#Roman Emperor Septimius Severus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kabuki-writes · 2 months ago

Text

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii imagine #kabuki writes

1K notes · View notes

floatyflowers · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere First Husband Emperor Geta x Wife Reader Empress Lovestruck/Heartbroken x Yandere Second Husband Emperor Caracalla.

(I was so happy when I saw your requests were open! You're my favorite creator, I love all your works 🤭) (I love all things historical and I really fell in love with the trailer for Gladiator II and I'm looking forward to its release)

You are the wife of two emperors.

That's right, you are the wife of the emperor Geta and his brother, emperor Caracalla.

How did that happen?

Well, at first, you got married to Geta before the death of emperor Septimius Severus, but after his death, the two brothers are to share the empire.

And Caracalla had his eyes on you and wished to become your second husband, ignoring the Roman traditions.

You and their mother, Julia Domna, objected to this insane idea.

Julia Domna objected because it would be a scandal.

While you objected, because you are in love with your husband Geta and don't want to be with another man especially if that man is Caracalla.

However, your husband, Geta, agreed.

So, you got wed to Caracalla despite being already one month pregnant.

Your husband already knows, and also informed Caracalla.

"The child shall be mine"

Geta wanted to argue that he is the biological father but Caracalla shut him down.

"We both share the empire, and your wife, there is nothing wrong in sharing the baby too"

Realising the insanity of the situation, you decided to escape this madness, feeling heartbroken at how Geta is going along with all of that as if it is normal.

Your escape plan failed horribly, and you found yourself facing a betrayed looking Geta.

You stare at Geta in fear as he steps towards you slowly.

"Why have you betrayed me? when I was only trying to be the best husband for you."

"I love you from all my heart, but I cannot keep quiet anymore, I do not love Caracalla-"

Suddenly, you feel a hand grabbing your neck from behind, tightening its hold on it.

"Now now, brother, there is no need to stress our dear wife especially since she is pregnant with our child."

Your guts twist with disgust at the possessive pronoun 'our' used to state your relationship with the two emperors.

"But she needs to be punished" Geta argues angrily.

Caracalla walks up from behind you to stand beside his younger brother.

His eyes scans up your shaking body with a devious smirk.

"There are a lot of interesting ways to punish her without violence and she will be doing her duty as our wife at the same time"

#tw: toxic relationships #reader insert #geta x reader #Caracalla x reader #gladiator 2 #yandere historical characters #ancient history

1K notes · View notes

missadangel · 4 months ago

Text

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

I. Heal the Heart

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, nescio. Sed fieri sentior et excrucior. I love you and I hate you. Why I do this, I have no idea. But I feel it happening and I’m in agony. [Catullus]

Following the conquest of Egypt and its incorporation into the Roman Empire, there was a growing interest in its ancient culture. Over time, many in Egypt began to express a desire for greater autonomy and control over their own affairs. Dissatisfaction with Roman control over Egypt became part of the Egyptian psyche.

This is precisely why, immediately following the death of Emperor Septimius Severus, preparations for revolt began in Egypt. His emperor sons, Caracalla and Geta, were mainly focused on quarreling with each other, drinking, and enjoying themselves, while their subjects faced starvation. They organized games, watched gladiators fight, and took pride in their activities. Even when informed of the revolt in Egypt, they continued their indulgent ways, showing little care for anything beyond their own pleasures and daily pursuits.

The Egyptians were, of course, aware of their limitations; they knew they could not be as strong a soldier as their emperor father. They were confident that the day would come when, with the help of the Greeks, they would overthrow the Roman governors in Egypt. After all, they had been preparing for this since the death of Severus. Among them were also Jews, all eager to establish the sovereignty of ancient Egypt. However, there was one crucial factor they did not consider or pay much attention to.

General Marcus Justus Acacius.

They say, you can feel the ground shake when he walks on it. He makes his opponents feel certain of their own death at the very moment he draws his sword. A daring commander with few who could stand up to him. It is unclear whether this is an exaggeration or not, but it is still rumored that he cut a lion in half in the Colosseum.

A beast in every sense of the word.

More than that, he is a leader who manages his legions very well and spurs them on to achieve success during the war, a man who has not yet tasted a failure and has well-earned the title of general in every way.

Since it was obvious that no one else could succeed in suppressing the rebellion, he was immediately sent to the region with the intervention of his Empresss Julia Domna, the mother of the two emperors.

Just like she guessed, he had succeeded in putting down the rebellion; of course, no doubt, as soon as his name rang through, the rebels, along with all the inhabitants of Egypt, knew that they were already defeated.

Some were forced to surrender, those who resisted and fled were found and killed by the Roman soldiers, but not all. The general didn't kill the surrendered ones, he took them as captives which was pretty fair for a beast. In contrast to him, the ones who fled were not, they were so desperate that they didn't know what to do and they started attacking everything and everywhere like rabid dogs.

They even attempted to violate the laws of war and mapped out a plan to kill the General and his soldiers, and even all the medics, in the night at their camps. It was a suicide mission, but they were on the verge of success.

"Has anyone seen the General? He’s not in his tent!" A burly soldier entered, gripping his sword, which was stained with the blood of the rebel he had just killed. He quickly searched through all the tents, wearing a look of concern on his face.

The clinking of swords echoed in the darkness as the soldiers cut down the last remaining rebels to death with their swords.

Soon, the soldier ran to his General, relieved to see him, but he was wounded in the abdomen moments ago. As he gently pressed his hand to his injury, a small amount of blood emerged, shining like rubies under the moonlight as it dripped from between his strong fingers onto the grass. His attackers were no longer alive, they were all lying on the ground, were literally cut to ribbons. They attacked him in his sleep when he was wearing nothing but his tunic, catching him off guard. He nodded to the soldier, demanding assistance as his white tunic transformed into a crimson hue. He had been wounded many times before, countless times, but this was nothing like before and was undoubtedly the worst injury he had ever sustained. "I think I… got…," he groaned; it hurt much even when he spoke, feeling like beneath the wound, his blood was boiling. "…poisoned." These were the last words spilled from his lips before his enormous body slumping to his knees, collapse altogether to the ground.

The woman with waist-length with black hair was dragging you along with her as she walking across the meadow, you were struggled, couldn’t control your feet, as if the ground was sliding under. She had her hands outstretched at her sides, even though her back was turned, it was not difficult to see her smile by the sunlight reflecting the curve of her chin. She abruptly ceased her movement and bent down to gather a few herbs in a meadow. She plucked them, gathered them in her palms, and kissed them. You heard the whispers between her lips and the harmony of the wind rippling through your ears. It was clear that she was blessing these herbs. When she turned to you, you staggered backwards, hypnotized by her face, so beautiful, mesmerizing, her eyes hypnotizing yours, it was impossible to look away, no escape from them.

Perhaps even more surprising than anything else was that her face and eyes were identical to yours. It really was truly astonishing. She handed you the plants like they were rare jewelry. You could see her arms shone in the sun, and her skin looked like fine marble. It was impossible to believe that it could be human skin; it must have been that of a goddess, but why did her face resemble yours?

'Heal the heart, child,' her voice sang through the meadow like a gentle breeze. You couldn't move your lips, but she heard you anyway.

‘Heart?’

A warm wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman came closer, startling you. Her hazel eyes were turning green under the sun. As she slightly opens her lips, you locked your eyes on them and waited eagerly for the answer.

‘The heart of Rome,’ almost whispers, ‘Serve it,’ a little loud now like commanding, ‘Heal it...’ again whispers then gently puts the herbs on your hand.

A strong wind blew, and the silhouette of the woman danced with the wind. The sunny sky burst into a starry night as the wind embraced the silhouette and rose to the sky, to the stars. You felt the ground under your feet, but your eyes were drawn to the enchanting sky.

As the wind finally gave way to the silent night, you looked at the herbs you were holding in your hand. These kind of herbs you were used to seeing almost every day, but what you were not used to seeing was that they were sparkling like diamonds between your fingers. It was as if you could feel their healing power on your skin.

Abruptly, you heard the voice again, echoing across the meadow. Your ears were once more caressed, blessed, but this time, the words were different.

‘Cure him…’

You barely heard your name being called and your body was shaking, slowly opened your eyes, you saw a familiar but worried face.

‘Wake up, please, you need to get up now,’ the concern in the man's voice brought you back to reality, the effect of the dream disappearing like a cloud of dust between the stone walls and dissipating into the air.

‘Uncle?’

You had rarely seen this face of your uncle who had taken you in when you were an orphan, who cared for you, protected you and raised you well more than any other father or mother ever would.

You sat up from the firm mattress you were lying on, ‘I thought we were travelling tomorrow night?’

‘No, no, that's not why I woke you up,’ he put your big dark cloak over your head. ‘You need to hide.’

You were startled to hear shouting and footsteps coming from outside the wooden door of the room. This was not the sort of noise you would normally expect to hear in this Valetudinarium (hospital, clinic) at this late hour.

‘What is going on?’ You rub your eyes with your fingers, trying to figure out the situation.

Your uncle tucked your hair deeper into your cloak.

'The Roman soldiers are gathering all the medici (psychians). I have to go with them.'

'Roman soldiers? I thought they left after they put down the rebellion, and slaughtered thousands. Besides, they must have a medicus in their camps, why would they-?'

He grabbed you by the shoulders, his anxiety evident.

'I heard that some rebellious individuals killed the Medici in their tents, and then-'

A soldier's voice was heard from one of the nearby rooms. You both turned your heads in that direction, startled, and then looked at each other again.

'Their general was targeted. The rebels attacked him in his sleep. He managed to fight back, but he was poisoned. Now, they want me to save him.'

“Poisoned? But Uncle, he might already be dead! If you can’t cure him, they’ll blame you or punish you!”

“Don’t think about that now. You need to hide. Remember, as a woman, you aren’t allowed to be here. You have to conceal yourself and wait for my return.”

The soldiers’ voices were heard nearby.

"No, I’ll come with you. If it’s aspis venom (a venomous snake found in the Nile region), we’ll use the same techniques as we did with the boy last time. It would take too long to make the antivenom alone. Let me help you."

"It’s too dangerous for you, my dearest, to go among the soldiers. Even if you wear men’s clothes, we can’t hide the beauty of your face."

You walked over to the cauldron in the fireplace and ran your hands over the soot that had accumulated beneath it.

"It worked before," you said, rubbing a bit of soot on your cheeks.

"That was only at the market. This time it’s more dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t protect you there."

"I was going to give this to you tomorrow, as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here."

You took the envelope from him with shaky hands. It had been sealed by the former emperor himself, and you wondered what was written inside.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you to ensure you understood the importance of the letter. "No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it; hide it as if your life depends on it. You'll understand why."

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard, tucking the letter into the bag hanging around your neck. You hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, causing them to rattle in the process.

"Aya, you’re going to have to choose," he said, looking at you intently before leaving the room.

"Choose what, uncle?"

"To run or to stay. It’ll all make sense when you read the letter," he said, glancing down the hall before grabbing your wrist. You were confused, but you knew you had to think about this later.

"We have to get out now; soldiers are outside. Quick!"

'I was going to give this to you tomorrow as I promised last time, but there's no time now. If anything happens to me, you will open it. Everything about your true family is in here.'

You took the envelope from him with shaking hands. The previous emperor himself had sealed it. You wondered what it meant.

Your uncle grabbed your shoulders and shook you, making sure you understood how important this letter was.

‘No one should ever see this. Do you understand me? No one! After you open it, hide it. Do not let anyone see it. But don't lose it, hide it like your life depends on it, you'll understand why.’

You nodded firmly and swallowed hard. You tucked the letter into the bag hanging around your neck and hid it at the very bottom under the medicine bottles, making them rattle in the process.

‘Aya, you’re going to have to choose,’ he looked at you before leaving the room.

‘Choose what uncle?’

‘To run or stay. It’ll make sense when you read the letter,’ he checked the hall and grabbed your wrist. You were so confused but you had to think about this later.

'We have to get out now, soldiers are outside, quick!'

The soldiers had gathered all the medici they could find at the army camp headquarters near the tents. There were seven of them, but they were unable to find a solution for the General's injury. As you and your uncle were next in line, a burly soldier of higher rank approached you both. You kept your head down, avoiding eye contact. Everyone was in a rush, nearly all mobilized to save the General's life. Your gender didn't matter to them at that moment. Just as you were about to follow your uncle into the tent, the soldier raised his hand to stop you.

‘Only the medicus.’

‘My aide, sir, let him in. He's as expert as I am.’

As your uncle is their last hope, he let you in but did not follow you inside, standing guard outside the tent. The General's squire stood next to him, looking at you with tears in his eyes. It was a heartbreaking sight. The sorrow had enveloped everything inside the tent, and you could feel it deep in your bones.

The General lay on a mattress in the west corner of the tent. He was unconscious, but you noticed his lips moving as if he were murmuring. You stepped forward to take a closer look at his face, which you had been so curious about.

His face was exactly as you had imagined, yet somehow different. He had numerous scars, as if he had been born with them, and his light brown skin embraced them. His mustache and beard were partially gray, and his nose and chin were perfectly shaped, as though Prometheus himself had spent extra time crafting this man. His face was stunning, causing your heart to race. You had never felt this way about any other man, though you had never had the opportunity to do so.

You were somewhat disappointed to see his eyes closed. You longed to know what they looked like and were eager to see his expression when he opened them. You were momentarily surprised by the desire to touch his face. For an instant, you forgot why you were there. Meanwhile, your uncle had picked up the sword with which the General had been wounded and was examining the blood on it. You moved over to help him, keeping one eye on the General, who lay there with his imposing build and half of the white tunic he wore stained red.

Your heart constricted with pain, and the dream you had came vividly to mind.

‘Cure him.’

"We need to check his wound!" Your uncle's loud voice startled you, and you squinted at him, feeling ashamed.

As your uncle gestured for you to come closer, you saw that the wound was not deep, but the skin around it was turning pale from the venom, and the edges were curling inward.

"He doesn't have much time. Let's start making the antivenom now," he said, swallowing hard. The situation was worsening, and you knew you had to cure him no matter what. Perhaps this was why the gods had shown you this in your dream; they had warned you in advance that your life depended on it.

The process of making the antivenom took slightly longer than you had anticipated, but you persevered admirably. Your uncle cleaned the wound to neutralize it while you sweated through your clothes. Finally, when the antivenom was ready, your uncle carefully applied the antidote to the wound, but he was exhausted, his fingers shaking. You stepped in to help despite feeling weary yourself. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you managed to see your task through to the end.

The soldier from earlier entered the tent to check on the situation. You bowed your head and stepped back.

"We've cleaned the wound, and once it's neutralized, we applied the antidote. We just need to wait now," your uncle informed him, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We need to give him some time and ensure he drinks water soon to avoid dehydration."

As the soldier examined the wound, you turned your head to look at the squire boy, who had been sobbing just moments ago but had now already fallen asleep. Poor boy, you thought.

The soldier then ordered you to leave the tent and wait outside.

You felt your arms and legs go numb with fatigue and collapsed to the ground, sitting cross-legged and trying hard to stay awake. Your uncle was in the same state, but he still struggled to resist sleep. In the end, he couldn't keep his eyelids from closing.

You woke up to the sound of soldiers shouting and arguing. Turning your head, you couldn't make out what they were disagreeing about, but their noise was overwhelming.

"You better go in and make sure the General drinks some water. He needs to stay hydrated," your uncle said firmly, likely keeping an eye on the soldiers outside.

The tent was empty except for the General. A soldier from earlier was outside, reassuring the other soldiers. You approached the General to check on him. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his body was fighting off venom. You quickly grabbed a damp cloth and pressed it gently against his forehead. Then you touched his lips with your thin, fragile fingers. An intense feeling grew inside you. As a secret medicus, you had touched the faces and bodies of many men and women to heal them. However, touching this man's face and lips felt different from the others.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself. This was nonsensical.

You opened his lips carefully and dipped a rag into the fresh water in a copper pot. You pressed it against the General's dry, pale lips, squeezing it gently through his mouth.

After doing this several times, you decided you had done enough. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, the General's strong hand suddenly grasped yours with a firm grip. You were shocked and winced in pain, causing you to open your hand with pressure, and the rag fell to the ground.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you gazed at his face. He opened those eyes you had been so curious about and looked at you with a cold, calculating stare, squeezing your wrist so tightly that you felt it might break at any moment. You suppressed a scream and moaned in pain. 'Sir, I'm trying to help you!' You sounded as if you were crying, then he groaned in pain, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.The effort must have exhausted him. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he breathed quickly.

When he finally released your wrist, you threw yourself backwards for dear life, rubbed your wrist with your other hand and stroked it, praying to the Gods to take the pain away. You could have sworn to Jupiter that if he had squeezed your wrist any harder, you would have heard a cracking sound coming from your bones.

How could he possibly be so strong even when exhausted, so close to death?

As the pain receded, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. Your thin wrist was marked in red, like poppies, as if the shadows of his fingers were engraved on your skin.

You glanced timidly over your shoulder; he was still lying there with his eyes closed. But you had just made a terrible mistake—he must have heard your voice and realized you were a woman. Only the gods knew what he would do when he regained consciousness.

You had to leave immediately. Wrapping your wrist in a clean piece of cloth, you tucked the sleeve of your dress into it to hide the bandage. As you stepped out of the tent, your uncle grabbed your arm and pulled you behind it.

“Uncle, the general opened his eyes for a moment and heard my voice. He might remember when he wakes up,” you whispered, hoping no one had overheard you.

“Gods have mercy upon us,” he murmured, glancing down. Then he grabbed your shoulders. “It’s time to go. You need to leave now. Follow the path through the woods. Some soldiers are having a disagreement about something; I think they have found out—”

“You! Medicus! Come over here!” one of the soldiers shouted at your uncle. He gestured to you with his eyes, silently urging you to go.

“You too!” you gasped as you realized that the soldier was waving his hand at you.

“Sir, he should stay with the General…” your uncle interjected, stepping in front of you to protect you.

“I said come, both of you, now,” the soldier replied, his tone unmistakably commanding.

As you took tentative steps towards the group of soldiers forming a circle around your uncle, your heart raced as if it were about to burst. These were the soldiers who had just argued, fought, and you found yourself wondering whether they had been injured, but you could see no visible wounds on anyone.

On the contrary, they gazed at you with curiosity, and only at you.

“That’s nonsense, Dimitrus; this boy can’t be a girl,” said one soldier, pointing at you with a small knife in his hand.

Your uncle stood beside you, his worst fears realized, his face taut with worry. As the soldier, whom you guessed was named Dimitrus, approached, your uncle stepped in front of you. But the soldier easily overpowered him and shoved him aside. With a scrutinizing gaze, the soldier examined your body from head to toe. You bowed your head and clenched your fists, your heart pounding in your chest as your breathing quickened. He yanked down the hood of your cloak with his large hands, drawing the attention of other soldiers who now gathered nearby for a better look.

When he saw your hair tied up at the back of your head, his grin widened. He drew a dagger from its sheath, and as you caught sight of your uncle's worried face behind the soldier's formidable arm, you began to pray to all the gods.

Dimitrus grasped your bun and quickly cut the hair tie with his dagger, causing your golden-brown wavy hair to cascade over your shoulders. The soldiers laughed and whistled, while Dimitrus looked at them with a cocky smile before turning back to you.

“Such long hair for an aide boy, huh?” he chuckled.

“A girl, indeed,” replied another soldier, looking at you in disbelief.

“I told you I could smell a woman from a mile away,” he laughed, his voice booming.

“Please,” you pleaded, feeling powerless. A wave of despair washed over you.

“What is going on here?” The burly soldier approached, eyes wide with astonishment at your new appearance. Dimitrus grabbed your hair, pulling you closer to him. He then seized your chin and turned your face towards Octavius.

"Look at her! You didn't even notice that the medicus brought a girl with him, Octavius? In our camp? And you're supposed to be the general's right-hand man!"

You struggled to move, but he was too strong.

"Hey, I can’t see her face clearly!"

You closed your eyes tightly as someone threw wine in your face. Dimitrus roughly wiped your face with his big fingers.

“Gods, no ordinary beauty,” he said, looking at you like a hungry wolf. He leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of your hair, making you feel nauseous. You tried to look away, but your eyes met your uncle’s desperate gaze.

“That's enough, Dimitrus. Let her go. Is this what you all think while our General lies there, fighting for his life?”

You rushed to your uncle's side as his hands released your hair. "He's already dead; I've never seen anyone get up after being poisoned," he says, as if he were looking forward to his death.

Octavius unsheathed his sword with a sharp "schwing" sound. "How dare you! Say that again and I'll cut your tongue off!" he barked.

Dimitrus' followers drew their swords as well. Octavius looked at each of them with anger and disbelief. He had been betrayed. "You treacherous filthy rats! I'll kill you one by one!" He waved his long sword at them.

Dimitrus grabbed your uncle by the collar. "Start with this one then. Who knows what he gave the General instead of medicine?"

"Aye, he must be punished!" shouted one of them.

"Punish him, Octavius!"

They were all yelling at him by raising their swords, you were thinking a way out but there wasn’t any.

"If you won't, I shall," Dimitrus pointed the end of his sword at your uncle.

"No!" you shrieked, but your uncle stopped you, raising his hand.

Then, as Octavius raised his hand and was about to lunge at him to prevent him, Dimitrus plunged his sword through your uncle's stomach, the poor man groaning in pain and falling to his knees, and as you ran towards him, he drew back his sword, his blood splashing in your face with the force of the draw. Your body began to shake, and you felt paralyzed as you watched his lifeless body collapse to the ground.

"Dimitrus!" Octavius roared, ‘You've gone too far! What do you think our general will do to you when he awakens?’

You fell to your knees in shock, your body rigid and still, your face expressionless, yet tears streaming down your cheeks.

"General? You failed to save him; you let that medicus get into his tent; you must share his fate! I will let the emperors know that this is all your fault! And I think we must put the general out of his misery-"

Out of nowhere, an axe flew at Dimitrus, piercing his chest. His body shook as he reeled back, then collapsed to the ground, lying backwards and dying in a pool of blood. Everyone looked at him in astonishment and panic. Blood gushed from where his chest had been split open, and when he stopped breathing, he lay there as his eyes remained wide open.

They turned their heads to see who had thrown the axe and were shocked once again. The general could hardly stand near his tent, his eyes filled with rage and his gaze burning with fury. Octavius quickly ran to his side.

"General! Thank the Gods you're finally awake!"

"What's going on here, Octavius?" His voice was like a roar.

“Sir, Dimitrus and others have attempted to mutiny.”

Acacius shot a deathly glare at the other soldiers, who immediately kneeled with their swords turned upside down.

“No, sir, we did not.”

“Forgive me, sir, it was Dimitrus's doing.”

“Sir, please forgive me.”

You gently closed your uncle's eyelids with your fingers as they all pleaded for forgiveness. With your back turned to the General, you felt indifferent about your fate; you no longer cared whether you lived or died. It seemed to you that your whole life was already over.

"If any of you ever dare to do anything like this again," he said as he walked near Dimitrus’ body and pulled the axe from his chest roughly; you were startled by the crunching sound coming from his bones.

"I Marcus Justus Acacius, will make sure that he meets the same fate as this scum!"

He put them in their place, and they all nodded in fear. They stood up at his gesture while bowing their heads, unable to look him in the face.

“Now get ready; we must sail at dawn!”

“Yes, sir!”

They quickly sheathed their swords and hurriedly spread out.

Acacius staggered slightly as watched them move, his wound still painful, but he tried hard not to show it.

Octavius touched his arm. "Sir, the Gods have spared your life, but please rest a little longer."

"Who is this man?"

You were certain he was referring to your uncle, even though your back was turned to him.

"The medicus who cured you, sir. Dimitrus got mad and killed him because he thought he couldn't save you."

"As if we haven't lost enough healers tonight. He was clearly mistaken. This man managed to cure me, and I am standing here because of him." He turned to Octavius. "Make sure this man's body is returned to his family. Inform the governor about this; they should make all the necessary arrangements for the rituals."

Octavius nodded, "Yes, sir, I will."

They both turned their gaze toward you. "What about this one?"

Your body was frozen; you felt as if the time for your execution had come. You never expected your last moments to unfold like this.

"I think this is his aide or slave, sir. Dimitrus discovered she was a woman and that medicus was hiding her," one of them said, bowing his head in shame. You swallowed hard.

Acacius' pain returned, and he groaned. Octavius gently grabbed his waist. "Sir, please rest. You need to regain your strength."

"Sir!" Acacius' squire rushed over, placing his arm under Acacius' shoulder.

It was time for him to turn away from you.

"Since her master has died, take this girl to the other slaves. I don't want any more chaos or mishap," he said in a firm voice.

You wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand as their footsteps faded away. Two soldiers grabbed your arms and lifted you off the ground while others carried your uncle's body. As you turned your head and glanced over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the General's curly gray hair and well-shaped nose before he disappeared into his tent.

Your body was filled with rage. What you heard only heightened your pain and deepened your hurt. A slave? How could he say that? The one who had healed him was now considered worthy of being a slave?

As the mid-morning sun began to reflect off the walls of Rome through the haze that filled the harbor, the city was preparing to experience one of the most significant days in its history. Everyone who noticed the navy ships approaching from afar—citizens, subjects, foreign diplomats, merchants, civil servants, and porters—gathered at the entrance of the city. They were waiting to welcome General Acacius and the victorious Roman soldiers. On the deck of the large ship at the forefront of the fleet, the General sighed deeply as he looked out over his city, thanking Mars for his triumphant and healthy return.

The journey from the port of Alexandria to Rome took ten days, and it was a challenging experience for you, traveling alongside captives known as slaves. Most of these individuals were Greeks and Egyptians, and the joyous shouts echoing through the streets of the Roman capital meant nothing to them. On board the ship, they were repeatedly told that the slave market in Rome was quite prestigious. They were assured that young girls would be well cared for by certain families, urged to stop their tears, and encouraged to pray to Jupiter so that wealthy families would notice them and buy them at high prices.

You were not like those slaves; you were not a prisoner of war, and your family was neither enslaved nor poor. Your uncle was a renowned and esteemed medicus, part of an affluent family. He and his wife found you on the banks of the River Nile when you were three years old—that is what they told you. The gods had not blessed them with a child, so they loved you as if you were their own. You knew he wasn't your biological father or uncle, but you were very happy with your life and didn't ask too many questions until he revealed the letter the night before everything changed.

As an orphan, you were raised by your uncle, who taught you about Egyptian medicine. You assisted him in countless surgeries, helping to bring many people back to life, including the general himself. Through this experience, you gained enough knowledge and skill to become an expert in the field. However, no one would refer to you as a medicus because you were a woman. Your talents were too remarkable to ignore, yet despite sharing your skills with those on the ship, no one believed you. Even if they did, there was little they could do to change the situation.

As you looked through the small cracks between the ship's planks, your gaze drifted over the seemingly endless sea. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of the dream you had the night before.

‘Cure him.’

Wouldn't it have been better if you hadn’t cured him? Perhaps your uncle would still be alive. Maybe you wouldn’t be sitting on this ship now, resigned to your fate, wondering and worrying about what will happen to you. Is this your reward for healing the great Roman general?

That man ruined your life, and you only did yourself a disservice by saving him. Perhaps the gods were testing you, but what was the lesson?

You observed the shadow of the general’s fingers beneath the cloth wrapped around your wrist. The color reminded you of violets bathed in moonlight from days ago. Now, it was an unmistakably bright hue, and the pain had lessened significantly.

As the ship rumbled into port, you realized that it was time to accept your fate. In the dark and damp bilge of the ship, you and a girl close to your age called Decima took turns using the same swing as a bed, you liked each other and in desperation you became confidants, friends. She was in her early twenties and had a lovely charm about her, while you, in your late twenties, had a stunning beauty that really stood out. Her father was a rebel, probably killed by the General's men, and she was taken as captive. You told her almost everything except the letter that you’re hiding in your bag.

As soon as you stepped into the harbor, the discrimination began. The general and his men moved in the opposite direction, while the slave trader standing in front of you ordered you to go elsewhere.

You frowned as you caught sight of his face in the distance, peeking over the shoulders of the crowd. He looked healthy; his body had managed to overcome the venom of the past few days, and his wound had healed. You remembered how you had spent hours with your uncle trying to cure him and how you had struggled to create the antidote while your arms and wrists ached with pain.

Suddenly, the General's face lit up with a warm smile as he waved to his citizens. To your surprise, all your anger momentarily vanished. You turned your head away; looking at him would only cause you pain. He wouldn't recognize you because he couldn't clearly see your face, not just yet. Besides, to him, you were just a slave—nothing more.

However, Octavius recognized you from a distance. He was the only one who had witnessed your hard work. He was an honorable man, he disliked seeing you among the slaves, but he felt powerless, as it was the General's order.

In the evening of that day, after the slaves were taken to the baths and then to the market for sale, you and Decima were brought by the slaver to a separate cell. From outside, the lively sounds of the market could be heard, where slaves were being sold one by one. There was a great deal of interest in these new slaves from Egypt.

The slaver appeared at the door of your cell with a man who looked to be older and wealthy. Decima immediately stood up, but you remained still. The slaver gestured with his hand, turning Decima around in the center of the cell to show off her arms, face, and feet, while squinting at you.

“Look at these strong and beautiful young girls, sir. I wouldn’t show you any poor slaves; they are both virgins and very beautiful. The great Venus has bestowed her beauty upon them. They would fetch a lot of money in the market, but I thought I would show them to you first, sire.” He was being very flattering, but the man's eyes were fixed on you.

“Doesn't she have any manners? Why isn't she standing up?” “You're right, sir, she must be a bit sick from traveling. She will,” he gestured to you with his hand. “Come on, get up, girl.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, he squeezed your arm hard to warn you first, then did everything what he had done to Decima, opening almost every part of your body for the other man to see. It was incredibly disgusting, you felt like an animal being sold at the cattle market.

"The other one is younger, but this one is beautiful, a rare find," he said, grabbing your arm and looking at you hungrily. "How much do you want for her?"

Your eyes meet with Decima in a silent exchange, as it was time to go your separate ways.

"Eight thousand sesterces, sire."

He pursed his lips in thought, his fingers touching your hair while you closed your eyes, praying for a miracle.

"Ten thousand sesterces!"

A familiar voice of a man echoed through stone walls. You all turned your heads to that direction."General Marcus Acacius offers ten thousand sesterces for this girl!" Octavius appeared, his imposing figure clad in armor that clanked with every step. He tossed a large coin pouch to the slaver, who caught it, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sold, of course," he said, counting the coins with a happy expression.

Octavius then firmly grabbed the other man's arm, which was still close to you, lifted it, and pushed it away. He frowned. "This girl now belongs to General Acacius, sir. You must not touch her," he warned firmly.

As the general entered the city in his chariot, the people shouted his name. He waved his hand to them, and the streets were filled with a great enthusiasm as everyone gathered to honour the general and his soldiers. The chariot carrying him soon passed under the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus and turned towards the Curia Julia, the Senate building, where the emperors must have been waiting for him. The general's smile faded. He was tired and not looking forward to seeing them, but he would not go to his villa before visiting the emperors.

As General strode purposefully up the marble stairs, Geta and Caracella leapt down from their golden imperial thrones in excitement. As soon as Geta saw him, he opened his arms wide.

‘How can I reward Rome's greatest general?'

'By letting him catch his breath first,' Caracella smiled widely.

Acacius stopped in front of them and nodded, 'My Emperors.'

'We have been eagerly awaiting for your arrival, general,' Geta clasped his hands together, looking at him with admiration.

'Speak for yourself, brother. My legs ache from sitting for so long,' Caracella said, then laughed loudly. 'But it was worth it, indeed!'

‘Indeed!’ They both laughed once more, but Caracella looking at his brother a bit strange way.

It was hard to tell if Caracalla wanted to embrace Geta or if wanted to take his life right then and there. The relationship between the two of them was quite distorted.

The general rolled his eyes, he was used to these two whiny emperors half of his age bickering at each other all the time, he sighed in frustration at having to put up with them when he could easily take both their lives with a single stroke of his sword. Unfortunately, this unpleasant situation had only just begun.

‘We heard that you were poisoned, how did it feel?’ Geta looked at him with wide eyes and smile.

The news must have reached the emperors before the general had even boarded the ship.

'Painful, your highness,' Acacius stated, a shadow passing over his brown eyes as he remembered the pain again.

'I'm sure it was, it must have been an interesting experience.’ Caracella crossed his arms; smiling just like his brother.

‘Cobra or viper?’

‘Aspis, highness, the viper type.’

‘Oh, I won!’ Geta jumped for joy and gestured to Caracella with his hand, imitating a snake.

Caracella ignored him looking at the General.

‘The rebels must have quite a sense of humour, poisoning a Roman General carrying Medusa on his chest with a snake, quite ironic,’ he touched Medusa on General's armor with his index finger.

Acacius frowned while looking at him, ‘They certainly do, they murdered all our medici mercilessly, fortunately the great Asclepius sent his help, my men brought another medicus from city was able to cure me, it is thanks to him that I can stand here in front of you, highness,’ Acacius remembered the memory when he was unsure whether it was a dream or not but he could not get out of his mind the fingers that touched his lips, the owner of those hazel eyes that came to his aid when his throat was dry from thirst. But it couldn't be medicus he thought, it had to be someone with thin fingers, someone with beautiful eyes he had never seen before. Maybe, since he was too close to death, it was a dream or a goddess has appeared to him, he couldn't be sure.

The first thing he remembers is opening his eyes and grabbing her wrist with his survival instinct. He thought it was a strange looking young man in a hood, maybe another rebel had come to kill him again, but then he heard her voice and thought his goddess had come to heal him. He was in so much pain and seeing hallucinations that he couldn't tell if it was a dream or not. But couldn’t get rid of those thoughts since days.

The emperors didn't seem to care much about the medicis the general was talking about, or how he had recovered, and Acacius seemed bored as they continued to joke with each other.

‘Mother,' Geta ran to her as he noticed the Empress approaching, extends his arm for her.

Julia Domna took his arm as she coming towards Acacius, whispering something into Geta’s ear, without taking her eyes off the General.

‘My lady,’ Acacius nodded to her.

Domna's smile was like Caracella's, you could never guess what she was thinking.

‘General, how good it is to see you return triumphant once more. Rome salutes you, and I embrace you,’ she approached him with open arms and put her hands Acacius’ board shoulders.

Caracella sat back on his throne, a bored look on his face.

‘My Lady, the honour is mine,’ the general said, bowing his head.

‘We shall sacrifice 1000 bulls to honor our triumphant mother!’ Geta clapped his hands excitedly, ‘Let's have a great feast tonight!’

‘Highness, let's give the General some time to rest, he must be tired from the battle,’ Domna removed her hands from the General's shoulders but kept her eyes on him.

Caracella let out a high, shrill laugh that echoed through the white marble columns. Geta sat on his throne and scowled.

‘Acacius, walk with me,’ the Empress turned round, gestured to him.

Acacius sighed, he didn't want to be alone with her, but he had to. Domna walked ahead of him, hands clasped behind her back, he followed her slowly.

‘My sons are glad to see you again, even if they have no idea how fortunate they are to have you serving them.’

'It is my duty to serve Rome.’

She paused and smiled, watching the water in the pool shimmer in the sunlight, the glow reflecting off her bright skin, her expression was difficult to read.

'I think you have a talent for survival.’

She sounded dissatisfied. 'After all, you trained under Maximus, you must have learned a lot from him.’

He looked away, 'I owe where I am today to the remarkable fighting skills he taught me, he was an honourable man, the greatest general Rome has ever seen,' Acacius' eyes were fixed on the great Temple of Venus between the eastern edge of the Forum Romanum and the Colosseum.

Domna looked at him with a feeling between admiration and concern.

‘He, like you, lived to serve Rome, even if he had to kill Commodus,’ she said, and even little children could catch the obvious implication in her voice.

Acacius held his ground, his eyes roaming the curves of the statue of Venus.

‘But unlike him, you are loyal to the emperors, I can be sure of that, can't I?

He turned his head towards her, but did not look at her. His eyes were now on the two spoilt emperors who were talking animatedly to each other between the columns. 'As long as Rome is prosperous for all her subjects, I will be loyal to them, my lady.'

Domna laughed loudly, 'Ah, that's why I want you in the Senate, how long will you refuse?

'I am only a soldier, politics is not my business, nor should it be. Consuls in the Senate -'

‘Those old foxes live in abundance and do nothing, the person who has done Rome the greatest service should be in the Senate.’ Domna glanced over her shoulder at her sons. 'I am concerned that Macrinus has no equal in the Senate and that Caracella dominates him, perhaps if you are in there, you will gain his trust.’

'Your Highness...' He looked at her shaking his head as no.

Domna looked at Acacius, this time with a serious expression on her face, 'For the sake of Rome you must be especially careful with Caracella, as her mother even I find it hard to get my way with him, he is not like Geta, he is a hard-headed child.’

Acacius looked at Caracella whose back was turned, of course he knew this very well, for a moment he thought that he was the real threat to Rome, not the enemy soldiers or the others.

‘Anyway, you should go to your villa and rest, you will have time to think about this alone,’ she said with a forced smile, then turned around to go to her sons.

After praying in the temple of Venus, Acacius walked out, and as he descended the steps of the temple, he felt a stinging pain where his wound had been, the poison had completely gone from his body, but it had left its trace behind.

Octavius was lost in thought as he has leaned against the side of the carriage waiting for him, quickly stood up when he noticed him.

‘Sir.’

‘I see you don't miss your home, as you're still here,' Acacius said as he descended the last step. He got into the carriage and climbed in to sit beside him. Acacius was quite tired so he lay down on the seat, the fact that he felt so comfortable with Octavius was because of their long friendship, he was his most trusted man, more than just a friend, like a brother.

'Are you going to tell me what's troubling you?’ Acacius covered his face with his arm, but he could feel the tension in him.

'Sir, the girl.’

'Oh, I see, a girl? Have you fallen in love with a girl?

'No, that's not it,' Octavius felt embarrassed as he remembered your face. 'That poor girl, It doesn't seem fair that she should be with those slaves, sir, you are an honourable man, but your order-'

Acacius lifted his arm from his face and looked at him, the cart swaying as it moved along the stony roads.

'The girl that medicus hid? Why do you care so much for her? Is there something I should know?’

'After all, they worked so hard together to cure you, perhaps you should have at least let her go home.’

‘Together? What do you mean?' Acacius sat up, his eyebrows furrowed.

Octavius bowed his head.

'Sir, I made a mistake, it was my fault for letting them into your tent, I don't know how I could have been so careless even after the assassination, forgive me...'

Acacius raised his hand.

'Slow down, we will talk about your mistake later, you are saying that girl entered my tent and cured me? How?’

'I didn't look closely at her face and I didn't know she was a woman maybe because of her outfit but I made a terrible mistake, I should’ve known, forgive me sir.’ He bowed his head once more but it made Acacius more angry.

'You haven't answered my question, Octavius,' his voice was loud.

'Yes sir, she did her best to cure you, sir, the girl and Medicus worked hard to produce antivenom all night.’

Acacius was surprised when he realized that he hadn't dreamed that night. He was glad to learn that the owner of those eyes was a real person. But then he thought that she might be on the slave market by now, about to be sold to someone else.

‘Stop the carriage!’ He yelled.

The coachman immediately did as he was told and pulled hard on the horses' harnesses, the horses howling and stamping their hooves on the ground.

'Sir?' Octavius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Go and find the girl, I want to see her at my villa tonight, do you understand? Acacius tossed him a pouch full of coins.

Octavius smiled, ‘Yes, sir.’

please comment, reblog and like if you enjoyed so far thank youu,

All Chapters List

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #ao3 writer #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fluff #marcus acacius x ofcreader #marcurelia

929 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 6 months ago

Text

➶ pt 1 1/2: DULEX (the gnat) a mid/prequel || emperor geta x reader

➶ 18+ smut 🥀 this takes place somewhere after reader meets caracalla and geta the first night she comes to Palatine Hill and where part one ended.

➶pt i: dulci ut rosa {sweet as a rose🥀 } pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me 🥀 pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

Licking up the hot spend that threatened to spill from your lips, you looked up at your Emperor. Your knees had gotten used to the stone floor, the sand no longer bothering you as it cut through your skin. Geta’s groans were low and guttural, every time. They never swayed, and neither did you as he pumped your mouth full every night.

His chin was tilted upward giving you a clear view of his thick neck. It resembled a tree trunk, a knob in the center where it bobbed with satisfaction, veining with cords that would tighten when he denied himself the pleasure of release. Some nights were longer than others, but they all started and ended the same way.

You told him every detail of what Caracalla had said during your evenings with him. Even the minute details of what he nibbled on during the vesperna, which was mostly fish, sucking the bones between his teeth and then using it as a tool to dig out the tender flesh between his gums.

Geta sometimes laughed at the things you told him. Other times he was angry, brooding beneath that glorious wave of honeypot curls.

Tonight, he didn’t ask for the secrets immediately on his arrival. Gets simply looked you over from head to toe, and when his eyes finished their feast he turned, cocking his head for you to follow him.

He walked with hands behind his back as he strolled an inch ahead of you, so close that if your hands and his were loose, they’d touch. He showed you around the palace, paintings with various strokes of colors making up different frescoes along the great walls. All of which made up the Roman Gods. Apollo and Diana in one showcasing the sun and the moon. Neptune, riding a massive stallion, a hurricane in his wake.

It was exquisite, the different materials used to makeup each piece was fascinating. Geta admired silently, and when he spoke in his native language, you were surprised.

Latin was becoming less and less common, but when he spoke, it rolled off his tongue in eloquence. Pure, unbroken, seductive. Flowing in a way you hadn’t heard in years. You could listen to him for hours.

Further down another corridor led to a great display of busts of Emperors before himself. He paused at one that looked fairly new, the marble uncracked and pristine. Geta, moved his fingers along the base of the heavy stone uttering quietly, “pater meus.”

You stood before the behemoth looking alter, taking in the intricate carvings of the handsome face, one that looked nearly identical to the man staring back at it. Turning towards him you managed, “Ita, Quomodo mortuus est?”

A ripple of shock wove like a needle across his face. Geta looked at you before you spoke, “mortuus est ex morbo.” It was no secret that Caracalla and Geta’s father fell ill and died unexpectedly.

Still, you’d never lost someone close to you before.

“Me paenitet,” you whispered. Even though Geta was a strange man to understand, you were still sorry for his loss. Emperor Septimius Severus was a great man, powerful and demanding to those around him, but still loved by Rome.

Geta looked at you with narrowed eyes, “death isn’t feared by warriors, only those who are weak are afraid of what lies beyond our world.”

He looked as if he would say something else, but he never did, only jerking his head as if to shrug clear his mind before turning on his heel walking quickly the way you came. This time, he walked further ahead of you, his feet slapping the marble floor as he went. A rolling sensation spurring in his nerves.

Geta had times of showing brute strength, other times he was almost kind to you, a friend perhaps. But his mind seem to change like the direction of the wind, like he pushed down anything that could possibly make him happy, make him let go.

“Tell me what he’s done on this day,” he suddenly ordered over his shoulder, his voice back to the bark it usually had, “from first light to his chamber.”

Stumbling over your words you began the lengthy, and extremely boring explanation of how Caracalla had spent his day. Before you could finish and before getting to the closed off corridor, Geta grabbed your arm pulling you down past the massive stone pillars. Into the open.

The humid air hung thick and wet on your skin. The moon was draped with clouds, a poor night for prey. With his finger pointing to the dirt, he motioned for you to kneel, and you looked at him startled. Out here, anyone could see you and report your trickery to one of the generals or worse, to Caracalla.

Raising his eyebrows in protest, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit as he assembled your hesitation, “No one will see your whore mouth as I fuck it, they are all tucked into their beds, or drunk.”

Nodding curtly, you obey, slinking to your knees, only to be stopped by his hand and brought back to standing before him. A look you couldn’t place was etched onto his features, as if he was fighting himself in his head, holding himself back.

Geta had been pissed beyond belief after visit his father’s busy. All he could do was be reminded of how his father left him here to rule with his brother. Caracalla wasn’t fit to be an Emperor. He was barely fit to be anything more than a wet dog.

Rage had filled his head as he stomped back to the hallway that was tainted with his moans and the slurp of your gags. He wanted to brutalize your mouth, maybe he’d end up knocking out one of your teeth, or bruise your throat so terribly that you couldn’t swallow anything but liquid for a weeks.

But now as you stood before him, he suddenly felt a sense of calm. Geta was always sure of what he wanted, what he desired. Since your arrival, you somehow seemed to put his maddening thoughts at ease. Just seeing your eyes and the way the suffocated moon shone in them… he couldn’t keep this act up much longer.

“Don’t… don’t move just yet,” he nearly whispered, releasing your arm and moving his fingers across your collarbone. His thumb outlined the marrow beneath the skin, and he moved to the curve of your jaw before placing the pads of his fingers on your lips.

He was right. They felt like the most expensive silk gold could buy, and for the first time in Geta’s life, he wanted to feel them on his own.

He’d fucked practically all the women of Rome, yet he never allowed them touch him in that way. But watching your lips move when you spoke the native tongue back to him made his cock jump, and his chest tighten. They moved in such a seductionous manner he felt as though he was in a trance. Your voice hypnotized him, your lips the object of his innermost desires.

Without thinking anymore of it, Geta leaned in, aligning his lips to yours, as he melted on the hot humid night beneath the Gods and anyone else to witness— he melted into his first actual kiss. As he pulled away from you, a delicate humming noise tickled his eardrum, a pestering sound, barely audible, something he’d been hearing more and more frequently…

-🔆part 3 is already being written besties

latin translation:

dulex— gnat

pater meus— my father

Ita, Quomodo mortuus est?— yes, how did he die?

mortuus est ex morbo— he died from an illness

me paentit— i’m sorry

☻ taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @fallout-girl219 @hellfireadmin @all-will-be-well-love @anythinggoesemily

@eddiesguitarskills @prestinalove @palomahasenteredthechat @wiltinglovers @razzeith

@workingwndrz @probablyin-bed @songforeddiemunson

#emperor geta smut #joseph quinn #emperor geta #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader smut #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta fanfic

484 notes · View notes

ancientcharm · 11 months ago

Text

The Arch of Roman emperor Septimius Severus at Leptis Magna, Libya.

Photography by David Gunn.

Lucius Septimius Severus born in Leptis Magna, Africa, was the first Roman emperor of North African origin. During his reign (193-211) he favored his hometown, which became one of the most important Roman cities in North Africa along with Carthage and Alexandria. For the Romans AFRICA was not the name of the continent but a Roman province that included the territory of Tunisia, the coast of Libya along the Gulf of Sidra and northeastern Algeria.

The Leptis Magna archaeological site is located near Tripoli in Libya. World Heritage Site since 1982.

#roman architecture #ancient history #roman empire #archaeology #ancient rome #archaeological site

988 notes · View notes

rxqueenotd · 1 month ago

Text

damnatio memoriae: PART III

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima’, was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

warnings: oral m receiving, arranged marriage, foul language, mentions of blood, bodily fluids, Ancient Rome as a warning within itself.

notes: i am tired. no big notes today, just the chapter and a huge thanks to @trashmouth-richie for beta’ing for me even though we’re dying and surrounded by the plague.

⟡ Imperator- Septimius Severus

⟡ Augustus- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus “Caracalla”

⟡ Caesar- ⟡ Publius Septimius Geta “Geta”

III

“Brother,” Caracalla chuckled, surrounded by the finest of the court—his beloved whores, concubines, and every fair face that caught his eye—turned to his sibling, “have you laid eyes on my wife?”

Geta, his fingers entwined with his main flame to his right, shook his head slowly. “No, the better question would be: have you seen your wife?”

A silver platter brimming with powder was offered to Caracalla, who eagerly partook, stumbling backward, snorting and sniffling, until he finally crashed into his gilded seat.

“I thought we agreed to save the Rhino’s Horn for Saturnalia,” Geta shot a glance at the bearer of the silver dish, waving them off.

“Why not seize the day, brother?” Caracalla replied, “Father has departed for uncle’s villa, my wife is… well, lost to me at the moment, but that matters not. Let us enjoy these days of luxury.”

The two had been drunk for much of the day, with Caracalla lost in a haze of whatever was handed to him: Devil’s Breath, opium, Rhino’s Horn—none mattered. If it was offered, it was his. Geta, however, stayed pleasantly tipsy on sweet wine, his cup never empty, his tongue loosening enough to spill secrets like a river.

“Brother, I must share something with you.” Geta’s gaze met Caracalla’s, who leaned in, all ears.

Caracalla clapped his hands, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “At last, something of interest! Amuse me, brother.”

“Gracchus’s wife,” Geta began, “on the night of your wedding, her lips were wrapped so divinely around my cock.”

Caracalla nodded, interrupting, “A wondrous thing, indeed.”

Geta pressed on, “And Prima came to my chambers, asking to help you to bed while you were busy with one of your legendary displays.”

This piqued Caracalla’s interest. He sat up straight, eyes locked onto Geta’s face, lips pressed tight, nostrils flaring.

“And?” he urged Geta to continue.

“And, well, I commanded her to stay, to savor the moment.” Geta caressed the cheek of the woman at his side, who purred in delight, momentarily diverting his gaze from his brother.

Caracalla, though not entirely impressed, was curious. He grasped his brother’s arm firmly. “And she complied? She truly remained and watched?”

“Yes,” Geta affirmed with a nod, “who would dare refuse the command of a son of the emperor?”

Caracalla’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face before he leaned down and whispered to one of the servants who knelt before them, awaiting his command.

It wasn’t long before you made your entrance into the chamber, a mix of confusion and acceptance washing over you at being summoned after a week of silence. You stood before the two brothers, maintaining a stoic expression while disregarding the crowd surrounding them, who now beheld the new Augusta. Most gazed at you in wonder, some wore expressions of intrigue, while others looked as if they were ready to eat you, relishing every moment they stood in your presence.

“Has someone died?” Caracalla asked, his brow furrowed as he took in your appearance from head to toe.

The toga you donned was a careful choice. Its deep black hue a sign of mourning, a garment you had worn through various times of grief. The black veil draped softly over your shoulders, trailing down the back of your dress and nearly brushing the floor, swaying gently with the warm breeze that flowed in from the balconies on either side. You adorned yourself with jewels—a delicate headpiece that held the veil in place, a gift from the Imperator himself, paired with his late wife's stunning collection of rubies that gleamed on your fingers. A golden cuff encircled your bicep, intricately designed with fine lines weaving a lace-like pattern, complemented by matching earrings and your family’s cherished wrist cuffs, passed down through generations.

“No one that I know of,” you replied, a hint of mischief in your voice. “I just figured that if I dressed the part, perhaps the gods would take notice of my urgent prayers and send me off to the underworld with haste.”

A chorus of gasps filled the room, and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning.

Caracalla staggered over, getting right in your face.

“Everyone, out!” he barked, his eyes locked on yours. When no one moved, he shouted, “Get out or live to regret it!” That was all it took for the crowd to scurry away like frightened mice.

“Tell me,” he said, dragging a finger down the bridge of your nose—an odd move, but on-brand for Caracalla, “did it make your cunt throb to see my brother getting his cock sucked?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Do not talk to me about implied infidelities when you’re surrounded by people the likes of which do not even make a good meal for a dog.”

Caracalla's expression shifted to a dangerous glint, his lips curling into a smirk. “Ah, so we’re playing at words now, are we? You think you can wound me with your tongue? I have better plans for that mouth of yours.”

“Brother,” Geta said, rising to his feet, “don’t do something you’ll come to regret.”

Caracalla pulled a dagger from his belt, pointing it at Geta. “You’ll sit down and keep your mouth shut, brother.”

And there you were, caught in the middle of two prideful men, like a sweet nectar drawing them in.

Geta lifted his hands in a gesture of defense, retreating toward his chair in defeat.

“On your knees, wench!” Caracalla bellowed, fury blazing in his eyes like a stormy sky.

Your gaze flickered to Geta, but Caracalla, with the edge of his sword pressed against your cheek, forcefully turned your head to face him.

“Is it not enough that you dared to speak with him? Must you also look upon him in my presence?” Caracalla whined, his naturally raspy voice sounding even more gravelly in his drug addled state.

“Are you deaf?!” he roared, “On your knees!”

You felt the cold of the sword as it slid from your cheek to your neck, pressing firmly against your carotid. With a heavy heart, you sank to your knees, shame washing over you.

As you gazed up at him, angry tears welled in your eyes. The golden laurel wreath tangled in his wild hair sat crookedly above his brows, as he looked down at you with a wild glint.

“Show me how well Gracchus’s wife treated my dear brother!” he cackled, delighting in the raunchiness of his demand.

“Absolutely not,” you spat through clenched teeth, attempting to rise once more, only to be met with his rough hands shoving you back down against the cold marble.

“Must I flog you for your insolence?!” he howled, spit flying from his lips, “Must I?!”

“Not here,” you pleaded, all pride abandoned as your knees ground into the cold marble, “Not like this.”

“Just like this,” he replied, smirking down at you as he pulled back his flowing robes to reveal his hard cock.

“Come on,” he flicked his tip against your lips, “open up for me.”

With angry tears stinging your eyes, you wrapped your lips around him, his velvet tip sliding past your lips, brushing heavily against your tongue.

“Should you dare use your teeth against me, I’ll have them knocked from your jaw with the hilt of my sword. Rome has no place for a wild, toothless harlot.”

He carelessly rolled his hips toward your face, swaying unsteadily with each thrust as you fought back the bile rising in your throat. When you didn’t please him the way he wished, he fucked your face with such fervor that he nearly lost his balance. You gagged as hot tears streamed down your cheeks, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth like a hungry dog.

“You must not have impressed her with your little show, brother,” he bellowed over his shoulder, gripping the roots of your hair, chuckling as you gagged even harder, pressing your nails into his thighs for fear you might topple over. “I have had better pleasure alone.”

He continued his brutal assault until finally he pulled you snug to the base of his cock, letting out a guttural groan, his legs nearly giving way beneath him as he released his hot seed into your mouth.

He stumbled back, shaky hands letting you go, but not fast enough to dodge the glob of cum you spat at his feet.

“You stupid whore—” he screamed, reaching for his sword again, but Geta grabbed him.

"‘Enough, brother,’ Geta commanded, gesturing toward the door. At once, two guards rushed in, seizing Caracalla, wrestling the blade from his grip, placing it firmly in Geta's hand.

A smirk crept across your lips as you met Caracalla's furious gaze, his struggles useless against the guards' hold. You wiped the last traces from your mouth, unflinching, while he spat threats of every punishment under the sun. His voice faded into the distance, growing fainter with each step as the guards dragged him away.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As soon as you stepped into your chambers, you snatched up a decorative vase, your stomach churning from the memory of his touch as you unceremoniously emptied its contents into the vase. A pang of guilt washed over you for the poor servant who would later have the misfortune of clearing it out, but you quickly brushed it aside; purging any trace of Caracalla from your system took precedence above all else.

As you crossed the threshold to the adjoining balneum, the air was thick with steam, a sensation that caused you to groan in pleasure. The gentle sound of water splashing filled the space while the frescoes adorning the walls told stories of playful nymphs dancing amongst the clouds lost amongst a blue sky. The buff marble floor cooled your feet, contrasting with the warmth of your skin.

The bathing area itself featured a large, sunken pool, its waters shimmering under the soft glow of oil lamps. To one side, a small fountain trickled water into a basin, where fresh rose petals floated, adjacent to a nearby selection of oils: patchouli, lavender, rosemary, their scents mingled in the heady, warm atmosphere. A strigil and pumice stone awaited on a shelf built into the wall, along with fine linen towels, and cloths, all carefully placed for your use.

With a soft sigh, you dipped your toes into the inviting water, allowing the robe you had worn in to drop to the marbled floor behind you. You relished the sensation as you waded in deeper, the water rising to your ankles, then your calves. Each step felt like a release, the warmth washing over you, dissolving the tension that had clung to you throughout the day.

As you reached the center of the pool, the water enveloped you completely. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back as you floated for a moment, allowing the water to cradle you. Everything felt so distant, so unimportant. The world outside faded away, and for a fleeting moment, it was just you and the serenity of the private sanctuary. You let your mind wander, thoughts drifting like the petals floating in the nearby basin.

Reaching for the bottle of patchouli oil resting on the edge of the bath, you poured a small amount into your palm, the rich, earthy scent wafting into the space. With your fingers slicked with the oil, you began to comb it carefully through your hair, taking your time to work out any knots and tame the unruly strands. Once satisfied with your hair, you took a fine cloth, its texture soft as silk against your skin, and began to bathe yourself with the perfumed oil.

With deliberate movements, you sloshed water along your body, enjoying the feeling of it cascading over your skin like a gentle waterfall. When you were ready, you dove under the water once more, the coolness contrasting deliciously with the warmth of the oil. As you rinsed yourself, you felt the excess oils wash away, the strigil waiting nearby for the final touch.

“Domina.” The tranquil moment shattered as one of your newly assigned servants peeked through the ornate doorway, her voice breaking the soothing silence.

“What is it?” you asked, trying to stall for just a moment longer.

“You’ve been summoned.”

Of course you had. It only made sense that your peaceful escape would be interrupted. You emerged from the water, droplets glistening on your skin, and caught the nervous gaze of the servant as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Come inside,” you beckoned her, and she hesitantly approached, holding out a towel like it was a fragile offering.

“Do you know how to use a strigil?” you asked, and she nodded, though her eyes betrayed her anxiety.

“Very well.” You dried your face with the towel, then reached for the strigil and handed it to her. “Quickly.”

With shaky hands, she began to scrape off the excess oils.

“What is your name?” you asked, trying to ease the tension as she glided the strigil along your shoulder.

“Cassia,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Cassia,” you repeated, letting the name linger in the air. “Is it Caracalla or Geta requesting me?”

“Neither, Domina,” she paused, placing the strigil back in its assigned place. “It is the Imperator.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

You quickly slipped into a sleeping gown—something informal yet appropriate for the presence of the Imperator. Cassia’s hands trembled slightly as she helped you into the nightgown made of fine, onyx silk. She draped a matching robe over your shoulders, guiding your arms into the sleeves with a gentleness that put you at ease. The fabric glided down your arms, flowing behind you like a shadow as you moved to comb your damp hair away from your face.

“I believe it would be nice if you left your hair down to dry,” Cassia suggested meekly, her eyes meeting yours through the reflection in the looking glass.

“I can braid it when you return. It is not wise to make the Imperator wait.” Her eyes told a story, hinting at the consequences of such delays, as if she had witnessed them firsthand.

“Very well,” you agreed, sensing the urgency in her tone. “Lead me there.”

Cassia walked quickly ahead, navigating through the maze of twists and turns that made up the opulent palace. The gilded walls shimmered under the flickering sconces, casting warm glows on the marble flooring. You passed by frescoes depicting grand tales of valor and myth, the ornate pieces of art adorning each wall, their beauty almost distracting you from the nervous feeling that swirled in your gut.

Finally, you arrived at an imposing set of doors, intricately carved and adorned with symbols befitting the Imperator’s status. Cassia hesitated for a moment, glancing back at you with a mix of awe and fear. “I’ll wait here, Domina.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped forward. The doors swung open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.

“Prima,” Septimius spoke from across the room, his voice smooth yet commanding. You crossed the threshold, your heart quickening as you made your way toward him. He sat at a side table, a decanter of wine glistening under the moonlight that spilled through the billowing curtains beside the table, casting soft shadows along the table and its contents.

“Thank you for joining me,” he said, standing to pull out a chair for you. You took your seat, the silk of your robe whispering against the chair as you settled in.

“Of course, Imperator,” you replied, keeping your tone steady. You studied his face, searching for clues about his intentions. Septimius possessed an air of authority, his graying hair slightly tousled, and his sharp features illuminated by the silvery light.

He poured a glass of wine, the deep red liquid swirling as he filled it, and then slid it across the table toward you. “A toast, Prima. To new beginnings.”

You accepted the glass, “To new beginnings,” you echoed, raising the glass slightly before taking a sip. As you caught his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passed in his eyes.

“Tell me,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “how do you find your new role here? The palace can be overwhelming, even for those accustomed to such grandeur.”

You considered his question carefully, weighing your words. “It is… a lot to take in,” you admitted.

“As to be expected,” he assured you, his gaze unwavering. “How are things with your new husband?”

“May I be bold, Imperator?” you asked, setting your glass down with a gentle clink, smoothing the fabric of your robe against your thighs to calm the tension that had begun to build within you.

“Go ahead,” he nodded, his expression encouraging.

You took a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. “I believe I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know how things have been going.” You reached for the glass of wine again, taking a sip to wet your drying, anxious mouth.

Septimius leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his features. You spotted Geta right away in him, the way his eyes were shaped and how he looked at you like you were the most confusing thing in the world that he sought to understand. But Caracalla was there too—his fingers digging into the armrest, his middle and pointer fingers tapping an offbeat rhythm against the leather. Caracalla's fierce gaze matched Septimius’s as well as his wild curls, both full of intensity.

“True enough. The palace is a place of whispers, and my son’s reputation precedes him. Yet I am interested in your perspective—how you truly feel about your situation.”

“May I ask what brought you back early from your trip to Baiae?” you asked, genuinely curious about the reason for his fast return.

“Word travels fast,” he leaned in, lowering his voice. “I—” he paused, selecting his words with care, “am aware of what transpired earlier today.”

You nodded, a wave of shame washing over you as you pictured someone recounting the scene to the Imperator.

“I also know that you and Caracalla have not shared a bed since your wedding night.”

“I…” you sighed, “truly am doing my best. It’s just that he and I are two very different people, and I’m trying to navigate the ocean of differences between us.” You explained, your tone almost pleading.

Carefully, he slid a familiar piece of parchment your way. No need to touch it; you knew well what it said.

“How did you come by that?” you asked, brow furrowed.

“Never mind that,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Do the words in this letter truly speak to your feelings?”

With a weary sigh, you opened it, your fingers dancing along its edges.

“If you wished me dead, you could’ve driven the blade yourself.” The words were yours, penned to your father a few days prior, when you felt as if being married to Caracalla was a death sentence, when tensions were at a high and you needed someone to hear you.

“It was confiscated before it left the palace,” he replied, his gaze steady as it met yours over the parchment.

“May I ask who thought it wise to spy on me and read my letters?” You laid the parchment flat, smoothing out the creases.

“You may not.” His expression was as stoic as a statue.

“I feel as if I’m being set up to fail, Imperator, as if your son wishes to see this marriage crumble, and I’ll be cast aside when I inevitably fail in my duties.” You spoke the truth plainly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

“When he was, I don’t know,” he sighed, “seven or eight, we campaigned through Syria and up into the Taurus mountains.”

You leaned in, sitting up straighter, eager for him to continue.

“And I remember him shouting, ‘I’ve found another three!’ I turned around, and there he was, standing among a sea of headless corpses, yelling when he found one with its head still on. He took such joy in it; it became a sort of game for him.”

“Isn’t that what a man wants? A son who isn’t squeamish about death and war?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Of course, but not one who brings that chaos within his own walls, in his own home.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out with a weary sigh.

“And Geta,” he closed his eyes, “maybe I wasn’t hard enough on him. Maybe I learned my lesson with Caracalla. Maybe Geta is just his mother’s son.” He waved a hand dismissively, letting out a heavy sigh. “But none of this is your worry.”

He stood, and you followed, walking with him to the grand doors.

“Go and rest. After tonight, all will be well.”

You turned to question him, to ask what the gods had happened between the two of you and why it had become your concern even if he had assured you it wasn’t, but the doors swung shut before you could speak. You exchanged a bewildered glance with Cassia before heading back to your chambers.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Not long after, the harsh sound of screaming pulled you from your thoughts. You followed the noise, retracing Cassia’s steps from earlier in the night, until you stumbled into Geta’s chest as he stood by the entrance to his father’s chambers.

“What are you doing here?” he spat. You peered around him, drawn to the chaos behind the door.

“I heard the shouting and got worried,” you replied. “What’s happening?”

“None of your business.” He looked down at you, his expression cold.

“Back to your rooms,” he ordered, waving you away.

“You will take your wife back into your quarters immediately!” came the booming voice of Septimius. A loud crash echoed, and you and Geta exchanged alarmed glances.

“Perhaps you should show me some respect for the title you’ve given me,” Caracalla shouted back.

“Perhaps you should earn that title, boy,” Septimius seethed.

Another crash followed, accompanied by the sound of shuffling.

“You are only Augustus and emperor of Rome by my say, Marcus! I am your father and your emperor,” Septimius continued, his voice cutting through the chaos. “I will strip you of every title and give it to your brother, who might actually appreciate it!”

Geta’s ears perked up, and a flicker of hope crossed his face as he looked toward the door.

But Septimius’s next words dashed his hopes. “Perhaps I’ll take your wife into my quarters and father a son with her. A new line of succession could be just what Rome needs.”

Another crash echoed, and grunts erupted from behind the doors.

“Look at you, bleeding like a woman,” Septimius mocked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you bled between your legs like one.”

The grand doors swung open, and Caracalla stormed toward you, his face smeared with blood. When he spat a crimson splash at your feet, you instinctively jumped back. He rushed past you, exchanging a quick glance with Geta.

“Do not follow him,” Geta warned, his voice low and tense.

But you didn’t heed his warning.

You navigated through winding hallways, twisting and turning until you reached Caracalla's chamber. He had thrown the doors open, pacing like a caged beast, blood streaming down his face.

“Get the hell out!” he bellowed, sending everything from the side table crashing to the floor.

“I refuse,” you shot back, firmly closing the door behind you.

“You went and lied to my father,” he hissed, stalking toward you like a predator. “You treacherous snake!”

“I did nothing of the sort!” you yelled back, your voice rising with anger. “He knew before he called for me.”

As he approached, the full extent of his injuries became clear. His nose was smashed, blood pouring from it, and his lip was split wide open. You roamed about his room scouring for supplies to clean him with until you found a few plain cloths on his dressing table.

“Sit.” You were shocked when he followed the command, sitting on the side of the bed, brow pinched at the way you had spoken to him.

“We must work together until I’m with child,” you said, as he winced a bit when you pressed a clean cloth against his split lip. “Then, once a son is born, you can send me off to whatever warm rock you fancy.”

“But first,” you said as you settled beside him on the bed, “we need to stop this bleeding.”

He placed his hand over yours, pressing down harder against his lip, a silent agreement forged in a simple touch.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Tag list:

@alwaysahiccupandastrid

@justnobodynothingmore

Dividers:

@ghoulbloggerrr

#damnatio memoriae #emperor caracalla fanfic #emperor caracalla x reader x emperor geta #emperor geta joseph quinn #emperor caracalla x you #emperor geta fanfic #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla fred hechinger #emperor geta x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #gladiator ii fanfiction

110 notes · View notes

blueiscoool · 6 months ago

Text

Roman-Era Inscription Found at Building Demolition Site in Bulgaria

A fragment of a marble slab with an inscription, believed to date from the time of Roman Emperor Septimius Severus, has been found at the site of a demolished house in Bulgaria’s city of Plovdiv.

Septimius Severus was Roman Emperor from 193 to 211 CE.

The find was made at the site of a house at 17 Metropolitan Panaret Street that had been demolished. The developer contacted the Regional Archaeological Museum in Plovdiv.

The fragment measures 70 x 40cm and was found at a depth of about 1.6 metres.

Archaeologist Dessislava Davidova told Bulgarian National Radio that over the centuries, the marble had been used as part of building material.

BNR reported that Dr Nikolai Sharankov, a specialist in classical languages and epigraphy, was consulted and said that the fragment was most likely part of an inscription on the pedestal of a statue dating from the time of Emperor Septimius Severus.

The inscription mentions the name of the distinguished citizen Veranius, tribune and high priest of the imperial cult in Philippopolis, an ancient name of Plovdiv in antiquity.

Sharankov said that Veranius most likely belonged to the local Thracian aristocracy, obtained Roman citizenship and was included in the Roman equestrian class and thus began his career in the Roman army and he reached the position of military tribune.

From the inscription it is understood that Veranius organised gladiator fights.

Sharankov said that the dating was done according to the specific font of the inscription, characteristic of the time of Emperor Septimius Severus.

#Roman-Era Inscription Found at Building Demolition Site in Bulgaria #Plovdiv Bulgaria #Roman Emperor Septimius Severus #marble #marble fragment #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art #ancient art

23 notes · View notes

grecoromanyaoi · 3 months ago

Note

top 10 hottest roman emperors go!

i actually think most of them r kinda fugly but obv the hottest ones r caracalla, hadrian, marcus aurelius, septimius severus, n i actually think lucius verus is soooo overlooked in the hottest emperors competition he was kind of a hottie

#asks #anon

107 notes · View notes

caroljoky · 18 days ago

Text

𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹𝓈 - Prologue

Caracalla x female!OC x Geta(next chapters)

Chapter 1 is here!

Summary:

How did the Emperors gain power? What was their past like? What made Caracalla a madman?

Lucia Galeria Aurelia is the forgotten daughter of Lucilla and Maximus. One day her life changes forever when her path crosses with the young Caracalla. She starts to take an active part in the life of Rome, captivating not only the Roman people but also someone fate condemned her to - certain red-haired rulers.

Warnings: english is not my first language(!), none in the prologue

AN: I am so VERY excited about thiss!!!!! I wrote it so quickly cause I had the whole story planned. My story includes an alternative ending to the movie (because let's be honest Caracalla didn't deserve that brutal sudden death) so bear with me and let me welcome you to my story!

Trope: enemies to lovers (duh)

(PS: in History Caracalla was the older brother - in the movie it’s adapted that they’re twins, but Caracalla still came out first and is considered older)

Word count: 1.3k (Prologue)

‘Lucia Galeria Aurelia’ was the name of the not-really-known young girl, conceived by Lucilla Aurelia and Maximus Meridius, who was born exactly 9 months after the death of the infamous Commodus, and came into this world in her mother’s chamber, which was to be her home until she reached adolescence – or perhaps a hideout, a ‘refuge’ as Lucilla liked to put it. Her mother was a problematic woman in terms of care – she sent her son to the far north, and cut her daughter off from the world. However, the daughter got it worse, the daughter who became a ‘legend’ of Rome, a vague, shameful ‘memory’ of her mother’s and father’s secret relationship. When Lucius was forgotten, she was spoken of in whispers and with uncertainty, like an anecdote or a fairy tale. However, her relatives visited her regularly, helped raise her, shape her. Acacius brought her Marcus Aurelius's books, her mother taught her culture and virtues, as well as her servants whom she had had since childhood, but whom she treated as her closest family. A mysterious man from outside the family also came once in a while to speak with her, a man whom she met through Acacius - it was Macrinus Opellius, The Master of Gladiators. Yes, he introduced the little girl to the ideas of games, war, and brutality, taught her about the Empire, showed her the true face of Rome, showed her power. Her mother reprehensibly forbade Macrinus from approaching her chambers, forbade him from acquainting her with the deviations of the world of men. So for the first time, the girl began to sneak away, to go all over the Golden House, to the brothels, to look for Macrinus, so he could tell her more about rulers, about wars, about strength and honor. This is how she lived until she reached the age of 17 - the age of adolescence, the age when Rome changed drastically.

The reign was held by Septimius Severus, who took charge after Commodus and turned the people against the authority. This tyrant procreated, unfortunately for everyone, fathered two tiny twins, whom he decided to raise in his image, that is, raise madmen. It didn't work out for him entirely - Geta and Caracalla, as youngsters, behaved better than expected, trained in combat, learned about Rome in the great palace of the Domus Aurea (Golden House), the home of the emperor, and the irony of fate never brought them into contact with the rightful empress. There may have been times when Lucia sneaked secretly through the golden corridors meters away from the boys playing, maybe they would have noticed each other and exchanged a word.

However, this never took place and Lucia was introduced to the twins in terrible conditions. On her 17th birthday, Lucilla opened the door to her chamber, just after she ordered to dress her daughter in the most beautiful clothes. The young woman's heart beat anxiously against her burgundy Stola, when for the first time she walked with Lucilla down the hallway towards the main hall of the palace, in full view of everyone. Her hair was tied in the most magnificent bun and single curls fell onto her dark, sharp, cat-like eyes. She suspected with fear what could happen. However, she didn’t know that she was right until she saw a man on the dais, in reality, a boy with red waves as hair, an outfit like hers, hands in rings, and a golden wreath resting on his vexed head. His eyes, terrifying for her, pierced straight into her like an arrow penetrating her insides, no one had ever looked at her in such a way, so directly, so impudently. Next to him stood a taller, equally red-haired, old man whose gaze was more greedy, less boyish, more terrifying. And those figures that stood as if made of marble on the dais turned to her and spoke. Or perhaps it was Septimus Severus who spoke, on behalf of his son.

- My eldest son accepts your gift in the form of the beautiful Lucia. The couple will now accept the marriage, and they will be named the future emperor and empress.

Hope stuck to Lucia, hope that maybe the red-haired boy was a marble sculpture after all, that the gods were joking with her, and that in a moment everything would return to the form of what it was. That she would be able to hide in the shadow of her mother, and everyone would forget about her again. As she walked between the rows of benches, on which it seemed like everyone was sitting, of course, Acacius, Macrinus, the entire senate, and the Roman aristocracy, her thoughts went back to the times when she had desired such an opportunity, an opportunity for power, to be remembered in history. However, now she understood how childish these cravings were. She understood now when she looked into the blue eyes of her tormentor - Lucius Septimius Bassianus, otherwise known as Caracalla. She stood on the dais. Severus began by making a sacrifice to the Gods - setting a white, dead lamb on fire. Lucia then compared herself to that lamb, lost in the name of something that had no right to exist. She and her future husband were facing each other, he lifted her orange veil - the traditional obligatory attire of a Roman bride, a symbol of the hearth. He put an iron ring on her delicate fingers and stared at her. She did not like Caracalla at first, it must be admitted. However, she was condemned to him her entire adult life. When the boy's father uttered the last words of the formal marriage, the mother sat in the first row of this grotesque spectacle, with tears in her eyes and a fake smile. The wedding of Lucia and Caracalla was a political arrangement, a union of two families. It was to save Rome, her daughter was to save Rome. And Severus was not to live long, he was sickly, people gave him a year to live at most, and it was his sons who were to maintain his infamy. This union gave hope for control over the twins, by maintaining any position in the decisions of the rulers. Lucilla placed all her hope and faith in her revealed secret - in her daughter.

- Lucia’s beautiful. - she heard right next to her, which snapped her from her thinking. She turned around abruptly. There sat a boy of considerable height, with a mocking smile and a cunning gaze fixed on her. His red hair was also decorated with a wreath, silver, matching his ceremonial silver robes. He was leaning towards her.

- Geta - whispered the mother of the bride.

- Caracalla doesn't want this marriage. If you gave her to me, I would accept her. I’m far more responsible. I would give you an heir right away - he said with a soft chuckle. For Lucilla his gaze was wild, she looked with horror at this barely 18-year-old twin.

However, his intentions were not barbaric, he was even somehow right, since childhood Geta was a better candidate for emperor, but his brutal father always stood in his way, convincing him of his weakness, inferiority, and immaturity of mind. For Severus his firstborn was a saint, he believed in the power that was dormant in him, ignoring the fact that he always played Gladiator, while Geta played emperor. However, the younger twin's (u know what I meann) jealousy wasn’t really overwhelming, because he did not believe that Caracalla would really take on the task of ruling Rome and would only occupy himself with games in the Colosseum instead of the role of emperor. To everyone’s surprise, his father did not allow this and threw him onto the dais in the great hall, forcing the ring onto his finger.

The newlyweds' lips pressed together awkwardly, and the hall was filled with a deafening roar of applause, the roar of an uncertain future that had stormed into the Golden House.

If we hit 20 likes ima post Chapter 1! Also lmk what u think by now in the comments :D

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator ii imagine #emperor Caracalla #fanfiction #fanfic #prologue

99 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 3 months ago

Text

Et Auream - The Prologue

“The Boy”

A/N: well…🤭 it’s here! I decided to bite the bullet and post the prologue sooner because I am an impulsive Aries after all! This story has taken over my mind body and soul 🫠 just ask @sinsofsummers @penvisions @beardedjoel @corazondebeskar @punkshort & @kenobiwanx (just to name a few moots who have listened to me yap and yap and yap 🥹) it’s an understatement when I say just how I excited I am for this story. I currently have 17 chapters written, and we are only at the halfway point! There is so much more to come 😉

Summary: Marcus Acacius, from a young age was taught to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. His mother, Lucia, has kept her son’s true identity hidden from his callous father, Varus. On the eve of Marcus’s 10th birthday, an accident occurs, and when the truth is revealed, Marcus learns firsthand just how cruel the world he was born into could truly be.

word count : 1.6k

Warnings: enslavement, child enslavement, child abuse, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, death of a minor character, language, minors dni! +18

Timeline : Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus - ruled from April 13th 193AD - February 4th 211AD (historical) Succeeded by: Publius Septimius (Geta) born 191AD (birthdate is fictional) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) born 193AD (birthdate is fictional)

Marcus was born May 17th 193AD (Taurus) 203AD - Marcus is 10 206AD - Marcus is 13 211AD - Marcus is 18 when he meets Geta 216AD - Marcus is 23

Geta was born June 9th 191AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Gemini) 203AD - Geta is 12 206AD - Geta is 15 211AD - Geta is 20 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Geta is 25

Caracalla was born October 27th 193AD (fictional birthdate, not historical) (Scorpio) 203AD - Caracalla is 10 206AD - Caracalla is 13 211AD - Caracalla is 18 when he meets Marcus 216AD - Caracalla is 23

Translations : Acacius (Roman, male) - one who is free from evil (innocence) also symbolizes strength, resilience & protection Varus (Roman, male) - bent, crooked Lucia (Roman, female) - light Medicus - physician, doctor Dominus - master

Under the rule of Emperor Septimius Severus May 17th, 193 AD

When Marcus Acacius was born into the world, he did not scream like most babes did. He cooed and babbled, his long lashes opened and revealed the deepest brown eyes, rich in color like the soil that nurtures life. His mother wept as he clung to her breast. She did not shed tears of joy, but tears of sorrow and dread as she had prayed to the gods for a daughter. Not because she wouldn’t have been grateful for a son, but because his father; her Dominus, wanted a daughter, as he already possessed many sons.

She concealed him from the midwives who gave the new mother her much needed privacy after birth. It would only be a matter of time before their Dominus would return home from his travels.

“Marcus.” She whispered, lips gentle and motherly against his soft, fragile forehead. “Marcus Justus Acacius.” She sniffled. “Do you know what your name means, my son? It symbolizes innocence, strength, protection, and resilience. An honorable name for a special boy.” She cradled him close to her chest. “Your father will not love you the way that I will, but you mustn’t let it hurt you, Marcus. You must always be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate.”

Marcus’s true identity was carefully hidden beneath clothing designed for girls, and his hair grew long and lustrous. His mother, Lucia kept him close to her side as she tended to the gardens and helped prepare all the Dominus’s meals. Varus was neither kind nor cold, but he appeared to be pleased with Lucia blessing him with what he believed to be his first daughter. So much so, that he intended to marry her the following year—right before Marcus’s tenth birthday.

Tragedy struck days before the planned wedding date. On the eve of Marcus’s tenth birthday, he suffered an injury falling off of his horse, but that was not the worst of it. While the medicus was examining the injuries Marcus sustained, the truth was discovered that Varus’s daughter was in fact a boy.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Varus booming voice could be heard just outside the cracked doorway of Marcus’s bedroom.

“Sir, I understand that this news is upsetting and the most shocking, but it is true. Your daughter is a fraud, and is in fact a boy.”

“Mother.” Marcus croaked from where he laid with tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I swear, I was being careful! I lost my stirrup and—”

Lucia squeezed her son’s trembling hand firmly and reassuringly. She leaned over, brushing his temple with a soft kiss. “Shh, my son. You have done nothing wrong, Marcus. Accidents happen, and it was only a matter of time before Varus would discover the truth. I am the one who is sorry, my beautiful boy.”

“This is an outrage! My to-be wife has been lying to me all these years?! This is a disgrace, and I will seek to have her severely punished for her crimes of treachery against me!”

“No, mother! You have nothing to be sorry for! You have done everything to protect me, and I am forever grateful. You have taught me to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. Remember? It is my fault for being so careless.” He uttered in frustration.

“No, my son. You are but a child. The fault cannot fall on your shoulders. You must continue to be brave, gentle, just, and compassionate. No matter what life throws your way, promise me you will always remain true to your heart and the values I have instilled in you.” She cradled his cheek in her hand, brushing away stray tears and rested her forehead against his. “In this life and the next, you will always be my son.”

The door slammed open to reveal a seething Varus and Marcus never feared for his life more until the man who was half responsible for bringing him into this world looked at him as if he was nothing—not a person with feelings and emotions just like him. No, Varus looked upon his unwanted son as if he were the filth beneath his shoes and the very bane of his existence.

“Varus, please. Let me explain. I beg you to show our son mercy. He is just a boy! A bright, innocent, beautiful, kind boy!” Lucia exclaimed from his bedside, pleading for Varus to be merciful. She stood up quickly from the bedside to try and block Varus from reaching Marcus.

Varus stalked into the room, fury stricken in his irises, and when Lucia dared to place herself in his way, he struck her across the cheek hard enough that she fell against the wall, smacking her head against the stone, falling unconscious from the impact.

Marcus let out a terrified scream, his eyes wide with fear. He yelled his mothers name when Varus reached for the covers and yanked them back from his trembling body.

“She demands I show you mercy, boy.” He said between gritted teeth, malice dripping in his cold tone. He clasped his hand against Marcus’s wounded right shoulder, squeezing it tightly with no remorse.

Marcus let out a pained sound from the back of his throat, clawing desperately at his father’s hand to release him. “Father, please!” He cried, “you’re hurting me!”

“You are no son of mine.” Varus seethed and dragged the young boy from his bed and far away from where his mother laid. Marcus was never given the chance to tell her one last time just how much he loved her, or to say goodbye.

Marcus screamed for his mother till his throat was rubbed raw and he no longer had a voice. The pain in his shoulder weakened him to a state of unconsciousness, and when he woke, he found himself stuffed into an iron cage along the back of a horse-drawn carriage with ten other boys all around his age. His wrists and ankles were shackled in iron, and a collar around his neck signified his ownership to a new Dominus.

Varus had sold Marcus to a slave trader that was well known for training young boys and men to be gladiators for the barbaric games that took place in the Colosseum. Lucia would never see her son again or know of his fate.

To this day, Marcus favors his left side as the injury he sustained to his dominate shoulder never properly healed, and sometimes it still causes him pain, especially after a brutal fight.

Because he was not born with violence in his veins and rage in his heart, Marcus refused to fight even after his new Dominus would beat him, he would not grasp a sword in his palm. This made him an easy target for the other boys to take their rage and frustrations out on. Runt, they would call him. Jabbering at him like squawking crows. Coward. Pathetic. Their insults would ricochet off his body as if he was wearing invisible armor. He remained quiet and reserved till one night he had been pushed to his limits.

“Do you think you’re better than the rest of us, Acacius? Is that why you choose to not fight?” One of the boys questioned him around the dying fire.

“No. I don’t think myself to be better than anyone.” Marcus quietly said under his breath and moved to stand up from where he was sitting, but a hand on his bad shoulder forced him back down.

“Then why don’t you fight, hm? The runt won’t even defend himself!” The boy cackled and his friends joined in.

“Please stop.” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

“I bet your whore of a mother was ashamed that her son turned out to be such a coward! That’s why she sold you off, right? She couldn’t bear to look you in the eyes any longer!” He laughed. “And who could blame her?”

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother as if you knew her!” Marcus roughly brushed the hand from his shoulder and stood up in a fury.

“Your mother was a whore and I bet she died as one too!”

Marcus couldn’t remember the events that transpired moments later. All he could recall was the sound of steel being unsheathed, and seeing red behind his eyes. He was thirteen years of age when he killed for the first time. He plunged his sword so deeply into the boy's gut that it appeared through the other side, dripping in crimson.

Under the new rule of Emperor Publius Septimius (Geta) & Marcus Aurelius Antonius (Caracalla) April, 211 AD

After five years of extensive, unforgiving, and grueling training to become a gladiator, Marcus was taken before the two young emperors who had only just recently succeeded their late father, emperor Septimius Severus, to be observed in training before the next anticipated fight in the Colosseum.

“This one appears promising.” Emperor Geta, twenty years of age, sat alongside his younger brother, Caracalla in his golden throne. “I intend to meet him officially.”

“He is weak. Do you not see the way he favors one side to the other? He is unbalanced, and his opponents will pick their teeth with his bones.” Caracalla said with a jabbing snicker. “He surely won’t survive through a single fight.”

“We shall see.”

When he was approached by the emperors after the training session had wrapped up, Marcus quickly bowed in their regal, commanding presence. He brought his sword to rest against the breastplate of his armor out of respect.

“What do they call you, gladiator?” Geta inquired with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Acacius, sir.”

“And what do you desire most in this life, Acacius?”

Marcus lowered his sword, the edge of the blade dug into the coarse sand below. His emotionless gaze, directed at the eldest emperor, was contrasted by emotionally charged words of a man whose only desire in life was to be free.

“To be a free man.”

star banner made by @saradika-graphics 💗

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifs! 🫶🏻

77 notes · View notes