you to follow

the walk to caracalla’s chambers felt like a death march. the ornate halls, gilded and gleaming, seemed to mock you with opulence. you couldn’t help but notice the way servants- you passed through avoided your gaze, their faces etched with fear and pity.

when you reached the emperor’s private chambers you were breathless, not because of the long walk but with the thought of meeting the man that had your fate in his hands, the one that could make your life bearable or a living hell, the one person you couldn’t stop thinking about ever since you arrived, that plagued even your dreams. the guard opened the door and gestured for you to enter. you stepped inside, your heart pounding in your chest. caracalla was seated in a high-backed chair near the window, his gaze fixed on the sprawling city below. he looked as imposing as ever, his broad shoulders draped into the golden light streaming through the window, a gold laurel placed on his fiery hair, a permanent reminder of his power and status.

“you slept in the servants’ quarters,” he said, his voice low but sharp.

you hesitated unsure if it was a question or an accusation. “yes,” you replied quietly.

the man turned to face you, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, reminding you of your nightmare “that won’t do”

you blinked, unsure of what he meant. “i -”

“i remember very clearly that i requested for you to be my personal servant,” he interrupted, rising from his chair. caracalla’s towering presence made the room feel smaller, the air heavier. “i expect you to be available whenever i need you… so you’ll move to a room next to mine”

the weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. a room next to his meant you would always be within reach, your life no longer your own.

“why me?” you found yourself asking before you could stop the words.

his lips quirked into something that might have been a smirk if it weren’t so cold, but said nothing.

the guard reappeared at the door, ready to escort you to your new quarters. as you turned to leave, caracalla’s voice stopped you.

“don’t make me regret my decision” he said, his tone softer but no less commanding.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and followed the guard out of the room.

your new quarters were far from luxurious but still leagues above the servants’ dormitory. The small room held a proper bed, a washstand, and a window that overlooked the gardens. but the knowledge of who occupied the room next door makes it feel more like a gilded cage than an upgrade.

as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your life had just taken another irrevocable turn

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 6

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: none (just a brief mention of arousal... things are heating up between Daphne and Geta!)

Chapter word count: 3.6k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6

It was almost the ides of June. The weather grew unbearably hot. Geta had toured extensively in the Eastern provinces, but it had always been in the comfort of an imperial convoy, with litters and tents for stops along the way and marble palaces to rest in once he reached his destination. Even when marching with the army, he'd never had to deal with such blistering heat. The elevation of the hill did little to help. The sun beat down so relentlessly that the rocky ground became quite literally baked and remained warm even long after the sun had set.

Due to the heat, Daphne now did all her work at dawn and in the evening, when the heat was more tolerable. During the day, she retreated inside the hut, where the mud-brick walls provided some relief. This meant she was a constant presence around Geta these days, and he was rather uneasy about it. Why he should feel uneasy about her, he didn't know. He no longer suspected her of duplicity and betrayal. If anything, he'd grown to trust her. Yet her presence put him on edge, and he found himself watching her while she moved about the hut, working on her potions and poultices or practicing her lettering. She had made some labels for the garden by scratching plant names on thin, flat pieces of pine board, and was now working on the labels for her medicine by stitching letters onto long ribbons to be wrapped around the jars.

When he offered to teach her to read and write, he'd only wanted something to occupy his mind, something to divert him from the tiring thought of retribution and punishment. To his surprise, he had rather enjoyed it, perhaps because it was the only time he could tell her what to do. He had enjoyed teaching her to play draughts as well, even though she was annoyingly good at it. In the army, the soldiers would sometimes challenge each other or place bets on games of draughts, to make them more exciting. Daphne could've cleaned out any of them.

He told himself he enjoyed her company simply because it was the only company to be had for miles around, other than the goats and the donkey. It was true that she was nothing special. She was only a peasant woman, with simple thoughts and simple feelings. And she wasn't even attractive. Her chin was too pointy, her nose too long, her mouth too large. Her figure—what he could see of it, swathed in layers of voluminous linen to combat against the sun—was too thin, all sharp bones and hard muscles developed from her trek up and down the hill, with none of the soft curves Roman women often boasted about. Only those green eyes promised some beauty, but they were so frank, so displeasing in their open stare that Geta sometimes had to turn away from them, afraid they could see to his very core and lay bare all the lies and the guilt, wriggling there like maggots.

The only time her eyes had looked at him with some softness was after the encounter with that odious father of hers, and even then it had only been briefly.

Perhaps that was why he enjoyed teaching her. She wasn't looking at him then. Instead, he could watch her frowning in concentration under the lamplight, her long lashes lowering as she bent over the wax tablet. He didn't have to worry about catching her eyes.

Damnation. For someone who didn't like her eyes, he certainly spent a lot of time thinking about them.

But what else was there to think about? Thinking about his would-be assassin and the conspirators got him nowhere, and thinking about Rome and the constant grumbling of the Senate only exhausted him. Even the possibility of conquering Parthia no longer held much appeal. He might have managed to sack Arbela, but the Parthians had proved to be formidable adversaries, and in his current state, he could never face them. He'd never realized before how tiring and tired it all was, this constant warring and conquest and ruling. So he turned away from them and thought of something else, something more pleasant.

One morning, he was up before his usual time. He went outside, intending to make the best of the cooler air by putting in some hours of sparring at the pine grove, when he spied movements in the garden. It was very early—only a border of pale pink snaked along the horizon, while the sky and the rest of the world were still covered in a bluish-gray veil, and some remnant of the night air was still lingering amongst the stones, not yet melted away under the sun—too early for anyone else to be about. His hand immediately went to the hilt of the dagger that had never left his side, a reminder of how close he'd come to death. He crept around the side of the hut to come up to the garden from the back, so whoever was there would not see him.

It was a woman, dressed in a short saffron tunic. She was moving between the garden rows, shaking the branches of the olive trees above them. Dewdrops fell from the branches, glittering around her like diamonds, splashing on the plants below. At the end of a row, she turned around and saw him.

"Kalimera," she said, using the usual Greek morning greeting. "You're up early."'

It was Daphne. She must have gotten up before him, and he hadn't noticed her empty cot in the front room when he went out.

For a moment, he stood transfixed. It was Daphne and yet not Daphne. Without her usual stole and mantle, she was no longer the dour woman always hurrying from one place to another, worry permanently etched on her brow. Standing before him was a fresh-faced girl, skin rosy and eyes sparkling in the light of the breaking dawn, disarmingly, magically smiling.

"So are you," he said, once he'd found his voice again. "What are you doing?"

"Watering the garden. Out here we have to make use of every bit of moisture we can get." She shook another olive tree as she spoke, and ducked away from the ensuing sprinkle.

"Why don't you just let the dew fall on its own?"

"No, it'll disappear when the sun rises. You must catch it at the right time, when the air is warm enough for the dewdrops to form, but not too warm that they melt away." She glanced at him. "Want to help?"

Geta was no gardener, but he had to admit this was rather sensible. He shrugged, put the dagger back into its sheath, and joined Daphne. Grabbing hold of one of the olive trees, he gave it a vigorous shake, bringing down a shower of not just dewdrops but old leaves and dead branches as well. Daphne laughed.

"Not so hard," she admonished. "Stay away from the branch, or all of the dew will fall on you and none on the garden. And shake it gently, like shaking ripe fruits from a tree." She gave the tree a firm but quick shake. Geta, who had never shaken ripe fruits from any tree, followed suit. "That's the way."

Nodding in approval, Daphne plucked the leaves out of his curls and brushed the dew from his forehead, her gesture natural as if she wasn't even thinking about it. Only when her fingers grazed his skin and their eyes met that she seemed to realize what she was doing. She dropped her hand and turned away, coloring slightly.

As they went down the garden path side by side, working together in silence, Geta kept glancing at Daphne. Something about her was different. It wasn't just because she had left off her usual covering and was showing a body that was unexpectedly lithe and elegant, with long, slender limbs and rounded shoulders. It wasn't just because her hair had caught on a branch and come loose from its usual tight knot, and was now framing her face like a soft cloud. It wasn't just because she, too, was stealing glances at him, her eyes no longer staring and critical, but with a curiosity that matched his own, and a gentleness that made him think of peaceful green hills and calming rivers again. It wasn't just because the rising sun was making her skin glow, reminding him of the rosy-fingered Aurora in her robe of saffron, hastening from the streams of Okeanos to bring light to mortals and immortals, just like Homer had written.

Confound the woman. Why did she always turn him into a bloody poet?

It wasn't because of any of those things, or perhaps it was because of all of them. He'd thought her just a simple peasant woman, but perhaps there was something confounding in her after all. She was like these rocky hills where she grew up, harsh and forbidding at first glance, but soft and nurturing to those who knew what to search for and where to look.

He didn't get any sparring done that morning, but he didn't mind.

The heat continued relentlessly and showed no sign of letting up. One evening, Geta could take it no more and went into the garden, intending to have a swim in the cistern.

"Where are you going?" Daphne asked, looking up from the wax tablet.

He told her. She looked appalled.

"You can't!" she exclaimed. "We must save the water for cooking and drinking. Not to mention that your lungs cannot stand being in such cold, they may get inflamed again—"

"Fine, fine," he said impatiently. He'd learned that when Daphne put her healer's voice on, it was best not to argue with her. "I only want a bath, is that too much to ask?" Daphne had never given him more than a basin of water, which sufficed for washing but not enough to cool him down in this infernal heat. He didn't know how Daphne could stand it. Even in her layers and layers of linen, she always appeared cool and fresh.

Now she got to her feet. "All right, I suppose you can have a bath. But inside, mind."

She dragged into the hut a wooden washtub, just large enough for a grown man to sit in, and set it by the fire, where the embers were still glowing weakly after cooking their supper. Geta expected her to fill the tub and was greatly disappointed when she only set down two buckets.

"That's all?" he said glumly.

"You have to get used to it. We're on the edge of a desert, you know," said Daphne sternly, as she set a pot of water on the fire and added a handful of dried herb to it. The water boiled, and the herb gave off a pleasant scent, so clean and fresh that it seemed to chase the heat away despite the boiling pot. With a start, Geta recognized it as the scent he'd always smelled on Daphne.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Soapwort," said Daphne, pouring the fragrant concoction into one of the buckets, and the water immediately started to froth. "We have no bath oils here, so this is what we use for washing." She put down a washcloth and a towel on a stool next to the tub. "Right. That's everything you need. I'll just be outside if you want anything." She picked up her wax tablet and a lamp and went out, tactfully closing the door behind her.

Geta had bathed this way while on active campaign with the army, so despite his grumbling, he managed to acquit himself quite well. Sitting in the tub, he used a dipper to pour the soapwort water over his body then scrubbed himself with the washcloth as best he could. There wasn't nearly as much water as he'd like, but it felt good to get thoroughly clean for the first time in months. As he lifted his arm to reach behind his back, however, a groan escaped him. The wound on his shoulder was still sore, the skin and muscles stiffened despite his exercising, and he couldn't reach far enough behind him to scrub his own back.

After a few tries and grumbles of frustration, he gave up and called out for Daphne.

She came in at once. "What do you need?"

"My back—I can't reach—" he mumbled, awkwardly covering himself with the towel. It was ridiculous. He'd never had any qualms about appearing naked in front of others—indeed, in his youth in Rome, he had attended many feasts and orgies where nudity was the accepted uniform—so why was he suddenly uncomfortable about being unclothed in front of this woman?

Daphne seemed to have noticed his discomfort. "Don't worry," she said, chuckling. "It's nothing that I haven't seen. Who do you think washed you while you were delirious with fever?" Her lighthearted tone did nothing to set him at ease.

She took the washcloth he put on the edge of the tub and started scrubbing his back in vigorous, practiced movements. No maidenly blushing, no modest lowering of the eye. At such a complete lack of bashfulness, Geta's own embarrassment subsided.

"You're probably used to a more civilized form of bathing than this, I imagine," she said.

Geta thought of the bathhouses of Rome with their many rooms and pools of various temperatures, with their masseuses and strigil-wielding slaves. One of those had been built in his name just shortly before he left for the East. They had their uses, but like most things in Rome, they were also temples to hedonism and excesses, where people came to do much more than just bathing. He wouldn't exactly call them civilized.

"I'm in the army," now he said with a shrug. "We're lucky if we get to bathe at all."

"Where were you before Parthia?" Daphne asked. Then she quickly added, "I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me."

"It's all right." He was sick of keeping secrets. "I was in Germania. And Caledonia before that."

The washcloth stopped moving on his back. "You were in Caledonia?" Daphne asked, her voice hushed.

 He cursed under his breath. She probably had an acquaintance in the army. A brother, a sweetheart, or a husband? But if she did, it would have been—what, eight, ten years ago? Her acquaintance would likely have been in the auxiliaries, one of the troops offered up by King Abgar VIII to prove his loyalty to Rome, back when Osroene still had some form of independence and was not yet a province.

To confirm his suspicion, Daphne continued, "Do you know anyone from the auxiliary forces there at all?"

"No, not really," replied Geta. It was the truth. His father had dragged him and his brother to Caledonia to take them away from the decadence of Rome, in the hope of mending their dissolute ways and teaching them how to rule. It hadn't worked. Even when Geta became sole Emperor, though he tried to mingle with the troops and marched and ate and fought with them, he could never be one of them. The soldiers always viewed him with a certain suspicion, more fear than respect. He didn't mind, as long as they didn't question his authority. And that was with the legions. The provincial auxiliaries were essentially strangers to him.

"Why do you ask?" now he said to Daphne.

"My husband," she replied in an expressionless voice.

Her husband? Geta thought of the tunics he'd been wearing, of her strange behavior the day he first got out of bed. That explained it. He found himself wondering what the man had been like. Must have been a good one, since Daphne obviously still mourned him.

The thought of mourning reminded Geta of his predicament. Who would mourn him? Had they given him up for dead and mourned already? Had he been replaced? No, he couldn't believe that. At least his mother would never, not until she saw his body with her own eyes. Unless the army informed her of his disappearance, she may believe that he was still Edessa. He hoped it was true. Knowing his mother, she would've torn the Earth apart searching for him if she'd known. Macrinus must be keeping the truth from her. He felt the old anger flaring up again. What in Hades was Macrinus doing, sitting about twiddling his thumbs? Why hadn't they found him by now?

"He was killed in Caledonia, eight years ago," Daphne continued in that same flat tone, though he thought he could detect a trembling touch in it, like she was trying not to cry. "Or so I was told."

"We lost a lot of men in Caledonia," he said, as if that could be any comfort. The Caledonian campaign had been a success at first, but then the barbarian tribes, with their primitive but devastating tactics, had driven the Roman force behind Hadrian's Walls. Then his father had died in Eboracum, and Geta had no longer seen a point in pursuing the tribes. He'd had more pressing matters, such as his brother's presence and growing ambition like a thorn in his side. He'd hurried back to Rome to secure his power, leaving the Caledonians to their cold and misty land, thinking nothing about the lives that had been wasted in a campaign that led nowhere.

"I never find out what happened to him," Daphne said. She began scrubbing again, so hard it almost hurt him, but he made no sound. "Just a message saying he was killed. I don't even know when he was killed, or how long that message took to reach me. That's why I asked. I was hoping you could tell me something. Anything."

He didn't turn around, but he could hear the grief, despair, and resignation in her voice, and feel a strange little twinge in his heart. When his father decided to lift the ban on marriage for soldiers, Geta had gone along with it, believing it would raise morale and make them more popular with the army. But now, listening to Daphne, he was no longer so certain. Let the men have their fun with the camp followers and the local women of the garrison towns, but allow them to marry and leave behind wives to grieve and wonder for the rest of their lives like this? It was cruel.

Daphne dropped her hand on the edge of the tub. It looked small, vulnerable, like the wing of a wounded bird, so unlike the strong, capable hands he was used to. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on top, his fingers fitting perfectly in the dips between hers.

She took in a small, sharp breath. Her hand flexed gently under his, as if she was trying to feel its grasp more thoroughly. Before he could stop himself, he was caressing her hand, running his fingertips over her knuckles. Something smooth—her forehead, or perhaps her cheek—came to rest on his bare back, and a slow, shuddering breath, like a quiet, choked-back sob, escaped her lips, blowing hot against his skin.

His heart thumped. She had never sat so close to him, had never touched him in any way other than medically; yet here she was, practically embracing him, her hand in his, her face pressed into his back, her hair tickling his shoulder blades, and that earthy, enchanting fragrant was everywhere, until he didn't know if it was coming from him or her or the very air around them.

One thing he did know: he was becoming aroused. And it wasn't the purely physical type of arousal he usually got upon waking up in the morning. He was aroused by her.

Even though she was behind and could not see him, he froze, not daring to move a muscle lest the traitorous towel chose that moment to shift and reveal his condition to her.

Hades. What was the matter with him? He, who used to think nothing about pulling a serving girl out of a banquet and having his way with her in the anteroom before sauntering back in time for the second course, he who had had camp followers fighting for a place in his tent at night while on campaign, was now blushing and squirming in the presence of a woman, like a boy still wearing a bulla around his neck!

Daphne seemed to have noticed his tension, for she lifted her head from his back—much to his regret—and leaned down. "Is everything all right?" she asked with professional concern. "The water's not too cold for you, is it?"

Her mouth was right by his ear, close enough to touch. Hades. This was more than a man could endure.

"Everything's fine," he said, snatching the washcloth from her. "I can manage now."

She sat back, clearly put out by his brusque tone, but when he started scrubbing his chest with rather too much force than necessary, she only said, "Careful, or you may tear your wounds open again," in the same wry tone she often used with him, and went out again, taking along the pot of leftover soapwort.

Chapter 7

A bulla is an amulet worn by Ancient Roman boys before they came of age.

Soldiers in Ancient Rome were forbidden to marry while on active duty (though this didn't apply to centurions and higher-ups), but Severus Septimius did lift that ban in 197.

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve, @flawssy-227, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs (if you want to be tagged or removed, let me know!)

[bekkathyst]

Custom Wire Wrapped Necklaces

These are the stones I have available for wire wraps, for those of you who are interested!

If you would like to claim one, please be sure to read this entire post!

So here’s the rundown. Below is a picture with each stone numbered, and below that is the name of each stone, along with the price.

The price includes the following: the stone wrapped in the metal of your choice (sterling silver, 14k gold fill, 14k rose gold fill), an 18″ chain finished with a handmade clasp, and it includes free shipping worldwide! 

You will choose the style they’d like it wrapped in. There are three example pics below. 

Payment is due when the stone is claimed and all the options are chosen (metal, style, etc). PLEASE NOTE - these will be completed by the end of MARCH 2024. There’s always a possibility that something comes up that causes a delay, but I do try to get them early. They take a long time to make, please make sure you’re okay with the wait before ordering. I put the utmost care into this and have extreme attention to detail, and when that combines with my busy schedule, it means that it can take a while. If you are buying one for a certain event or deadline please be sure to let me know when ordering, so I can let you know if it’s possible for it to be completed before then!

To claim: send me a message over the instant messenger with your email address, the country you’re in, the stone you’d like to claim, the metal you’d like it wrapped in, and the style you’d like it wrapped in. I’ll then send your invoice and get started on your pendant! :) 

*Note* These are some of my best, highest quality stones! I’ve been collecting (and hoarding, if I’m honest) hundreds of top-quality stones for 10 years to build this collection I can share with you. All the stones from Italy were sourced from a lapidarist who mined and hand-cut every single piece in the Italian Alps.

Here are all the stones:

Lapis Lazuli - $150

Silver Moonstone - $165

High-Grade Rainbow Moonstone - $160

High-Grade Rainbow Moonstone - $155

Silvery Green Labradorite - $150

Genuine Spectrolite from Finland - $165

Serpentine from Italy - $185

Eudialyte from Canada - $160

Pyrope Garnet with Ellenbergerite from Italy - $170

Violan from Italy - $150

Blue Lace Agate - $140

Azurite from Siberia - $165

Moss Agate - $140

Hematite Included Quartz - $150

Faceted Smoky Quartz - $150

Faceted High Grade Ametrine - $240

Faceted Rutilated Quartz - $155

Faceted Tourmalinated Quartz - $150

Faceted "Super 7" Included Amethyst - $165

Faceted Lavender Quartz - $160

Rare Star Rutile Quartz - $165

Ethiopian Welo Opal - $165

California Green Tourmaline - $170

Imperial Topaz - $145

Faceted Green Tourmaline - $150

Etched Heliodor from Ukraine - $215

Koroit Boulder Opal - $175

Koroit Boulder Opal - $140

Koroit Boulder Opal - $160

These are the styles you can choose from (I do very minimalist wrapping so the stone really shines through! And the wrapping is super sturdy!) 

Style #1 (prongs): 

Style #2 (symmetrical): 

Style #3 (asymmetrical):  

I will cross out each stone as they are claimed! 

Extra little note: I have some square wire if you prefer that to the round, just let me know!

Thanks, everyone :) 

[quinnophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐈𝐈

pairing. emperor Geta x original character

synopsis. When the captain of the emperors’ guard arrives at General Acacius’ villa, an unexpected guest catches his attention.

warnings. violence, misogyny, infidelity, forced proximity, discussions of producing an heir, mental/physical abuse, forced marriage

word count. 1.2K

notes. There is an absence of the boys but i hope it'll be worth it 🎀

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

The sun had barely risen over Rome when Nicomedes Valerian, captain of the emperor’s guards, and his cohort of soldiers began their march through the busy streets. Citizens parted before them like waves before a ship, their whispers trailing in the soldiers’ wake. Clad in polished armour which gleamed in the morning light, Nicomedes cut an imposing figure. His blue cloak swayed as he sat atop his horse, his stern face unyielding, save for the faintest smirk that seemed permanently etched into his features.

From house to house, Nicomedes would knock — or, more accurately, barge in — announcing invitations to the emperors’ newest festivities. This would be no mere social event… it was a declaration of imperial presence, an expectation of loyalty cloaked in the guise of celebration. Families of nobility or high ranking knew better than to decline. 

By mid afternoon, the soldiers approached the villa of General Acacius and his wife Lucilla, a stately yet secluded home nestled in the heart of Rome. The couple were favoured amongst the citizens, known for their grace and standing. Particularly Lucilla, who’s presence was known to bring favour and peace to any gathering.

Nicomedes once again didn’t bother to knock. With a nod to his men, he dismounted his stallion, and sauntered towards the entrance. He pushed the doors open, the metallic clang of their arrival echoing through the atrium. The household froze.

Acacius, seated near the central fountain, rose swiftly from his chair, his expression shifting from surprise to cordiality upon recognising the man before him.

“Nicomedes,” Acacius greeted, his tone careful but warm. “What brings such an esteemed guest to our home at this fine hour?”

Lucilla appeared from the adjoining room, her steps graceful despite the sudden intrusion. She held her composure, yet Acacius noticed the annoyance in her eyes as she narrowed them towards the guard and his soldiers. He stood closer to her, soothing her.

“General Acacius. Lady Lucilla.” Nicomedes bowed his head in respect, his voice laced with authority. “You are, as always, gracious hosts.” With a click of his fingers, a soldier stepped forward, handing a piece of parchment to the couple. “The emperors have commanded a grand festivity at the palace in a day’s time. Your attendance is required, naturally.”

As he spoke, Nicomedes’ sharp eyes drifted over the room. At the far corner, seated on a low bench near the ivy covered columns, was a figure he had not expected to see. A young woman, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders, was deep in conversation with one of Lucilla’s maids. Her attire was simple, yet elegant. It bore no sign of nobility, yet it was certainly no garb of a servant. 

“Of course,” Lucilla replied, her voice smooth but cool. Acacius eyed the words on the paper, cautious as to why now the emperors had decided to host this event. “We would not dream of declining such an invitation.”

Nicomedes’ gaze lingered, his curiosity piqued. The woman turned slightly, her face composed but her movements deliberate, as though trying not to draw attention to herself. The captain of the guard had a keen eye for strange behaviour; and this creature stood out like a spartan in Persia. 

Acacius’ eyes rose from the parchment, noticing Nicomedes’ distraction. He hurriedly handed it over to Lucilla, stepping forward slightly. “A remarkable event, I’m sure. Might I ask, what occasion are we celebrating?” His voice was steady but brisk.

Nicomedes’ attention snapped back to Acacius, his brow lifting in mild amusement. “The emperors seek to honour Rome’s strength and glory. It will be a gathering of the finest, those who embody the greatness of our empire.”

Lucilla smiled faintly, stepping beside her husband. “A noble cause,” she said, though there was a flicker of unease in her eyes.

“Indeed,” Nicomedes replied, a large grin plastered on his face. He gestured towards the woman in the corner, his tone of voice turning sharp. “And who is this beauty? I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

The woman’s shoulders stiffened, her conversation coming to a halt at the acknowledgement of her presence.

Acacius hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking. “She is the daughter of an old friend, General Gaius Varius. He served Rome with great distinction.” 

Nicomedes’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Gaius… The name is faint, but I recall him. A fine General.” His gaze wondered over to the woman once again. “What brings her here?”

“What good is Rome’s splendour if we don’t let others see it?” Acacius countered, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I offered her my hospitality. It was the least I could do for the family of a man who once bled for this fine city.”

The explanation was probable, but Nicomedes’ expression suggested he wasn’t entirely satisfied. He took a deliberate step closer, his boots echoing against the marbled floors.

The young woman finally turned, her movements calm but deliberate as she stared at the man who demanded attention. “Refuge or not,” he said, his gaze fixed on her “she is no ordinary guest. And anyone under this roof is always of interest to the emperors.” Lucilla clutched Acacius hand, an action that went unnoticed by Nicomedes, who seemed transfixed. “She will attend the festivities. Let them decide if she is worthy of such hospitality.”

Acacius forced a tight smile as Lucilla found her voice,“Of course, Nicomedes. She will accompany us.”

“Good.” Nicomedes spared once last glance towards the woman, before he nodded curtly towards the couple. He turned on his heel, addressing his men. “We’ve lingered long enough. Onward.”

The soldiers followed their commander out, the sound of their heavy boots fading into the distance. The silence they left behind was suffocating. 

Lucilla exhaled loudly, her composure faltering as she glanced towards Acacius. “That man has no regard for decency,” she muttered, her voice low. Noticing her husband still staring off towards the entrance, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” the young woman finally spoke, her words soft. “I would have left, had I not feared my departure would be too noticeable.”

Acacius lifted his arm, affectionately squeezing Lucilla’s hand that was placed upon his shoulder. “You did what you could,” he replied, his voice holding an undercurrent of tension. He turned to look at the woman, a sad smile playing on his lips. “But I knew this was inevitable.”

Lucilla stepped closer towards her, reaching out. She happily obliged, extending her hands for Lucilla to take. “We’ll manage,” she spoke firmly, her gaze full of concern. “But you must tread carefully…” She turned her gaze towards her husband. “Both of you.”

The three stood in uneasy silence, the weight of Nicomedes’ parting words lingering in the air. With her secrets threatening to rise to the surface, her presence had now drawn the attention of Rome’s most powerful.

And that attention would not be easily escaped.

[twixnmix]

Vintage Concert Posters

Coliseum Ballroom (Davenport, IA) - March 20, 1959

Memorial Auditorium (Chattanooga, TN) - June 13, 1960

Sunset Lake Park (Chesapeake, VA) - July 27, 1963

Encore Ballroom (Seattle, WA) - June 5, 1964

Sweets Ballroom (Oakland, CA) - December 10, 1964

Richmond Arena (Richmond, VA) - January 15, 1965

Four Seasons Arena (Walpole, MA) - November 12, 1966

Joe Freeman Coliseum (San Antonio, TX) - January 27, 1968

Fox Theatre (Detroit, MI) - December 25, 1968 - January 1, 1969

Club Imperial (St. Louis, MO) - May 20, 1969

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

a la "See? Our ethnic cleansing was right because they totally destroyed the environment just like we said they would!" 😌

There's so much bullshit here I don't know where to start but let's go with:

1) The Dragon Prince is a fictional setting which means everything about it comes from the decisions of the writers.

So not only do they refuse to treat the Human Exile like a genocide, which it was that's not debatable, now they're justifying said genocide!

How many people died being forced to march from one side of Xadia to the other? No, seriously. How many old? How many children? How many sick? How many disabled?

Because apparently the writers think it's zero!

There's more sympathy aimed at animals than at the millions of humans who were forced to leave their homes. Like, the elves emptied whole cities into the Xadian wilderness and expected them not to starve? It doesn't matter how "abundant" the resources are if these people come from widely different ecosystems with no knowledge of the land.

And no agricultural infrastructure necessary to support millions of people.

3) Humans are not a monolith.

Surprising, I know, considering how much the writers want to ignore the existence of the other human nations whenever they're inconvenient. Like a certain Crown Prince they murdered in the third se-

I've talked before about how western fantasy writers use "human" when what they really mean is Western European Imperialism. Yes, powerful cultures can exploit the natural resources of their environment but they can also respect it more than any modern European nation.

So the Mage Wars are also Imperialist Propaganda

So the fact that literally every Dark Mage was all:

Yeah, that's bullshit.

Just because Medieval European Magicians were buying rhinoceros horns doesn't mean other cultures wouldn't have seen harming magical creatures as sacrilegious.

Also:

Wow, look at all those dirty disgusting humans abusing their godlike power. This is obviously because humans are a bunch of inherently evil parasites that destroy everything and not the actions of a few selfish individuals who monopolized power for themselves at the expense of the common people.

Oh, hello, Capitalism.

2)

Well, that's just bullshit.

First of all, that many extinctions would result in an environmental collapse of apocalyptic proportion.

Second, I don't care how powerful they are the population collapse would've rendered war unsustainable in a medieval environment long before this.

Third:

4) This makes the elves and dragons look even more incompetent and selfish.

They had a fit when humans killed one fucking rock monster. And they just stood by and let countless magical creatures go extinct? Stupid but okay let's roll with it.

That means they never really cared about protecting magic animals from humans. They just wanted to get rid of them. What do they care if the humans drain all magic from the west? Elves and dragons still have the east.

Sure, Dark Mages are an abomination to the natural order. But as long as they do it Over There they're no threat to draconic supremacy, I mean, elven lives.

Why waste time trying to find one Dark Mage when you can exile an entire city instead! What collective punishment?

If the humans are killing themselves that's no business of ours. Definitely don't have an entire order of Moonshadow Assassins trained specifically to destabilize foreign powers.

No, those are good assassins!

Yeah, because the writers have no sense of scale, or history, or non-western worldviews, or understanding of imperialist indoctrination, or-

[ravenking1771]

Silco: The False Revolutionary

Silco throughout season 1 makes claims of representing the cause of Zaunite independence and advocating for its people against Piltover's abuse. However his actions are significant source of the suffering and impoverishment of Zaun and his rise also prevented any effective beneficial movement for Undercity rights.

Silco hasshown a willingness and ability to lie, deceive manipulate and gaslight those around him. From convincing Deckard to become the first Shimmer mutant in Episode 2, and lying to Marcus about what he intended to do to Vander and Marshall Grayson and his continued manipulation and corruption of Marcus over the years. Even Jinx was not beyond his manipulations lying to her about the fate of Vi, SIlco thought Marcus had killed her and told Jinx she had left Piltover. He continued telling this lies even up to the end of Season 1. Silco also tries to pin Jinx's various attacks on the Firelights. Silco also either lies to Jinx when he says "I would never given you up" or he lied to Jayce when negotiating at Battery Point. This means we cannot trust a word of Silco's grand declarations and revolutionary promises. Beyond Silco being an unrepentant liar there is also the possibility that Silco is deceiving himself in addition to everyone else.

Silco's failure to bring about the Revolution could be explained by incompetence or ignorance on Silco's part, but this is undercut by his demonstrated effectiveness in corralling the Chem-barons, running his criminal empire and keeping his business free of Piltover interference until Vi is released by Caitlin. Silco laments Piltover's rise due to Hextech and the backwardness of Zaun but shows no willingness to do anything about it. He has no spies feeding him info on Hextech, Jinx only attacks the Progress Day exhibit in an impulsive reaction to Silco telling her to take a day off. Silco is not robbing Piltover bank's or stealing food or gas masks to redistribute to the poor of Zaun. He is not training insurgents, providing weapons or riling up the populace against Piltover, setting up marches, organizing political parties etc. . These are all tried and true tactics of revolutionary movements and insurgencies in both our history and fictional ones. For example the heist of the Imperial payroll in Andor was direclty inspired by a Bolshevik bank heist in Georgia before WWI. Silco had a decade from the death of Vander to Progress Day and he never took any sort of subversive action beyond those of a gangster. His failure to even try to bring about the independence of Zaun or to fight for its rights is truly damning. I think this shows Silco's actual priorities and they are not for Zaun's benefit.

In fact I would make the case that Silco never actually cared for the people of Zaun, as seen by his selling of Shimmer in the Undercity. In Seasons 1 and 2 we can see that Shimmer use is illegal in Piltover so Silco was not earning his money by selling to the rich and powerful but the truly poor and desperate. This act both impoverished Zaun and concentrated wealth in his and his gangster cronies hands. It created a generation of broken and desperate drug addicts willing to do anything to feed their addiction as seen with Huck in Season 1. This also created another generation of orphans and those abused by the gangsters Silco surrounded himself with. The Firelights who grew out of this despair are actually, truly a revolutionary movement unlike Silco's criminal cartel. When they attack Silco's blimp in Episode 4 they do not steal the Shimmer but burn it and we later see that Echo has deliberately formed them to oppose the ChemBarons and to get justice for those lost to Silco and his drugs. Silco of course then surrounded himself with greedy violent and amoral characters like Finn and Renni who would betray him the moment Piltover placed any pressure on the Chem-barons. The surviving Chembarons then following Silco's death turned on each other and fought a destructive multi-sided gang war as Piltover prepared to invade following Jinx's attack. The Firelights meanwhile survived not just SIlco's criminal reign but also the occupation by Piltover and Ambessa's Noxians. I hope I have sufficiently shown that Silco failed to actually build a movement for Zaunite independence or recruit underlings that actually believed in his cause, even his own daughter Jinx was remarkably apolitical compared to her sister Vi and could not see beyond her own issues except when Isha, or Sevika or Echo talked some sense into her. Silco created a predatory society that cannibalized itself for a decade

Now what about Jinx's theft of the Hex-gemstone and eventually his "deal" with Jayce? One, Jinx acted almost entirely by herself, stealing the gemstone in an unplanned act of mass violence, and she also also acted alone in deciphering Hextech and the building of Silco's weapon. In fact, Silco was positively livid until Jinx revealed she had stolen the gemstone, because she had killed enforcers and no doubt attracted attention from the Upper City. All Silco does is take a meeting with an emotionally broken Jayce who caves in less than a minute. Two, Silco depending on whether you believe him says he refuses to turn Jinx over to Jayce and voiding the peace deal with him and Piltover. Did SIlco on the cusp of achieving his life long dream, in who's name he had murdered Vander and his adopted kids and sacrificed so many Zaunites to the ravages of Shimmer while refusing to do anything to help the poor and downtrodden of the lanes? Or did he merely abandon a convenient lie or realized his own self-deception.

Silco's lies or self-deceptions make me doubt his revolutionary ambitions. As for his motivation I would point to his cruel behaviour towards Vander, seeking to kill his entire adopted family, and if you trust the Season 2 stuff, his friend Connol's two children Vi and Powder (Silco was absolutely going to murder Powder in season 1). This I think is the real motivator for Silco revenge, and in his own words "Respect" Furthermore, Silco reveals he would killed Renni's son if he was not already dead following her coup attempt. My point being Silco was a petty man driven by his own petty desires for revenge for real or imagined slights, he was lacking in any morals or higher ideals save for his love for Jinx which manifested as a toxic lies and violent destructive life.

[sforzesco]

 Then, on his arrival in Constantinople, after much counsel with himself, considering that he was already unequal to the amount of pressing business and believing that there was no room for delay, on the twenty-eighth of March he brought the aforesaid Valens into one of the suburbs​ and with the consent of all (for no one ventured to oppose) proclaimed him Augustus. Then he adorned him with the imperial insignia and put a diadem on his head, and brought him back in his own carriage, thus having indeed a lawful partner in his power, but, as the further course of our narrative will show, one who was as compliant as a subordinate. No sooner were these arrangements perfected without disturbance than both emperors were seized with violent and lingering fevers--

AM 26.4.3-4

this was one of those illustrations that was originally supposed to be a 5 page comic until I realized I don't know anything about later roman empire architecture or visuals or art or anything, so we'll revisit that later. maybe

for right now though, these two are fascinating. we have two brothers acting as one body, even becoming ill in tandem with each other, it's giving This Throne Is Cursed. like, the last time I read about emperors coming down with life threatening illnesses, it was Caligula, and that moment in his biography marked a very specific tone shift. I spent the rest of the (first) time reading about Valens and Valentinian waiting for something comparable to Caligula's reign to happen lmao (Dio 59. 8. 1-2)

and since Caligula was already on the mind, I started thinking about Tiberius: I think he would've loved these two since he had a whole thing about twin-ification and brothers and etc etc etc. ofc, Rome is both a Mouth and a Tomb, so it's going to go badly for someone/everyone eventually, but honestly I think that Valentinian and Valens were the best we could've hoped for. like it could've been so much worse

Tiberius and the Heavenly Twins, Edward Champlin

Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D, Noel Lenski

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