#Muse | Romulus

[luxmaeastra]

The kingdom thrived as the cove was diverted back. The wards Romulus remembered from a lifetime ago blazed here.

Nox answered why question he threw at him. Till,

"How does this end Nox?"

Nox looked past the buildings to the horizon. To where the Chalkydri kingdoms laid. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

"I already warned Raelyn. But this ends with them throwing everything at us. We have Draven and Verena and their Wyrdkeys. We have Rivitus and the Augurs. We have our Queen, we are a threat like we were in the height of Tehome's power. We were the first city to defect from her. And we have payed that price ever since."

A hardness slid into his eyes as he looked back at him.

"What happens next is up to us Romulus. We should make it count."

A kingdom which stood in the face of oppression, a kingdom which stood in the defence of the ones who really didn’t fit the tilts of Mother and Father - no they deserved better titles than that. A kingdom which had been a home that she had once walked in, he had been so young back then when they had been there last. He remembered his mothers and father walking with him and those of his siblings who had been born, a sense of peace and happiness.

Romulus stood quietly as he looked across the battlements and towards the horizon as he felt something within him churn, his head rose slightly as he remembered everything his siblings who were there had went through. Rivitus had found his own way, he had carved a path for himself. Then Raelyn, she had gone through every trial she was meant to go through without question - even if she did not realize she was going through it at that time.

“Then they will learn it will not fall easily,” he responded with a small nod. “I will be leaving for only a little while, I have to return to my mate and our nest and update her. I also need to go visit Valentina, someone who was close to Raelyn, who had been looking after her children. I imagine she will want them close.”

[lionofchaeronea]

Hersilia Separating Romulus and Tatius, Guercino, 1645

[maleficusbonum]

Ok, sad talk.

I read this fanficrion that had Call having tried to have romantic relationships in the past, but never let anyone get too close to her for fear they find out she's an android and reject her.

What if that's really happened? What if she fell in love, everything was going great, she thought they were the one, blah, blah, and then something happens and her white blood shows or something and the person recoils in disgust and just storms off on her, telling her they never want to see her again.

And my other sad thought; not only has Call come to believe that everyone she meets is going to be disgusted she's not human, but then there's the freaks that are delighted she's not and fetishize her.

Of course she'd never want to be touched again.

[freeusemuses]

Romulus: Absolutely not!

Ember: Why? You gave Opal a lightsaber!

Romulus: That was because he wanted to do the Vader hallway scene from Rogue One. And that hallway was filled with Grimm. But what you're asking for is a dagger that may or may not summon an 80 story tall mechanical kaiju!

Ember: And?

Romulus: No!

Ember: Please?

Romulus: It's gimmick infringement! Opal is our team's Power Ranger!

Ember: But wouldn't you feel safer having a Megazord for super high risk missions?

...

...

...

...

Romulus: Fine.

Ember: Yes! Dragonzord, here I come!

[stclker]

Ellen going all mama mode, gathering all alien survivors under her wing-

[fractalcloning]

As I scream into the void seeking a Narek RPer to play against, I have finally caved and must explain why I want this Romulan loungelizard to be more popular. (It won't happen, but I can dream.)

Reasons I like Narek as a character that nobody but me gives a shit about:

Let me preface this with a fact about me: I know Romulans.

I've RPed as Nero for almost two straight years in a large game. I've basically learned Rihannsu back to front for the endeavor. The person who played my Ayel and I both dumped countless hours into developing grammar and extrapolating cultural rules. We were dedicated to making them as believeable and accurate to canon as possible.

I have the whole timeline of the destruction of Hobus/Romulus down to memory. I know about all the neat little tidbits and trivia from comics and adjacent materials etc, etc.

This is to say: I have read and written quite a lot about Romulans in my time. I am very familiar with how they work and what data is available to draw from when writing them.

We do meet a few rank and file military Romulans from time to time, however. So we know how the general military operates in direct contrast to the Tal'Shiar. Caution and secrecy is sort of baked into their culture, which makes a lot of sense given that they're constantly at war with basically everyone, but they aren't (generally) unreasonable people.

In canon Trek, Romulans are often a little over the top with the sneaky-backstabbing-untrustworthy-nonsense. They're almost comical with how much scheming they do, but most of the Romulans we meet in canon are Tal'Shiar. The Tal'Shiar are known, pretty explicitly for the depth and breadth of their sneaky-backstabbing-untrustworthy-nonsense. It's kind of their whole deal, apart from mnhei'sahe (literally the ruling passion honor).

Narek, however, was a child when Hobus went supernova. He is from the very last generation that had any living memory of Romulus. (Elnor is also from this generation and they are great foils for each other, but that's another essay.) Narek is from a (presumably) respected family of--if not Tal'Shiar then Military--operatives. His aunt held high rank, his sister did as well, and both were inducted into the Zhat Vash, an organization that worked so quietly and efficiently that even the famously paranoid Tal'Shiar thought they were a myth. They orchestrated catastrophes and manipulated Galactic law to their ends, one of their members was the head of Starfleet Security and Narissa was on a personal basis with her.

Their underlying culture is present, but it isn't explored very deeply in any one canon source. Taken collectively, however, it is just as substantial as Klingon Battle-lust or Ferengi Capitalism.

Nero was a break from the norm, not because he was vengeful, but because he was the first non-military Romulan we'd ever really seen. His designs, the tattoos, the crew of his ship with their very un-Romulan loyalty, the way he talked and sought equivalent exchange of lives (mnhei'sahe), was a wealth of Romulan culture that we hadn't ever seen. He was a regular Joe, had a regular non-Military job, trusted and worked with aliens to try and save lives. His failure (not his fault) was something he absorbed and sought to rectify in the Romulan way.

Nero was super interesting both for how much detail he cast on Romulan culture, and in how he slotted into the Prime Timeline. Nero was a guy desperately clinging to hope, to the last vestiges of his civilian life, but he was cut free by the destruction of Romulus and set adrift. The only anchor he had in the AOS timeline was his honor and the driving need to balance the scales and restore it.

Narek, however privledge his family was, was a washout. He was a failure. We know he wasn't Zhat Vash, and whether he was even Tal'Shiar is up for some serious speculation. He doesn't act like military officers, and only seems to be play-acting as a Tal'Shiar, miming his sister when it suits him.

Narek may have had authority on the Artifact, but it was probably by dint of Oh granting it. We never get any clarification whatsoever about his rank or dayjob, just that he is fully devoted to helping the Zhat Vash. He is analytical, prepared, but he is not good at thinking on his feet and clearly does his planning off screen. He's meticulous but not especially skilled at hiding or regulating his emotional state. He is far less aggressive and stalwart than just about every other Romulan we've seen...except for Nero.

He was literally a placeholder sent to keep tabs on Soji. He didn't even arrive until Narissa had failed to capture Dahj. That Narek managed to get close to Soji, that he discovered her dreams and correctly surmised what they are, was more luck than skill. Before his assessments the Zhat Vash knew that Dahj (and Soji) could be activated out of their cover, but they assumed that they could capture them. They probably assumed they could torture the data out of them, if not dissect them and rip out a harddrive.

Narek found an easy way to get right to the information they needed. His attachment to Romulan culture is his puzzlebox--Before Nero we had never met a Romulan civilian and before Narek we have never met a cultural Romulan who plays with a toy, we had never seen a child's toy like that. Of course, the puzzlebox (Tan Zhekran) was a mechanism to illustrate his thought process, to make the differences between Narissa and him very apparent, but it was also something from his childhood (presumably). It's a weirdly personal affect for a Romulan and he fidgets with it almost constantly. It's a tell, something he shouldn't have, and it makes him accessible on an emotional level.

Narek is a civilian.

He's a civilian in a family of spies and operatives, raised alongside his sister on the same stories, with the same care. There's no way a Zhat Vash didn't have a family home on Romulus. While Elnor is a nice example of the new generation of Romulans, Narek is one of the last examples of what is used to mean to be a Romulan. He saw Romulus and escaped with all his surviving family when it as it was destroyed. Narek was raised on Romulan tradition (private names for family), Romulan stories about the end of the world, and he is haunted by them because he knows they're true, they're real. His sister and aunt have seen it, seen the message that drives people mad, about Ganmadan. His living relatives have dedicated their lives to preventing it and, even if he isn't actually Zhat Vash, he does the same.

Narek is a failure, by his culture's standards, by his family's standards, but he is also the only one of them who lives in the end.

He's a civilian who is trying, desperately, to avert another Romulan apocalypse. He has already lived through one and somehow this next one is even worse. Like Nero he sees the writing on the wall--but instead of doubling down on the traditional sneaky spy shit, he tries something new--unlike Nero, it works! He makes headway where nobody else could.

Unfortunately, it's kinda fucked up, but he then gives up everything in the pursuit of this goal. (Which to him, seems like a noble one.) Narek gives up who he is (by playing at being Tal Shiar), his safety (he has no idea what Soji is capable of or what might set her off, they only have records of Dahj killing a dozen agents before being blown up), and eventually resigns himself to killing the woman he's fallen in love with (the baseline requirement for giving out his real name). He does it all for the greater good, to save people and he doesn't seem to make much of a distinction between Romulan and other organic lives. He has his little plans, tracking La Sirena in a single cloaked ship, hiding his presence to tail them, firing on them despite being wholly outmatched, allying with Sutra however temporarily, trying to sway Soji again, turning to Rios, Raffi, and Elnor for help--he's willing to do anything because he's terrified that everything is about to end and it will be him who failed to prevent it.

The very last shot we see of him, after his plan to detonate the transmitter fails completely, is him on the ground being dragged away by the Coppelius androids. He doesn't posture or threaten, doesn't say ominous shit like the other Romulans we're used to--He begs. He claws at the ground, trying to stay, and he begs. He pleads with Soji, calls her his love, tries that last ditch hail mary because it's all he can do. He fails his task and she's the last person he can reach out to and, in the end, despite the very real threat to her life, Planet, and Picard, Soji smashes the transmitter. The apocalypse is averted.

Narek failed but he also succeeded. His aunt is dead, Oh has been outed as a traitor, and his sister is killed by Seven of Nine. In a cut scene, apparently, Narek was supposed to be arrested by Starfleet. So he's facing (at the very least) retribution from the androids and the ExBorg. Starfleet is very likely to arrest and interrogate him, if not imprison him indefinitely since he has ties to the Zhat Vash and, subsequently, will be on the hook to explain the Utopia Planetia disaster. Soji hates him, for good reason, and his homeworld is long gone. Narek has nothing...but the world was saved.

Narek is singular because he's all about needing and interacting with other people, he has no real authority, nobody he commands. He's a civilian (insofar as any Romulan can be) and is a soft, emotional boy who hangs on to his childhood toys. He's driven in equal parts by fear and a deep sense of failure, like everyone else in the show, and he takes the steps that seem right and necessary to him (also like everyone else on the show).

Narek was a great contrast against Elnor in every possible way--from his evasiveness to his fear of death--and he was a great foil for Soji. On Coppelius, Soji's terror clouds her judgment and she very nearly does terrible things to protect herself. Her actions, her opinions, her hesitation were all driven by fear. The ends seemed to justify the means. She reflects Narek's state for the whole show. Season 1 is about finding safety and meaning.

Narek is afraid for the whole duration of the show and his choices all reflect that same desperate need to find permanent safety, to live. Soji exists on the peripheral of that with the Ex-Borg, and as a synthetic, and then she falls headlong into it after his betrayal. Narek regrets trying to kill her and the symbolism of his losing that box, of him trying to kill her in a room that is so very culturally Romulan, right after telling her his name, makes it very clear that killing her is killing some piece of himself. But the ends justify the means. He can and will give up everything to save the world.

And his last line in the show is desperately pleading with the woman he loves as he's dragged away.

Then we never see him again or get anything resembling closure for Soji or Narek.

Which I will be big mad about forever, because they didn't even get the bare minimum acknowledgement and closure of "moving on and living life is paramount because it is finite and beautiful ". Nope. Nothing. I'm furious forever.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. I hope if Star Trek Legacy happens we get Narek as a sort of...side character creeper informant ala Garak. I also hope we get Soji on Seven's Enterprise because I love her.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

I'm torn on if I think this is a cute nostalgic way to honor the anniversary of the first ever Alien movie, or if it's just weird cash grab marketing. I found it hilarious they had to describe it as a "fully functional VHS" in the press release.

[alteregozowie]

He's going to the picture show this evening. Alastor will be unavailable for the next few hours.

[transviktortalis]

also havent seen anyone talk about how much the [you know who] looks like the engineers!

down to the black eyes, baldness, and nose bridge! just super interesting that the goop would turn a human into something that resembles the progenitor species

[luxmaeastra]

The Kingdom was dying, barely clinging on. The Cove had once lowed through it now it had been diverted. The Asteri took and took, leaving this spot of land dying and dead.

The Prince turned from the Augurs Hall looking up at the Midnight Sun. At least they'd found one their Queen. He would need to retrieve her, that was easy enough.

This wasn't his kingdom anyway, he'd restore the bloodline.

--------

He slid the paper to Raelyn looking to Romulus and back to Raelyn.

"Your bonds had been broken, both of yours. You can be tracked. You -"

He swallowed trying to keep his composure.

"You can home. Your people are waiting for you Raelyn."

"And how do we have any claim to this land?"

The Prince frowned and tilted his head.

"Your mother's kingdom. My family took it over but I refuse to sit on a stolen throne."

The paper rested upon the table in front of her, her eyes looked at the ink that stood stark upon the page. His words seemed to close in on her, the doors of something which had once been locked away opened.

She could come home, she had a people who were waiting for her. Her head turned as she looked towards Romulus, valid questions were presented.

Their mother’s kingdom.

“Amaya…” Romulus whispered as the images of his youth had slowly started to return, as the beautiful Valkyrie who had been their mother rose in his mind. A mother that Raelyn had never met, but gained life from.

“Why now?” Raelyn finally spoke up. “You said your father took over, that your family had the throne. Why wait until now?”

She didn’t want to turn away what was their’s, but did she have a right.

“Our mother would have wanted you to have it Raelyn, she wanted each of us to thrive, to grow, to achieve great things…”

[the-aerispace]

I HAVE A THEORY FINALLY I CAN SHARE IT YIPPEE

Buckle up chucklefucks this is going to be very long!

So basically, I imagine it as mainly little things. I'm pretty sure he was mostly whole until Catholic guilt and or moral compass stated setting in. (And absolutely Janus and Patton had a hand in it BUT NOT IN THE WAY YOU THINK)

Romulus as I lovingly refer to him was probably just doing what he does it is his job yk and so were the others. As you grow up you start thinking about more mature things, but Thomas has it bad with intrusive thoughts at a young age (me too buddy) and because of what he was taught according to Logan that thought is a precursor to action, he is immediately Very Scared because he is a child and also now believes he's awful (bye bye self esteem!) and starts separating the good ideas from the bad ones because of his sense of Morality (See, not directly his fault, but Patton absolutely was scared of Romulus in some way because he was scared Thomas would be a bad person because of him) and as such Romulus' thoughts start to separate on their own, fun. And then Patton starts fully leaning into repression without really knowing it, making them worse. A good amount of having intrusive thoughts, recoiling at yourself, mentally washing your hands, begging for forgiveness, call yourself disgusting, repeat, ect. (I hate this part so much) And then as a response to Thomas' distress, Janus (yay she arrives) tries to hide away the bad parts to shield him, not knowing what that would do. Because you can't really separate Romulus' ideas from him. They're practically parts of his body, his own essence given form. (At this point he isn't the ego, just Thomas' Creativity, hopes and dreams.) So it's like trying to unbake a cake.

Or is it? (Vsauce music here)

Romulus' ideas are like extensions of himself really (not physically let me say.. just a very strong emotional attachment, that is very Very special to him on a deeply personal level yfm?) so really having them being constantly rejected time and time again with some of them being accepted for a reason you can't fathom (because this criteria of good Vs bad is very confusing bc he doesn't really understand it well, he's not Morality) must do wonders for your self worth especially if it's for seemingly no reason, bc I'm saying that he doesn't really know the difference between "good" and "bad" ideas (and I don't think remus or Roman do either for reasons I'm not explaining here) so he probably hates himself (which is the ripping himself apart thing) a whole lot and not to mention Thomas, the person he does everything for, exists for, hates his ideas as well. So you can imagine how this might lead to some.... Emotional and or mental breakdown that has great physical symptoms. (The Split, I'm saying, was this.)

Because self hate isn't very good for a child or a developing ego I can imagine that Janus is trying and failing to find some way to hide what Romulus is from Thomas without taking away all of his creativity. And Patton is grappling with trying to keep Thomas good, fueled by Catholic guilt. So as a result of the pressure.. Romulus breaks. Literally. It was building all that time until something, which I personally headcanon as Thomas himself, unconsciously separated the parts of his creativity.

(Side tangent > I also think because of the fact that Thomas said himself "creativity is about.. butterflies, and magic!" And not "whatever that is" referring to Remus' stuff, it must have caused some big identity issues, which might have also caused problems and made it worse.)

(another, this time abt Janus: I feel like his base ability is just: hide stuff to protect Thomas. Hide stuff like lying, hide the bad things from him as was said in Can Lying be Good and also Dealing with Intrusive Thoughts, and so he HAS to hide bad things from Thomas that he doesn't want to know, like Romulus, but he can't, but he has to, feedback loop where he cannot do his job, feels inferior, am I making sense please?????)

And then bam, Roman and Remus arrive, and they're in two little chunks of "good stuff" and "bad stuff" and easy for Janus to separate and hide from both Thomas and Patton. (Because I feel like Patton is more of an escapist at this point, he'd rather not know or think of bad stuff and just help Thomas be good) And then that's really the beginning of the end for the unity of the Sides yk? Everybody is calm (Patton, Janus, Logan & Twins) until Remus starts his usual stuff, Patton thinks everything is fine before seeing how Remus is, and then he's scared, and Thomas is scared because he's bad, and so Janus has to hide him away, still going between the two and stuff before he really starts to think lying is bad and then Janus has to hide himself, and that's really the second Split, and as such the dark sides are formed lol. (I imagine orange is there in the darkness from being long repressed even before Remus and Janus go there.) And then Virgil comes along and the rest is history.

fuck that was long. I didn't mean for it to be this long. I might trim it down idk bc it devolved into a timeline of a Split Fic I'm writing atm.... but whatever here you go

[fatummortem]

Anon hour brought to you by The Gossip Column: Do you ever worry about your past coming back to haunt you? What if something happened to Deb because of it? Can you always be there to protect her? Accepting Random Asks @legacychosen

ㅤㅤThat didn't get the reaction The Gossiper probably wants as it just makes him imagine the Gossiper meeting a very bloody & gory end. Not that it shows on his face, he looks extremely bored in fact even as he imagines every gory detail.

ㅤㅤ" That sounds as boring as feeling regret or guilt. " There are very few things he feels that for, he could use the fingers on one hand to count them all. " I'm too old for it. " He's had to face things over his life, he's not going to let them control him. Laura helped him realize that.

ㅤㅤIt would be different if it was an experience that was happening, something he had to face. Or someone. Then he'd be in the moment, feeling those emotions. He already let the so called fear of weakness control him long enough in his life he has no intention of going back to it.

[freeusemuses]

Team CORE

Clay Taurus - Bull Faunus. Younger brother (estranged) of Eve Tarus. While a distant ally of the White Fang, he wants very little, to nothing to do with his older sister.

Opal Waters - White tiger Faunus. The second in command, and tactician of the team.

Romulus Obsidian - Wolf Faunus. Tracker of the team. Has a bit of a problem with stockpiling weapons.

Ember Coal - Dragon Faunus with absolutely no relation to either the Scaletower or the Hightower family. The muscle and most boisterous member of the team.

[writermuses]

[freeusemuses]

"I know right? But what's with her attitude?"

That woman in Jr's was Raven. Qrow's bitch of a sister.

“Ah. I see. Probably a good thing nothing happened, then…she was still hot angel, though.”

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

LUPERCALIA

Pairings: Emperor Geta x Fem!reader Summary: You participate in Lupercalia with your husband. Warnings: 18+ smut. MDNI mention of whipping, nudity. p in v

This is my first fic for my Valentine event!

Valentine Masterlist

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

The torches burned low in the grand halls of the Palatine Palace, their golden glow flickering against the marble columns. Beyond the palace walls, Lupercalia roared through the streets of Rome. Laughter and drunken chants echoed through the Forum, accompanied by the steady pounding of bare feet against stone. The scent of sacrificial blood, burnt offerings, and spiced wine carried on the cold February air.

From the terrace overlooking the city, Emperor Geta stood, his expression unreadable as he observed the chaos below. Half-naked Lupercalia, still streaked with goat’s blood, ran wild, striking young women with thin strips of hide in a ritual meant to bless them with fertility and ease childbirth. The women laughed and shrieked, but they did not run. They stood willingly, arms outstretched, eager for the blessing.

At his side, you watched as well. Your dark eyes, lined with kohl, flickered between the crowd and your husband’s silent disapproval.

"You call it ridiculous," you mused, "but Rome calls it tradition."

Geta exhaled sharply, swirling his Falernian wine in a silver goblet. "Rome also believed that Romulus and Remus suckled at the teat of a she-wolf. Superstition, all of it."

"And yet," you murmured, your gaze turning back to the spectacle below, "you do not forbid it."

He scoffed. "Because Rome would riot if I did."

A cool breeze drifted through the open-air terrace, rustling the golden embroidery on your stola. You turned toward him, your voice softer now. "Would you deny me the same luck?"

His fingers tensed around the goblet. He knew what you meant. A child. An heir.

For all his wealth, for all the power of his name, it was the one thing he had not yet secured. His father, Septimius Severus, had raised two sons to rule Rome, and now Geta ruled alone, His brother's condition so bad he is unable to rule. Which leaves Geta alone, with no child of his own to follow him. He knew how Rome whispered about it. How they whispered about you.

His gaze lingered on you in the torchlight- the high cheekbones, the regal bearing, the way you carried yourself with the grace of a woman who had spent your entire life in the shadow of emperors. He had chosen you not just for your lineage but for your mind, your sharp wit, the way you stood beside him in a world where women were expected to stand behind.

After a moment, he set his goblet down and gestured to a waiting servant. A strip of goat hide, still fresh from the sacrifice, was placed into his open palm.

You knew the custom. You knew what was required.

Wordlessly, you stepped away from the warmth of your cloak, undoing the golden pins that held the fabric in place, letting it slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet. The air was cold against your skin, but you did not flinch. You wore only the fine linen undertunic beneath, light and thin enough that every movement of your body was visible beneath the fabric.

The Lupercalia rite demanded that women be struck bare-skinned, unobstructed by heavy garments. In the streets, Roman women stood unclothed, laughing and reaching for the lashes as if inviting the gods’ favour. Here, in the privacy of the palace, you stood before Geta, the man who ruled an empire, the man who had never needed to prove his power over you.

Geta hesitated. The emperor of Rome, the son of gods, bound by a tradition older than the Republic itself. Then, with a quiet breath, he brought the leather down in a sharp, decisive strike against your thigh.

The first lash was firm but controlled, the sting blooming across your skin in a heat that spread through your limbs. You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling at your sides, but you did not retreat. You had asked for this. You had asked him to honour the gods, to honour you.

The second strike came swiftly after, higher this time, catching the curve of your hip. The fabric of your undertunic did little to dull the sensation; if anything, it heightened it, pressing against the warmth rising beneath your skin. Geta’s eyes darkened as he watched you, the flickering torchlight reflecting the way your breath quickened.

Again, the lash fell. Then again. A steady rhythm, measured, deliberate. It was not punishment- it was ritual. It was devotion. It was an offering, not just to the gods, but to each other.

By the time the final stroke landed, a soft gasp left your lips, and the silence that followed was thick with something unspoken. Geta dropped the leather to the floor between you, his breathing uneven. Slowly, carefully, he reached for you, his fingers brushing against the reddened skin where the lashes had landed.

His voice was quiet. "Does it hurt?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. "Would it matter if it did?"

A muscle in his jaw flexed. He hated that you were right.

He cupped your hip, his thumb tracing the mark he had left there. "The gods have heard you now."

"And you?" you whispered. "Do you hear me?"

Geta said nothing at first. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he pressed his forehead to yours, his grip tightening as if anchoring himself to you. "I hear you."

"Then listen closely," you murmured, tilting your head to brush your lips against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that indicates the day's celebrations have begun without him. "I want more than Lupercalia blessings from the gods. I want our blessings, Geta. Our child, our heir."

His hands tensed, gripping your waist harder, as if he could physically hold onto your words, make them tangible. "I know," he breathed, his voice strained. "Believe me, I know."

"But can you give it to me?" You asked, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the linen of his tunic. "Can you give us the future we both desire?"

Geta pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours in the dim light.

You and your dear Emperor have tried, you have tried so so many times to become with child, but after so many failed attempts, you pray that this would work out for you both.

It would be a shame to fail to give your husband a child. It hurt you.

"I am trying," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Every night, every dawn… I pray, I offer sacrifices, I seek omens and portents. But the gods remain silent. They withhold their favour, leaving me with nothing but frustration and despair."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Sometimes I wonder if it's because of me. If I'm not worthy of their blessing. That perhaps I'm cursed, doomed to rule without an heir, without legacy."

Geta's confession hung in the air, heavy with doubt and desperation. He has always been a man of action, of conquests and triumphs, but in this moment, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Like a king stripped of his armor, exposed and uncertain.

"Shh," you whispered, placing a finger against his lips.

His lips parted slightly at your touch, and for a fleeting instant, you glimpse the lost boy behind the emperor, the son yearning for his mother's love, the husband desperate for his wife's comfort.

"I don't believe that," you said softly, your hand sliding down to cradle his jaw. "The gods adore you, Geta. They've blessed you with power, strength, and a heart capable of great love. If they're withholding something, it's not because of you, but because it's meant for another time."

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, sharing your conviction, your faith in him. "Shall we try again?" you said, leaving a hot trail of kisses down his jewelled neck

A shuddering sigh escaped him as your lips caress his skin, each kiss igniting sparks under his flesh. His grip on your hips tightening, pulling you flush against him, the hard planes of his body a stark contrast to your softer curves.

"Yes," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "Let us try again. Together."

With that, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you, to merge your essence with his own. It's a kiss born of passion, of desperation, of a fierce determination to conceive, to create life amidst the chaos of the imperial court.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed your body, mapping every inch of you, committing your shape to memory.

Your bodies entwined like living vines, twisting and turning until you're pressed against the stone wall, his weight pinning you in place. The heat between you is almost palpable, a living thing that pulses and throbs with every beat of your hearts.

Geta's hands slid beneath your tunic, his calloused palms grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach as he explores the contours of your body. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if he's rediscovering you anew with each passing moment.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and urgent. "So perfect. I want to worship every inch of you, to show you how much you mean to me."

And then, with a growl of primal need, he tears away your clothing, baring you to his hungry gaze.

As you stand before him, naked and trembling with anticipation, Geta's eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze a physical touch that sends shivers down your spine. He reaches out, tracing the curve of your breast with a single finger, watching intently as your nipple hardens under his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered, his voice a low purr of admiration. "A goddess among mortals."

With that, he lowered his head, capturing your pert nipple between his lips. He suckles gently at first, then with increasing fervour, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his hands roam over your body, kneading your flesh, teasing your other nipple into a similar state of arousal.

As he worshipped your breasts, his free hand ventures lower, dipping between your thighs to find the slick heat of your arousal.

Geta groaned into your breast, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through you as he feels the evidence of your desire coating his fingers. He strokes you slowly, deliberately, savouring the feel of your wetness as he continues to lavish attention on your nipples.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "So eager to take my seed, to bear my children."

With that, he released your breast and steps back, his dark eyes blazing with hunger as he strips off his own garments. His body is a work of art, all chiselled muscle and taut skin, adorned with the symbols of his power- the golden Toric around his neck, the intricate tattoos that cover his arms and torso.

As Geta stepped toward you, his massive erection jutting proudly from his groin, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. He towered over you, a dominating presence that fills the room with an aura of raw masculinity.

But despite his intimidating stature, there's a tenderness in his gaze as he looks at you, a vulnerability that speaks to the depth of his feelings for you. In this moment, he's not the ruthless emperor, but a man stripped bare, laying his heart open for you to see.

Without a word, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the ornate bed that dominates one corner of the chamber. The silk sheets were already rumpled, a testament to previous encounters that have left the bed looking invitingly dishevelled.

As Geta layed you down on the plush bed, the cool silk a soothing contrast to the feverish heat of your skin, you can't help but admire the way he moves with deliberate purpose. Every step, every gesture, exudes confidence and control, the hallmarks of a man who is used to getting what he wants.

He followed you onto the bed, his large frame crowding yours as he settles between your legs. The weight of him is comforting, reassuring, as if he's shielding you from the world outside these four walls.

"Geta…" you breathe, reaching up to stroke his face, your fingertips tracing the strong lines of his jaw. "Make love to me. Fill me with your seed and let the gods decide our fate."

Your words seem to ignite something within him, a spark of primal desire that consumes them both.

With a guttural growl, Geta claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep to stake his claim. His hands roam your body, gripping and kneading, as if trying to brand you with his touch.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. His teeth graze your collarbone before moving lower to the swell of your breasts.

He took a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling hard as his fingers pinch and roll the other, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through you. All the while, his hips grind against yours, the thick length of his cock rubbing maddeningly against your slick folds.

"Please," you whimpered, arching into him, desperate for more.

Geta released your breast with a wet pop, his chest heaving with exertion and desire. His eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

"I'll give you everything," he vowed, his voice rough with need. "Everything you crave, everything you need."

With that, he thrusted forward, sheathing himself inside you in one powerful stroke. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. But the pain is short-lived, replaced by a wave of pleasure as he begins to move, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm.

Geta set a punishing pace, driving into you again and again, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep within you. The bed creaks and shakes beneath you, the sound of slapping flesh filling the room as he takes you with primal abandon.

As Geta pounded into you, the force of his thrusts causing the bed to rock violently, you cling to him desperately, your nails digging into his back as you're driven higher and higher on the crest of ecstasy.

The sensation of being filled so completely, of having your deepest depths claimed and conquered, is overwhelming. Each stroke seems to reach further inside you, stroking the very core of your being, until you feel like you might shatter apart at any moment.

"More!" you screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of grunts and moans that fill the room. "Give me more!"

Geta responded with a feral snarl, his movements becoming even more brutal, more frenzied. He leans down to capture your lips in a savage kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives you mercilessly towards the brink of climax.

Geta's kiss turned possessive, claiming your mouth as surely as his body claims yours. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours in a dance of dominance and desire. The taste of you is intoxicating, fueling his own rising frenzy.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he pistons into you with unrelenting intensity. The bed frame creaks ominously, threatening to give way under the force of their coupling.

Suddenly, Geta breaks the kiss, his head thrown back in a roar of triumph as he feels your inner muscles clenching around him.

"Yes!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Take it! Take my cum!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spills his essence deep within you.

As Geta's hot seed floods your womb, you feel yourself convulsing around him, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your body trembles and writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the force of your release.

For long moments, you remain locked together, your hearts pounding in tandem as the aftershocks ripple through you. Geta's forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged as he tries to calm his racing pulse.

Eventually, he pulled out of you, his spent cock slipping free with a wet sound. A trickle of his cum escapes your stretched opening, dripping down your thigh. You lie there, panting and sated, feeling the warmth of his seed inside you.

Geta gathered you close, cradling you against his chest as he stroked your hair. "The Gods have to hear that,"

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

A few days later, you find yourself in the presence of a doctor, carefully examining you.

You finally bared a child, an Heir. All thanks to Lupercalia

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII