#column of marcus aurelius

[illustratus]

The Plague in Rome by Jules-Élie Delaunay

[wgm-beautiful-world]

COLONNA DI MARCO AURELIO

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

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II. The Letter

"Omnia, quae fiunt, eveniunt ut oportet; et si diligenter observaveris, hoc ita esse invenies." M. Aurelius

“Everything that happens, happens as it should, and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so.”

The carriage shook occasionally as it traveled along the stony roads of the capital. Octavius sat across from you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye while you peered out from under the curtain, eager to see where you were being taken. You had many questions, but you hesitated to ask him directly. In their eyes, you were merely an ordinary woman considered a slave.

As you looked outside, you realized that you were more fortunate than other women in similar situations. Instead of being transported in a carriage like you, they were dragged, beaten, and forcibly taken away in chains.

As the carriage approached the magnificent, rounded building, you couldn't help but gasp in awe at its grandeur. It had to be the Colosseum; you had heard so much about it, but you never expected it to be this enormous. This massive structure was so impressive that it truly pushed the limits of the human imagination. It was fascinating, intimidating, and astonishing.

You stared in wonder at the most intriguing landmark on the streets of Rome until it finally disappeared from view. With a sigh, you turned your gaze in the direction the carriage was heading. After passing insulas, temples, aqueducts, fountains, and gardens, you drove through a large wooded area. The carriage began to sway noticeably as the terrain shifted from stones to dirt and grass. Eventually, a large villa came into view before you.

Unlike the sand-colored villas found in Egypt, this one was nearly white, with a roof the color of crimson herbs. Tall white columns framed the garden entrance, each adorned with intricate figures and reliefs. The beauty of the scene was extraordinary. As you gazed around, it surprised you to see that Octavius had already exited the cart and was waiting for you.

"My lady," he said, extending his hand toward you.

You lifted the hem of your cloak and carefully stepped down from the carriage.

"I am not a lady, sir," you replied, gripping the handle of your bag tightly instead of accepting his hand.

Octavius withdrew his hand and looked at you in confusion.

"I know I didn't want to call you a slave; you are so much more."

On the surface, this burly man had a stern demeanor that commanded respect, but underneath, he was genuinely kind.

"That's all right, sir. I appreciate your kindness. May I ask you something, if I don't overstep my bounds?"

He nodded.

"Why am I here? Why did the General purchased me?"

It was obvious he hadn't cared about you for ten days. Why did he suddenly remember you and bring you to his villa, you wondered.

"Ask him when he arrives. I was only supposed to bring you here. I must leave now, as I have completed my mission."

"Sir Octavius!"

A middle-aged, chubby woman ran up to you, and the way she looked at you made it clear that she knew Octavius very well. She seemed about to ask him something but then turned her head and looked you up and down, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“A slave? Or did the emperors send her as a gift to our master again?”

You took a step back, panic rising in your chest, and turned to Octavius. A gift? What did she mean by that, you wondered.

“No, they didn't send her. The general purchased her from the slaver,” Octavius stated firmly as he strode toward the carriage. “Show her to her room and make her comfortable. I have to go now.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded, then turned her gaze back to you.

But you were staring at the carriage as it sped away, feeling abandoned by his departure.

“Hurry up, girl, come inside with me. The general is almost here, and you need to dress properly,” she commanded, beckoning with her hand.

You complied, passing between the imposing columns and entering the garden, where a large pool with sparkling water awaited you at its center. The villa featured a spacious courtyard and multiple gardens. In the middle of the square pool stood a statue of Neptune, holding a spear in his hand.

Vines curled around the tall white columns, and short trees accompanied them. In front, there was a fountain made of white marble. As you walked behind the woman, you listened to the soothing sound of water flowing from the fountain. It seemed peaceful, yet that was not how you felt inside.

When you entered a small room, the woman called over another girl. Inside were two wooden closets and a large wooden chest. A young girl with red hair came running to you. The other woman grabbed your arm and examined your clothes, her face twisting in disgust.

“Dress this girl quickly; she must be ready before the master arrives.” She touched your hair and ran her fingers through it as if she were combing it. “She looks like she’s had a bath, but her clothes look terrible. Get rid of them when you’re done,” she commanded, clearly in charge due to her age.

The girl opened the closet door and took out a white silk and tulle fabric. You set your bag aside but felt uncomfortable; after all, there was something very important in it.

“Are you nervous?” the girl asked curiously when the other woman left.

“A little, but about what?”

“About spending the night with the General,” she replied, lowering her voice.

You looked at her in shock. “I’m certainly not here for that,” you said, your voice trembling with anger.

The girl let out a small sigh as she helped you get undressed. You felt uneasy, but her kindness and gentleness put you at ease. “He won't touch you anyway,” she said, opening the closet and pulling a piece of fabric into her arms. “He’s never touched any of the girls the emperors have sent to him. They’ve all been sent back the next day."

"Why is that?" Your voice echoed in the small room as you wondered why a man would refuse such an encounter.

The girl laughed at your reaction, and you smiled back shyly. She stood in front of you, draping the wool dress over your shoulders, letting it fall over your breasts, and tying it at the waist. Your arms and neckline were bare, and you instinctively covered your wrists with your hands, but it was clear she didn’t care about the bruise. “Nobody's sure, but we think it might be because of his wife, whom he divorced a long time ago. He’s a noble and decent man. I’m sure he’ll treat you well, just like he treats all of us.”

"He bought me, not emperors," you stated assertively, tugging at the belt around your waist to feel more comfortable.

"Did he? That's even stranger. He hasn't purchased any new slaves for a long time." The girl touched your hair, running her fingers through it and gathering a strand on the right side before securing it with a thin hairpin. "But perhaps it's because you are so beautiful," she said, smiling warmly at you. "Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Alexandria, but as far as I know, I am Roman—an orphan," you replied confidently. "You don't look like a Roman, though."

The girl smiled, but her eyes revealed a hint of sadness. "I was taken as a captive during the war when I was fourteen, but I tried to escape, and the slaver nearly beat me to death." She took a deep breath and continued, “I would have died on those cold cobblestones if he hadn’t been kind enough to buy me and let me live in his villa here.”

You suddenly realized that your story didn't seem as grim compared to hers. You felt a wave of sympathy for her.

"I am sorry," you said sincerely.

She had a warm smile and kind brown eyes. Her hair was a mix of red and orange, and she had freckles on her face. She was friendly and one of the nicest people you would meet in a long time. She touched your shoulder with a comforting smile.

"The General isn't as harsh and ruthless as he seems. If he brought you here, he must like you. You're lucky."

"But he's never met me," you murmured. There was no circumstance in which he could have liked you. In fact, he almost broke your wrist because he thought you were the enemy.

That's why you were worried. You wanted to believe he was a good man, but your instincts told you otherwise.

"I'm Norell, by the way," she said, still smiling.

"I've never heard that name before," you replied, raising your eyebrows.

"It means 'from the north.' I'm from Scandinavia. Do you have a name?"

You wanted to tell her the name that your uncle and his wife had given you, but the woman from earlier came over and scolded you both for stalling. When she tried to take your bag, you held on tightly and kept it in your arms.

She frowned at you and pointed to the bag. "It looks old and dirty. Put it where you’ll be staying, out of my sight. Norell, show her where she’ll be staying. I have to check the kitchen.”

"Yes, Tullia," Norell replied as she led you out of the room. As you walked into another room, you touched your new clothes. These garments were ordinary attire for any slave, but for you, they felt unusual. You had always worn men's clothes when you were with your uncle and had never let your hair hang over your shoulders outside the house. That's why you almost liked dressing this way, despite feeling exposed with your neck and shoulders bare.

"This way," Norell said, pointing to a room that was slightly larger than the last one. Inside, there were two mattresses, a large wooden chest, and a small closet in the corner. She gestured towards one of the mattresses against the wall.

"You can sleep here."

Although it wasn't the most comfortable option, it was still far better than the beds in the Valetudinarium. You sat down and placed your bag under the blanket while she observed you with curiosity.

"It's what remains of my family," you explained.

"Don't worry, I would never touch your things," she assured you. You trusted her, even though you had just met. However, you had promised your uncle about the letter, so you carefully tucked it under the mattress when she left the room. You were eager to open it, but you wanted to ensure that you were completely alone first.

As you sat there, you began to realize how tired you were. You weren't sure if it was the effect of traveling by ship, but your head felt as if it was spinning. Your body felt on the verge of collapsing when you noticed a cat outside the window.

Having grown up in Egypt, you had a cat in your old house that looked just like this one. She was dark black with beautiful green eyes. You called her over with your hand, but she dashed ahead towards another garden in the courtyard, so you excitedly ran after her.

As you followed her at a brisk pace, you realized you couldn't fit through the gap she could, but fortunately, the wooden gate to the separate garden was open. It was a beautiful garden filled with various herbs, plants, and flowers. You distinctly remember using the hypericum (St. John's wort) plant with your uncle on many occasions. This medicinal plant has healing properties.

You sat on the grass and picked a bunch of hypericum. Crushing the leaves with your fingertips, you rubbed the liquid that came out onto the bruises on your wrist. As you did this, the cat brushed her tail against your feet. You picked her up, settled her on your lap, and began stroking her head, feeling her soft fur beneath your fingers, which brought you a sense of peace. However, you were exhausted and could not keep your eyes open, so you lay down and closed them.

As the general arrived at his villa, the sun was getting ready to bid farewell to the capital of Rome. He had barely taken a seat after stepping ashore. Yes, he was tired, but he also felt an indescribable excitement. He struggled to recall when he had felt this way for such a long time, but the memory eluded him. He had been traveling for months, heading to Egypt to quell a rebellion. Although he had finally succeeded, the journey had drained him. To make matters worse, he had been assassinated and wounded on his way back, and one of his soldiers had mutinied while he was recovering—challenges that would overwhelm an ordinary man. He touched his wound through his leather armor and felt grateful to the one who had healed him. Despite his exhaustion, he was determined to meet this girl.

Tullia greeted him with a bright smile as she stepped toward him. “Sir! You’re home at last! I sacrificed three pigs to Mars to ensure your safe return!”

Acacius smiled back at her and stepped out of the carriage, his eyes fixed on the garden of his villa. “Tullia, the girl Octavius brought here today—I want to see her now.” His voice was firm and impatient.

“Yes, master, she is inside. Come in,” Tullia replied.

Acacius strode into the garden, leaving his squire struggling to keep up. He looked around but couldn't find what he was searching for. “I don’t see her, Tullia. Where is she?”

Tullia swallowed hard. “Master, she was here. I’ll find her,” she said as she started to leave, but Acacius stopped her by raising his hand.

“Send her to my room and prepare my bath at once,” he ordered, heading for the stairs that led to his chambers.

Everyone mobilized to find you at once and prepare their master's bath.

Acacius's squire entered his room after him and helped him remove his armor. Once he was finished, the squire left. Acacius took off his armbands and took a deep breath, now wearing only his burgundy tunic. He felt relieved but still impatient, so he decided to step out onto the balcony to take in the scenery. As he gazed at the beautiful city in the distance, he thought about you and smiled to himself, recalling his first experience of falling in love. He had believed he would never feel that way again, especially since he had turned his back on love. Acacius was convinced that Cupid, the son of Venus, would never grant him a new love. For so long, he had regarded himself as an unlucky lover, seemingly punished by Mars, the god of war. Mars had gifted him with the ability to fight, and he wondered if that was because love could be his weakness.

He was about to find out.

Just as he was about to walk back inside, something in the garden below caught his attention. He saw a young girl with golden hair lying on the lush green grass in the garden that bordered his chambers.

Acacius made his way down the stairs, his heart racing with excitement and curiosity. As he reached the last step and drew closer to you, he felt a twinge of disappointment to see your eyes closed. He was eager to see the eyes he had admired in his tent long ago. Leaning in, he gazed at the beautiful girl who was sleeping peacefully, just as you had been waiting for him then.

He looked at your wrist, gently grasped it, and noticed the bruises. His fingers traced the purple spots, as if they were meant to fit perfectly there.

You felt pressure on your wrist where the bruise was located. You opened your eyes—not because of the pain, but because you had already been dreaming about that moment. When you realized that his face was only a few inches from yours, you widened your eyes in surprise, wondering if you were still dreaming. His dark brown eyes seemed to capture yours, making it impossible to look away. Then, his perfectly shaped lips curled into a wide smile.

"So it was you," he said softly.

You were left speechless. As you tried to rise to your feet, he gently grasped your shoulders, maintaining eye contact with you.

"I made a mistake. I apologize," you mumbled.

"A mistake? You healed me, so there's no mistake and certainly no reason to apologize," he replied with a smirk. He stood up and held out his hand. Despite your initial hesitation, you took his hand and got to your feet.

"I shouldn’t have slept here like this," you admitted, feeling embarrassed as you shook out your dress to remove the leaves and dirt.

“It was such a treat to watch,” he said, noticing your surprised expression. He turned and began walking toward the stairs. "Come," he beckoned, not asking but commanding.

You followed him without complaint, though your tension had increased. Acacius entered his room and waited for you to come in. As you stepped in from the balcony, you noticed the armor he had just taken off to your right. Beyond that was a desk and a chair, followed by a small table with two chairs. In the opposite corner, there was a large bed and a closet.

Tullia entered with a tray full of food, knocking on the door first. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw you.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. Where were you?" she asked.

Before you could respond, Acacius ordered, "Leave us alone and let me know when the bath is ready."

"Yes, general," she replied, casting you a quick glance before leaving the room.

"Are you hungry?" he asked while pouring wine into a cup.

You shook your head no, but it was a lie; your eyes were fixed on the food, and you swallowed hard. He smirked, sat down in a chair, and took a sip of wine. "Sit," he said, indicating the chair opposite him with a gesture.

When you didn't move, he frowned. "I know you're hungry. Come, sit," he commanded.

You made your way over and took a seat directly across from him, consciously steering clear of his gaze.

"Eat," he commanded again, pointing to the spoon.

You took a spoonful of food you had never seen before, but it looked delicious. As soon as you put it in your mouth and swallowed, you felt it settle in your empty stomach. Realizing how hungry you were, you quickly took another bite, surprised by your own eagerness.

He watched you closely, his gaze lingering on your hands. With a swift movement, he gently grabbed your other hand and placed it in his palm, as if measuring its size. "These fingers are too thin to be a healer," he muttered, looking at you. "How did you become a medicus? It must have been tough for you as a woman."

As you swallowed the morsel, he poured another glass of wine and handed it to you. You were taken aback by his unexpected politeness but accepted the cup and took a quick sip.

"My uncle taught me everything I know, sir," you asserted firmly.

"That man, the medicus, was your uncle?" he inquired.

"Yes, he was," you replied, feeling a renewed sting at the mention of him. He studied your face, trying to decipher your emotions.

"May the Gods bless his soul and grant him sustenance in Elysium. Though I never met him, his knowledge is the reason I am still alive today. I will be grateful to him until my last breath."

"You're not his slave, then. Who are you?" he asked, meeting your gaze with unwavering intensity and waiting for your response.

"I am Aya, an orphan girl who was found on the banks of the Nile when I was little. I was raised by the man I call 'uncle,'" you stated confidently, though he appeared perplexed.

Acacius leaned back, still focused on you. "Aya," he murmured, testing the name on his lips. "It's a name I have never heard. I want to know its meaning." He crossed his arms and smiled.

"This name was given to me by my uncle and his late wife. It means 'miracle,' signifying that they believed I was sent to them by the gods." You met his gaze directly, asserting your thoughts. "I think it’s—"

"It's beautiful," he interjected, completing your sentence in his own way. You took another sip from your cup, steady in your confidence, though you felt the weight of his gaze.

“You mentioned that you are an orphan? You don’t know anything about your mother or father? Has your uncle discovered why they left you in the river?”

You shook your head, genuinely unsure, but he didn’t seem satisfied with that response. He set his cup down on the table, stood up, and stepped closer to you.

“Your uncle, or the man who found you, raised you as a medicus until this age. You probably had to wear men’s clothing all the time. He allowed you to live as a man, not as a woman. Moreover, he never wanted you to marry a man.” You noticed he emphasized the word "marry" with a distinct tone. It felt as if he were questioning you, which startled you as he knelt beside you. “It’s as if he’s hiding you from something or someone.”

He was waiting for your answer, but his face was so close that it made you tense up. You needed a moment before responding.

"I was happy helping others and curing them as a medicus, sir. He never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to," you said with confidence and sincerity, and he could hear it in your tone.

He stood up abruptly. “I see,” he murmured, still deep in thought. Just then, there was a knock at the door. The slaves informed him that his bath was ready.

"I want you to accompany me," he said suddenly, a smile spreading across his face that made your heart race. You were trying to figure out the best way to decline his offer gently and respectfully.

"Sir, I—"

“Since I’m so tired, I would like your help to bathe. As my medicus, you should also check my wound, right?”

"That makes me your medicus as well as your servant," you replied, frowning at him.

He approached you with a bold move that made you jump, but a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. "I'm going to have to get completely undressed for both, so…"

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to look away, but you knew he was right—and you hated it.

He opened the door and gestured for you to follow him, you took a deep breath before going after him. Norell smiled when she noticed you, but you couldn't smile back, following him to the bathhouse made you nervous.

As you moved from one courtyard to the inner one, the distinctive smells indicated that the kitchen was nearby. It’s because of the hot water circulation, just opposite the kitchen was the balneum (small bath house). There was no separate bath house in your uncle's small house, so you had to go to the Egyptian public bath house three or four times a week to bathe.

Tullia pushed the door open for both of you to enter. Acacius instructed her to leave you two alone and then closed the door behind you. The hot bath was ready, and the balneum was filled with the scents of various oils and essences, which dissipated into the steam rising from the water. As someone well-versed in herbs, you could easily identify the scents of different flowers by their aromas.

When you saw Acacius heading toward the marble bathtub, you clenched the fabric of your dress. It was scorching hot inside, and you were sweating profusely. He turned to you, and from the look in his eyes, you knew he was asking you to approach him. You obeyed, trying your best not to think about anything else but his wound. He took your fingers and guided them to the hem of his burgundy tunic, urging you to grasp it. He watched you patiently as you attempted to stay calm, lifting the hem of his tunic to inspect his injury. He seemed to take pleasure in noticing your tension.

“I need to take it off completely. Can you help me?" he asked in a soft, gentle voice.

You took a deep breath and removed his tunic with trembling hands, letting it drop to the wet floor, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked in front of you. You focused on his abdomen where his wound was, determined not to look down at his lower body. As your fingers traced his abdomen to assess the injury, his eyes roamed over your face, admiring your beauty.

“It is almost healed on the surface, sir, but it may take a little longer to fully heal from the inside. If you experience any pain or inflammation, I might need to prepare a herbal ointment,” you said, your gaze locking with his.

He leaned in closer, his face just inches away from yours, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his slightly parted lips. The air between you was thick and steamy, mingling with the sheen of sweat that clung to your skin and made your dress feel slightly damp against your body. His warm breath fluttered against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and causing your heart to race uncontrollably. Every nerve in your body seemed to awaken, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the strong pull to surrender to the magnetic connection between you. But as the intensity of the moment heightened, you managed to summon the strength to pull yourself back, collecting your thoughts and reminding yourself of the boundaries you still needed to maintain.

Acacius chuckled, turned toward the tub, and settled in. The water rose with his weight, and the flowers floating on the surface brushed against the edge. He seemed to relax, throwing his head back and closing his eyes while making a gesture with his hand.

“Could you rub my back a little? Perhaps your soft, healing hands can alleviate some of the pain,” he requested.

"That sounds more like the work of a slave than a medicus," you muttered. He ignored your comment, but you could see his lips curl into a half-smile.

As you touched his shoulders with your fingers, he sighed. You tried not to care, but he seemed strangely pleased, a soft moan escaping his lips as you rubbed in gentle strokes. Your eyes traced the scars on his body, wondering how he got them.

“The god Asclepius must have bestowed his healing powers upon you," he purred. "How can I repay the owner of these fingers that healed me?”

You stopped rubbing his back and glared at him through his partially gray, curly hair.

“I wish you would set me free," you said, biting your lower lip, wondering if that was too much to ask.

Acacius opened his eyes. "You have no family to return to. Do you truly wish to go back home and live all alone?"

He was right. Even if you went back, there would be no uncle or anyone else to live with. You despised facing that truth. He turned his head towards you, asking, "Shall I give you a chance to choose?"

You tilted your head to look at him, the steamy air making your throat dry.

“If you don't want to be my slave, why not live here as my medicus? I am a soldier, after all; I may need your help in the future.” As he turned his body fully towards you in the tub, some of the water spilled over and soaked the hem of your dress. “Wouldn't you stay here to help me heal?”

“But I am a woman, sir; I cannot be a medicus. No one would refer to me as such.”

“As long as you’re living here, that’s how you will be addressed,” he said, his tone warm and convincing.

"But will I still be your slave outside of this house?"

“You will, yes.”

“Will you set me free one day?”

“No,” he replied loudly, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls.

When you sighed and pursed your lips, his large hand cupped your chin, his brown eyes almost begging you to stay. Slowly, he slid his fingers from your neck to your shoulder, moving towards the fabric of your dress as he tried to gauge your reaction. You grabbed his hand and stopped him just as he was about to pull the fabric over your shoulder. "I choose to be your medicus, not your slave, sir," you declared.

“Very well,” Acacius snickered, now grabbing your wrist instead. “It seems to be healing,” he said, gently rubbing your bruise with his thumb. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel angry; you liked the way his big, strong fingers touched you, as if only they could truly heal it.

“I won't touch you against your will,” he assured you, then pulled his hand away and lay back, closing his eyes again. “You may leave now,” he said coldly, as if trying to calm himself.

You felt grateful, yet you couldn't ignore the absence of his touch on your skin. Nevertheless, you did as he asked, leaving him alone in the balneum as you stepped outside. The fresh air hit your almost wet body, making you shiver, just as Norell approached you with dry, clean clothes in her arms.

“Is he coming out?” she asked.

“No, he told me to leave him alone,” you replied, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand while ignoring your still-racing heart.

That night, in your new room under the roof of your new home, you waited patiently for Norell to fall asleep after having a long talk with her. However, your eyes grew so heavy that you could no longer keep them open.

You had planned to open the letter when you woke up, but time slipped away from you. It wasn't easy feeling alone in such a large villa.

That morning, you noticed the General leaving in a rush, making his chambers the ideal place to be. No one would be able to enter his room while he was away, and this was your only chance. You knew he wouldn't return until late evening, giving you plenty of time to open the letter before then.

Uncertainty filled your mind as you considered what to expect. Could your true family be wealthy or even royal? If so, why had they pushed you away or abandoned you? What did the previous emperor's seal mean? Why did he use his own seal on this letter? Was it common for him to do so with every letter? So many possibilities and questions raced through your mind, yet you were tired of thinking. You made up your mind to open the letter as soon as possible, discover the truth, and move on.

In the villa, everyone was busy with their morning chores, making it easy for you to slip away unnoticed. You were already on a mission to collect dirty laundry and bring it downstairs to wash, providing you with a believable excuse if anyone caught you.

You entered the General's room, quickly scanned your surroundings, and placed the dirty laundry you had gathered into the laundry basket you were holding. Setting the basket aside, you sat down on the floor next to it. Once you were certain that no one was coming, you pulled out the letter you had hidden between your chest and the fabric of your dress and began to read.

You took a deep breath and carefully untied the rope around the letter, ensuring the seal remained mostly intact. Then, you lifted the letter, which belonged to the previous emperor, Septimius Severus, and opened it. The writing inside was neatly penned in clear handwriting.

"My dearest child,

I write to you, my beloved daughter, bestowed with golden hair and hazel eyes. The irises of your eyes exhibit a soft brown hue with a greenish tint, evoking the nascent growth of spring.

As I gaze into your eyes, I envision the beautiful and prosperous future that awaits Rome. You provide me with joy and fortitude, empowering me to realize this vision. It is my sincere aspiration to ensure your happiness and to witness your growth and prosperity.

It has been a considerable amount of time since I lost your mother, my esteemed wife, the illustrious Paccia Marciana. I have not yet fully adapted to her absence; however, I felt it essential to remarry in order to secure an heir. I do not wish to offend you, my dear daughter, and I implore you not to misinterpret my intentions. Regrettably, I believe it may not be prudent for you to remain in Rome. Julia lacks the understanding that your mother possessed, and my son Caracalla exhibits even less compassion. His temperament is concerning, and I fear that upon my ascension to Elysium, he may perceive you as a threat and inflict harm upon you.

I cannot allow any harm to come to you in memory of your mother, hence I must send you away from them and from this environment. I have made arrangements for your care with my old friend Vibius, the physician from my youth, who resides in Egypt. I am confident that you will be safe under his stewardship. It is imperative for your well-being to be as far away from here as possible.

I earnestly hope that Caracalla will govern Rome with wisdom. Although I harbor uncertainties regarding his capability, I sincerely wish to believe in his potential.

I trust that when you read this letter as a young woman, you will comprehend the reasoning behind my decision to send you away. You are my firstborn child, my only daughter with spring-like eyes and golden hair, the first of the name Septimia Aurelia, who brought blessings to Rome upon your birth. You will always hold a special place in my heart, dear child.

Your father, Imperator Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus."

You read each sentence again and again, making sure you hadn’t misread anything. But no, you had absorbed every word correctly. Closing your eyes and throwing your head back, you realized it was real, not just a figment of your imagination. You sat there, detached from time and reality, as tears rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the letter you held with trembling hands. Your life began to flash before your eyes, piece by piece: the lush green fields where you used to run joyfully as a little girl, and the people you called uncle and aunt who raised you with love, always protecting you from the outside world, keeping you away from others. Your uncle had taken you on as an apprentice when you were very young, teaching you everything he knew, buying you flashy clothes on the condition that you only wore them at home when you wanted to, and insisting that you always wear a cloak when you went out in public. All these memories completed the picture of your past and reminded you of where you truly belonged.

You wished you had never opened the letter, never anticipating that the truth would hurt so deeply and leave you feeling so helpless. You had no home to return to; your Empress mother and Emperor father were no longer alive. In their place were your Emperor brothers and their mother—your stepmother. Your father had warned you about them in no uncertain terms.

The word "Emperor" now held a new meaning for you. Everything you knew, everything you learned, and everything you experienced felt different now. Yet you were still the same person. It was unreasonable to expect you to be anyone else, regardless of what your name was.

As you wiped away your tears, you heard voices outside and quickly folded the letter back into its original shape. You didn’t have time to hide it. Your first instinct was to place it in the general's wooden chest, which was already full of papyrus, empty envelopes, and various papers. You planned to retrieve it later.

“What are you doing here?”

You were taken aback by the sound of the General's voice. He stood in the doorway, looking at you curiously. He wore an all-white attire, white leather armor, and a white shawl that fluttered like dove wings in the wind behind him, all embroidered with gold. At that moment, you forgot your shock; he looked breathtaking. Suddenly, you realized you hadn't answered his question, so you quickly picked up the laundry basket.

“I’m here to pick up the laundry, sir,” you replied, bowing your head in hopes that he wouldn’t be suspicious.

“I thought you chose to be a medicus and not a slave,” he said as he approached you. “Let the others do it, come with me now.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room with a serious look on his face, hurried down the stairs, and stopped to call Norell out as he observed your clothes. "Dress her properly," he ordered.

While you were trying to figure out what was happening, Norell took your hand and led you to the dressing room to fulfill his request. She opened the wardrobe, removed several white fabrics, and placed them on a chair in the room. Curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn’t help but ask about the clothes, which were different from those you wore last time.

“Why am I wearing these?” you inquired.

“Today��s a bit special." You were startled to hear the General's voice just outside the door. “And the color of the dress you’re wearing has to match mine,” he added.

You thought to yourself, how could you possibly match his charm? It just didn’t seem possible.

You didn’t mind being naked in front of Norell, but the fact that the General was just outside the door made you feel a bit nervous. Norell sensed your unease and giggled, then helped you into a white tunic followed by a peplos (a long dress) of the same color, and finally draped a gold-embroidered palla over your shoulders. She tied it around your slim waist and positioned the other part over your head. It was your first time wearing this kind of dress, and you felt as if the wish you had made as a little girl had finally come true.

Norell then combed your hair, first letting it fall downwards slightly side-parted, and then combing it again before braiding it. She took a piece from the front left and twisted it around the back of your head. To secure the twist inside the braid, she inserted a wire barrette and finished the braid, letting it hang over one shoulder. When she was done, she looked at you and smiled. “You look beautiful. Now all that’s left are the accessories.”

The General opened the door and looked you up and down before gently grabbing your arm. He gestured to Norell, who soon returned with a box containing a gold bracelet and assorted jewelry that produced a tinkling sound as she moved.

“Sir, these don’t look like something a slave would wear,” you said, surprised.

Acacius quickly placed the bracelets on your upper arms and wrists. “My slave wears whatever I want,” he replied firmly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment while a confident smile crossed his face. You felt your cheeks flush, but the term "slave" bothered you more than ever. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry with the General, especially not when he was dressed like this.

“But where exactly are we going?” you asked.

“To the place where the ceremony will take place, then to the Colosseum. Come now, put on your sandals; we have to hurry.”

Norell appeared beside you and lifted your foot, helping you put on the sandals despite your reluctance. “Looks pretty,” he said, gently brushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen on your forehead. You couldn't tell if he was in a hurry or just impatient, but he wrapped his arm around you and quickly led you out of the courtyard.

“I saw you leaving this morning,” you said as Acacius adjusted the shawl he was sitting on to feel more comfortable. He cleared his throat. “That’s right,” he replied, looking at you. “I didn't want you to miss a day like this, so I came back for you.” How could he be such a charming, gentle, yet dangerous fighter? You wondered how all your anger and resentment toward him had dissipated so quickly.

“I'm grateful, sir,” you said sincerely, and he smiled in response.

As the carriage navigated the alleys of Capitoline Hill, you noticed the streets were as crowded as they had been yesterday. It seemed as if no one had returned home to rest for the night. When the carriage approached Via Sacra Street, you realized you were mistaken; it was even busier than the day before. In Egypt, such crowds gathered only during special occasions or religious festivals. However, you were unaccustomed to being in a crowd, walking freely in the streets, especially while dressed as a woman.

Despite having resolved the questions that had troubled you since childhood, you still felt unfulfilled. It wasn't that you held resentment toward anyone—your father and uncle had done their best to help you—but you couldn't shake the feeling of being wronged. Somewhere deep within, a voice kept telling you that something was amiss, and it grew louder with each passing moment. Your uncle's words echoed in your mind: “You’re going to have to choose.”

But what were you going to choose? Would you go to your emperor brothers, explain everything, seek their official recognition, and risk being killed as a result? Or would you return to Egypt as if nothing had happened and live as you always had, far away from everyone and everything?

“What makes you think so much? I wonder,” the general said, interrupting your thoughts. In an instant, all your worries vanished like a cloud of dust. You almost forgot that you were in the carriage with him, sitting opposite you like a statue of a god.

“I'm a little nervous, sir,” you admitted honestly.

“Are you nervous about seeing the Colosseum for the first time?” he asked.

He was right; that was one reason for your anxiety. However, the true source of your nervousness was the anticipation of seeing your half-brothers in person.

“Yes,” you said, clenching the fabric of your dress.

“We'll arrive after the ceremony. I would love to have you with me, but the slaves and others will be watching from the stands above. I could ask the emperors for special permission for you to stand beside me, but I’m concerned that your beauty will inevitably attract their attention.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor in his voice. This would have worked in your favor if you hadn't been feeling uneasy about facing your stepbrothers.

“Sir, it's really not a problem. I'll watch from where I'm supposed to be,” you replied with a half-smile.

“The more I can keep you away from them, the better,” he murmured softly, peering out from behind the curtain. “Here we are.”

When the carriage stopped, the crowd's enthusiasm swelled. Acacius stood up, his expression serious, and reached for your hand, clasping it tightly.

“It is no longer possible for me to hold your hand and walk side by side. You can follow me at a distance.” He gently stroked your fingers with his thumb before withdrawing his hand and stepping out of the carriage.

You watched as he exited, his shawl billowing in the wind behind him, trailing gracefully to the steps of the carriage.

“Sir!” Octavius ran toward him through the crowd, cheerful. You observed the two of them from behind, their backs turned as they engaged in conversation while the crowd chanted the General's name. Then they both turned their heads back toward you; Acacius nodded for you to come out. No one was looking at you anyway; all the attention was on him. You took a deep breath and climbed down from the carriage.

Acacius and Octavius made sure you got out and then began walking forward. As you walked behind them, keeping a respectful distance, you could hear the crowd talking and chanting. You couldn't help but wonder if, one day, if something happened and you sat on the throne as the emperor's daughter, would they cheer for you like that? You shook your head, trying to dismiss the absurd thought.

Acacius and Octavius were joined by other soldiers, and it was evident from the crowd that people from various social classes were present. Among them were the wealthy, nobles, dignitaries, craftsmen, and even slaves. As you surveyed the scene, you realized that your clothing felt strange; it was almost devoid of jewelry and appeared quite ordinary. However, unlike in Egypt, slaves here could accompany their masters or enter the Colosseum.

The crowd also included women of nobility, who regarded you with piercing gazes. At first, you were perplexed by their scrutiny, but as you examined them more closely, you recognized the underlying emotion: jealousy. In Egypt, you had been overlooked, merely seen as a thin young boy in an unusual cloak. But here in Rome, you were a beautifully dressed young girl, the envy of even the noblewomen. Life should be filled with miracles and surprises.

The Roman triumph was a civil ceremony and religious rite of ancient Rome, held to publicly celebrate and sanctify the success of a military commander who had led Roman forces to victory in the service of the state or, in some historical traditions, one who had successfully completed a foreign war.

The venue for the ceremony was the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, one of the most important temples in the capital. Most Roman festivals were calendar fixtures, tied to the worship of particular deities. While the triumphal procession culminated at Jupiter's temple on the far end of the Via Sacra (sacred road) in the Roman Forum, the procession itself, attendant feasting, and public games promoted the general's status and achievement. In effect, the general was close to being "king for a day", and possibly close to divinity.

Accompanied by red rose petals thrown in his honor, the General ascended the white marble stairs of the temple with quick steps, shining like pearls in the sunlight. At that moment, you immediately recognized them—it was hard not to—your half-brothers, the emperors, approaching the General. They were dressed in white and gold, just like him. From their appearance, it was easy to tell which one was Geta and which was Caracalla.

The General greeted them with a hand placed on his chest, and Geta gently placed a golden crown of laurel leaves on his head. As the crowd shouted and cheered with enthusiasm, you suddenly felt a deep pain in your chest. You deserved to be with them; you wanted to be with them—it was your birthright. But your father, the emperor, had taken you away. Was it because you were not a boy? He had asked you not to blame him and not to be angry, but you couldn't help it. Watching them from a distance made you realize that you would have to choose—if not now, then someday.

Caracalla raised his hands towards the people and spoke, and you wondered if your father's warning about him had been correct. His hair was the same color as yours, but his face was different. His eyes were wide with excitement and eagerness. He didn’t seem so bad at first; after all, it felt wrong to judge a person at first glance.

You soon noticed some tension between him and the priest next to him. Geta raised his hand to silence the priest, which was rude and disrespectful. Clearly, your half-brother was not a man of religious tradition.

“Now that our ceremony is finally over, are we ready to watch the big games in honor of our glorious General Acacius?”

The whole crowd let out a roar of excitement, and it was clear that everyone was just as pumped as he was.

“Then let's head to the Colosseum!” he shouted, pointing in the direction of the iconic structure with his right hand. “The gladiators are waiting!” Caracalla joined in, their voices blending and echoing throughout Capitoline Hill.

You bit your lip to suppress a laugh as you noticed the General’s forced smile while he applauded. It was clear he was annoyed with them. Battling a mix of emotions, you realized you had overlooked the general; yet, if anyone captivated you, it was him. With a golden crown atop his head, he resembled more than just a general, even an emperor—he was like a God, the son of Mars, Marcus himself, living up to his name in every way. His grandeur lit up the space around you, sending a radiance that first dazzled your eyes and then sent vibrations deep into your chest.

As your heart raced like never before, you found yourself wondering if this was what love truly felt like. If it wasn’t love, then what else could it be? You were left guessing, having never received guidance on such matters. In that moment, you realized that you wanted to be this man’s slave for life, wrapped in secrecy about your identity.

As the crowd moved away from the temple toward the Colosseum, you followed along, trying to keep the general and Octavius in sight, but it was challenging. People hurried past, bumping into you. Wanting to avoid getting lost, you decided to head in another direction, pushing through the throngs of people as you approached the temple and searched for him.

Suddenly, you spotted the emperors and the general traveling down the road in a chariot. Just as you were about to run after them, a group of senators descended the stairs. Your eyes met those of a dark-skinned senator who looked at you with wide eyes. Feeling uneasy, you quickly looked away and blended back into the crowd as he approached.

However, more people were coming from the road, so you turned left and slipped behind the temple to hide. Once you reached the corner wall, you glanced back and saw no one following you. Just as you were about to continue down the other road, someone called out to you. You initially ignored him, but then he shouted your name, “Wait, Aurelia!”

You froze in shock. That was your real name, and you had believed everyone who knew it was dead. Curiosity overtook you, and you turned your head to see the man from earlier running toward you. You gripped the fabric of your dress, feeling extremely nervous. The man was panting as he approached.

"Is it really you?" he asked.

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

The man looked you in the eye and smiled confidently. "I would recognize those eyes anywhere; it’s you." His gaze lingered on your hair. "Septimia Aurelia, do you have any idea how much I’ve searched for you, my lady?"

@myownwholewildworld @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment :) thank you all <3

[blueiscoool]

Rome’s Ancient Arch of Constantine Struck by Lightening

During a storm on September 3, lightning struck Rome’s Arch of Constantine, chipping the structure’s marble surface. The 1,700-year-old arch and its neighbor, the Colosseum, were two of several sites affected by the thunderstorm, which produced 2.36 inches of rain in less than an hour. Usually, the city sees a similar amount over the entire month of September.

“A lightning strike hit the arch right here and then hit the corner,” a tourist at the site told Reuters’ Alberto Lingria. “We saw this fly off,” the tourist added while pointing to a fallen block of stone.

Finished in 315 C.E., the Arch of Constantine is one of Rome’s three surviving ancient triumphal arches, each erected to honor a person or event. This arch commemorates Constantine I’s 312 victory over the emperor Maxentius. That same year, Constantine devoted himself to Christianity—the first Roman ruler to do so.

The fierce storm also felled two large trees near the Circus Maximus, flooded the Trevi Fountain and flooded the Colosseum’s subterranean tunnels, reports CNN. After lightning struck the arch, staff of the Colosseum Archaeological Park quickly gathered its dislodged pieces and placed them in a secure location, according to a statement from Italy’s Ministry of Culture.

In the days that followed, some tourists stumbled upon additional pieces on the ground.

​​“My American group found these fragments, and we’re handing them over to the workmen,” tour guide Serena Giuliani told the London Times’ Tom Kington on the morning of September 4.

Specialists are now examining the condition of the fragments. Officials say the damage was limited to the monument’s southern side, where unrelated restoration work had started just days earlier, allowing for quick repairs.

At roughly 70 feet tall and 85 feet wide, the Arch of Constantine contains three separate arches, each framed by columns. The intricately decorated structure is adorned with recycled fragments, or spolia, taken from other ancient buildings, including monuments honoring Trajan, Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius.

The arch is also decorated with carvings of Constantine, including a series of reliefs depicting his victorious fight against Maxentius in the Battle of the Milvian Bridge.

In 306, Constantine was leading Roman troops in Britain—then part of the Roman Empire—when his military declared him their emperor. His brother-in-law, Maxentius, also declared himself the emperor around the same time. After years of complex power struggles, the two rulers ultimately faced off in 312 at Rome’s Milvian Bridge, which overlooks the river Tiber. Panels on the Arch of Constantine depict the battle’s conclusion, showing Maxentius’ troops drowning in the river.

The arch’s recent encounter with lightning may have carried spiritual significance for its ancient builders, as “the bolts were believed to be the work of the gods,” per the Times. These spots were sacred for the Romans, who sometimes erected temples at such sites.

By Sonja Anderson.

[sunshinehaze1]

Unwrapped

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

Summary: You attend your friend Lucilla's annual holiday party and meet someone new.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Modern AU, no outbreak or battles in the colosseum, meet-cute, fingering, unprotected PiV (do better), creampie, no use of y/n

a/n: This is my Secret Santa gift for my beautiful friend @ak-vintage. Her Pedro faves are Joel, Marcus A., and Din. I hope you like it, Ash! ❤️ and that you'll forgive me for not elaborating further on the party bathroom smut 🤭 tysm to @80ssong for the beta! 🥰 and big time thanks to @pr3ttynpiink for organizing! ❤️

word count: 4,386

ao3 | ml

As you walk up the driveway, you admire the lights trailing along the edges of Marcus and Lucilla's house. They live in a large, luxurious home decked in over-the-top opulence. Roman columns frame the front porch, wrapped in garland and accented with gold bows and lighting. Glittery white lights perfectly line the edges of the house, and more are draped meticulously over the immaculately trimmed shrubs. Their house practically lights up the whole neighborhood. It's hard to imagine their electric bill; you're thankful you don't have to pay it.

You met Lucilla earlier this year while volunteering at the local food bank. You decided to volunteer to meet people after moving to the area recently. Lucilla comes from money; her father was the CEO of a local business, and she inherited a large amount of money when he passed. So she has plenty of free time to give back to those in the community who are less fortunate.

After one of your volunteer shifts, Lucilla invited you for coffee. You found her to be surprisingly down to earth. It's not typical of your experience with people who come from money and have had things handed to them. She's very grounded and wise. You quickly became friends, and she's like the big sister you never had. She has at least a decade on you, and you've often turned to her for advice as you assimilate to Austin. It's comforting to have a support system in the area.

You've been invited to her beautiful home for dinners numerous times and met her handsome husband, Marcus. He's around Lucilla's age with soft, greying curls, always perfectly coifed. His face is framed with Romanesque features and a prominent nose. Having retired a couple of years ago as a general in the Army, he still maintains a thick, sturdy physique that offers an intimidating presence. He's anything but. You've only seen him as soft, gentle, and welcoming. You've spent enough time with them that you've been able to observe their relationship quietly, and it's nothing short of "relationship goals." You hope to find a loving relationship like theirs for yourself one day.

They throw these holiday parties every year, and this is your first time attending. You're bound to have a great time based on what you've heard about past years' parties. And you look forward to meeting new people. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone.

Lucilla and Marcus go all out. The outdoor decorations were only a precursor to what awaits you inside. It looks like a Christmas store blew up. Garland is wrapped around the staircase banister and the fireplace mantle with perfectly placed ornaments. Every door frame is adorned with mistletoe dangling over the threshold, waiting for unsuspecting guests to pass through. Santas and snowmen of varying sizes sit on tables and shelves. Silvery snowflakes decorate the walls, and you spot not one but three different Christmas trees. Each has its own theme.

The expansive kitchen island has a beautiful spread of charcuterie, wines, and liquors and a punch bowl of spiked egg nog; holiday songs, clinking glasses, and the smell of mulled cider waft through the air.

--

Joel is a good sport. He's not a fan of large gatherings. He'd much rather hang out in the backyard with a beer, catching up with his brother. Or when Sarah was still at home, a night on the couch watching a movie. Nights that would end with Sarah falling asleep halfway through the movie and Joel carrying her upstairs to bed. With his reserved nature, he tends to be a wallflower at parties and a quiet observer. This one, which his employee, Marcus, invited him to, is no different.

He's found himself in a corner, making small talk with another partygoer who, unfortunately, found out what Joel does and has since been bending his ear about house renovations. Joel spots you as you walk through the door, ignoring the man in front of him, who continues to prattle on how he can't decide which faucet to place in his half bath.

Joel finds himself gawking at you. You're a vision in your eggplant velvet wrap dress with a satin sash tied into a bow on the side of your waist. The dress hugs every curve of your body, with a skirt that falls to your mid-thigh, providing Joel a view of your shapely legs. The dress's neckline cuts into a deep v, hinting at what's underneath. You're a fucking knockout.

He observes as you juggle a wrapped gift box for the white elephant exchange and a hostess gift in your other hand. It's a lavender-scented candle. You've noticed Lucilla wears the scent often. You greet Lucilla with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Offering her a wide, glowing smile. Oh god, you're beautiful. Joel is shaken from his enamored haze when the sound of broken glass interrupts his thoughts. He must find a way to talk to you before he leaves tonight.

--

Over the last hour or so, you've had a chance to meet everyone at the party—neighbors, family friends, Marcus's old Army buddies, and their spouses. All of them were very nice, but the small talk was exhausting, so you're thankful when you hear Lucilla quiet the guests with a shout, "ALRIGHT EVERYONE TO THE LIVING ROOM! It's time for the gift exchange."

You enter the living room and look for a place to sit. Various chairs are lined up around the couches, almost all already taken. You decide to remain standing rather than scramble to find an open seat.

While Lucilla explains the rules, a basket with small pieces of folded-up paper is passed around the room, with numbers 1-30 written on each. You select yours and pass it to the man beside you; rough fingers graze your hand as you complete the handoff. He thanks you, and you turn to get a better look at the owner of the deep, gravelly voice.

You're struck by how ruggedly handsome he is. A sharp nose, plush lips, and patchy facial hair sprinkled with greys. He's wearing a crisp light blue button-up and dark jeans that hug him just right. It seems you haven't met everyone at the party yet. How did he escape your notice?

He catches you staring, "What number did ya get?"

"Um…" you look down at your paper, "29. How about you?"

"Looks like I got lucky tonight," he turns his piece of paper around to show you, "30." He winks.

Uh oh. He's handsome and charming. You're in trouble.

"Name's Joel. How do you know Marcus and Lucilla?"

You introduce yourself and tell him about your volunteer work and how you met Lucilla. "And you?"

"Marcus works for me." Your surprised reaction amuses him, and he continues. "After he retired, he was looking for part-time work to keep himself busy. I own a contracting business."

That explains his rugged appearance and calloused hands. You take in his broad shoulders and biceps, which cause the seams of his shirt to work overtime to stay together. Lucilla interrupts your thoughts, "OK, now that everyone has their number, we'll go ahead and get started!"

A woman named Simone starts things off. After selecting a gift from under the tree, she tears the wrapping paper to reveal a cat-shaped ice cube tray. The crowd erupts in laughter when she shows it around the room. It's not a very appealing gift, which likely means she'll be stuck with it. You doubt anyone will want to "steal" it from her, but at least it has practical use. 

The game continues with half the participants taking their turn. Lucilla's son, Lucius, is next. You met him briefly when Lucilla introduced you earlier. He's in town to spend the holidays with his mother. After over a decade apart, he reconnected with Lucilla a few years ago. The relationship is still in repair but moving in the right direction. You know how important it is to Lucilla to have him here.

You haven't gotten the full story from Lucilla, but you know it's a sensitive subject for her, so you've never pressed too hard. You've left the door open for her to share if and when she's ready. He and Marcus seem to have an agreeable relationship and get along fine, which you're happy to see. Stepparent and stepchild relationships can be pretty fraught. He's a handsome kid who resembles Lucilla, but you think he inherited most of his looks from his father.

Lucius takes his turn and decides to steal a gift that was already stolen, securing it himself. The game continues as the room works through the numbers. A steady din of laughter echoes through the room as the exchange becomes more cutthroat. It's all in good fun, though.

Finally, it's your turn. You walk over to the tree where two gifts remain. One is a box covered in teal wrapping paper with a gold diamond pattern and embellished with a twine ribbon. The other one is a tall, slender gift bag that is the perfect size to hold a bottle of wine. You choose the box and return to your spot next to Joel.

All eyes in the room are now on you as you unwrap the gift. Pulling the paper away, you squeal when you see it's a Funko Pop figure. You try to remain calm when you remove the rest of the paper and recognize it is The Mandalorian and Grogu.

This is a score, and you can't believe your luck. You love Star Wars, especially The Mandalorian. And it's not just because you have a crush on the actor who plays him. You love the storytelling and the world-building. This isn't something you'd buy for yourself, but you'll proudly display it in your home. With Joel as the last person left, you hope your brief interaction with him has earned you enough favor that he won't steal your gift.

However, you don't know that Joel and his daughter watch The Mandalorian over Facetime every Sunday night. It's a way for them to stay connected now that she's miles away. They're on their third rewatch, and he treasures these nights with his daughter. He eyes the Funko Pop in your hand and thinks Sarah would get a kick out of this cute figure. Even if he has no clue what a Funko is.

Joel hems and haws, trying to decide if he should go for the last gift under the tree, which he suspects is a bottle of wine. He wouldn't have much use for it as he's more of a beer guy. Or steal your gift and potentially derail any opportunity he may have had to get to know you better. After a few moments of quiet deliberation, he opts to steal.

You huff in defeat, bummed that you lost out on your gift, and hand the box over to Joel. You know it's all in good fun, and Joel had no malicious intent behind his decision. You retrieve the last gift from under the tree, confirming your suspicion of what was inside.

After the gift exchange is complete, the guests disperse throughout the house. You're looking over the wine's label when you feel an elbow nudge your bicep. Your attention turns to Joel, who has a sheepish look. "Sorry for that. My daughter and I love The Mandalorian. We watch it together every Sunday night while she's away at school," he sighs.

Now, how can you be upset about that? Of course, he had a heartwarming reason behind his decision to steal. "Oh, it's no big deal. I'm just happy he's going to a good home."

Joel chuckles. "Would you like a drink?"

You nod and follow him into the kitchen.

--

With your cup of eggnog, you settle at a threshold out of the way of party traffic. He tells you more about the contracting business he owns with his younger brother. You share more about yourself and how you moved to Austin for a job opportunity. He's incredibly handsome, and you get lost in his brown eyes. His quiet confidence and sense of humor are extremely sexy.

Joel recounts a time when his brother screwed up an order for a job. He ordered the incorrect size of lumber and set the project back a week. Joel took over placing orders after that. He shares his hunch that his brother purposefully messed up the order, so he no longer has to do it.

His retelling is endearing. Through it, you get a good sense of his love for his brother, but as with most sibling relationships, some things drive him crazy. You can relate.

A silence falls between you two for the first time since you began talking. You're not even sure how much time has passed. However, it's been long enough to cause a crick in your neck since you've had to look up at Joel this whole time. You tilt your head, rolling it back and forth to stretch it out. When you open your eyes, you're frozen as you realize where you and Joel have been standing. Your chest begins to warm at the implication of where this could lead.

Joel follows your gaze to see what's caught your attention. He gulps when he spots the leafy instigator. His palms sweat as he straightens, and you make eye contact.

The warmth in your chest has moved up your neck as Joel's eyes lock with yours. The swirl of the party moves around you two, and you feel frozen in time. At this moment, it is just you and Joel. A soft smile appears on his face. "Welp. Do you know what this means?"

You swallow, take a deep breath, and offer an inviting smile. "It can only mean one thing."

Joel leans in. You feel his hot breath as his face nears yours. This sweet, funny, handsome man is about to kiss you, and you remind yourself to breathe. His index finger lifts your chin toward him, his lips brushing over yours. It feels like hours have ticked by at this standstill when only seconds have passed. But your patience still wears thin, "Well…what are you waiting for?"

Joel laughs and finally closes the distance. His lips capture yours in a chaste kiss, aware you are not alone. You press your lips to his and let out a soft moan. The sparks you've only read about in novels start to fly, butterflies flutter around in your stomach, and you see fireworks shooting off behind your eyelids. You keep them shut out of fear that you'll wake up from a dream if you don't.

You blink back as you pull yourself away from Joel. Knocked on your ass over a kiss. If his kiss can feel like that, you can only imagine what more would feel like. And you would love to find out.

Wide-eyed, you coo, "That was a really good kiss."

Joel nods, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind doing that again."

"Me either," you giggle, feeling bold, "and maybe more?"

Joel quickly grabs your hand, determination in his eyes, "Follow me."

--

There's no shortage of privacy in a house of this size. The large amount of guests allows you and Joel to sneak off unnoticed. With your hand in his, he pulls you behind him in search of a more conspicuous location. At the end of the hall, you spot an open door that leads to a beautifully appointed bathroom: marble countertops, travertine tile, and a glass-enclosed shower with a waterfall showerhead. Large mirrors with an intricately designed gold frame sit over each sink. This is just the guest bathroom?!

He whips you around to face him and pulls you in for a kiss, not chaste this time. This kiss is brimming with passion. A mix of tongues dancing around, exploring each other's mouths. Playful nibbles leave their marks on each other's lips.

Your palms flatten against his firm chest, and you grip the lapels of his shirt and yank it open. The top buttons fly across the counter's surface and bounce every which way—ping, ping, ting—until they land flat on the surface. Hiding your giggle behind your hand, you look up at Joel apologetically. "Hey! I liked this shirt!" he bemused.

You walk your fingers up his now bare sternum and pinch his chin mischievously. "Oops, my bad!"

"Oh, you're fucking trouble, aren't you?!"

"Only one way to find out," you tease.

"Oh, honey, you bet your sweet ass I will." His hands caress your waist and hips, enjoying the feel of the velvet over your soft curves. "But first, I want you to see how gorgeous you are." He kisses you before he turns you to face the mirror.

Joel stands tall behind you. His hands roam along your body when he captures your gaze. With pleading eyes, he asks, "Can I unwrap my gift now?"

You nod. He pulls down the neckline of your dress and frees your tits from the cups of your bra. You let out a small gasp. He looks at you in the mirror while he kneads them, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index finger. He nuzzles into your neck and ascends with featherlight kisses to your earlobe, and whispers, "You're so fucking gorgeous."

With a gentle squeeze of your breasts, "gorgeous tits." His husky voice sends a shiver down your spine.

One of his hands moves down your body. His fingertips trail up the back of your bare thigh and underneath your skirt to your ass. A sly grin appears on his face when he doesn't feel any fabric impeding his exploration. You decided to wear a thong tonight to avoid panty lines with the way the fabric of the dress clings to your figure. With a firm squeeze of your bare cheek, "gorgeous ass."

You whimper at his attention and praise, overwhelmed by his adoration of your body. Both hands make their way to your neck, and he turns your face toward him, "gorgeous lips," and he devours you in a toe-curling kiss.

He hisses when your ass backs into him in response. His hardened cock straining the front of his jeans. You suck in your breath, apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

He chuckles, "It's ok, baby." He brushes his lips over your nose and tilts back with a glint in his eye, "You can make it up to me."

You quirk your eyebrow, "oh yeah, how so?"

He doesn't answer you. Silently, he grips your hips to turn you back to face the mirror. He grabs your hands and places your palms flat on the cool marble. He watches your tits bounce in the mirror and feels his cock get impossibly harder. "Stay. Just like this."

You feel the arousal pool in your belly at his command. His hands travel down the sides of your thighs and up under the skirt of your dress. His fingers slip under the elastic band of your thong, and you hear the lace fabric rip.

He slides a calloused finger through your slick lips. A growl escapes him as he feels how wet you are. "This pussy's just drenched for me, isn't she?"

You whimper out a strangled "yes." Overwhelmed by the feel of his thick fingers through your folds, teasing your entrance and brushing against your clit.

Finally, he shows mercy and slides a finger inside you. You clench around his thick digit as he enters you to his last knuckle, his fingertip reaching that spongy spot just right, sending an intense wave of pleasure through your body.

He leans forward, his whole chest pressed against your back. The heat from his body envelopes you. His husky voice vibrates in your ear, "Fucking dripping."

You groan when Joel pulls his finger out to taste you. "Such a sweet fucking pussy. I can't wait to make a whole meal out of her."

He breaches you again with two fingers, and you buck forward at the pleasurable stretch. He begins to thumb against your clit while his two fingers thrust inside you at a steady pace.

"Fuck. I can't wait to get you out of here. I want to take my time with you. The things I want to do."

"Tell…" breathless, "…me."

"I want to eat your pussy until your legs shake." he continues his exploration of your cunt. "Suck on your perfect tits. Fold you in half while I fuck into you until you scream my name."

"Yes, fuck…Joel, I want all of that." Your imagination is running wild at his ideas, the tension is building, and you're ready to snap.

"You'll get it, but I need you to come for me, darlin'." Desperation in his voice, "My cock needs to be inside this perfect pussy."

His words were all you needed to push you over the edge. You brace yourself on the counter as your orgasm moves through you, your walls fluttering around his fingers.

As you come down from your high, Joel quickly unfastens his jeans and lowers them along with his boxer briefs, releasing his throbbing cock. You feel his length bop against your ass. His fingers run through your pussy to coat his dick with your arousal. He lazily strokes his dick while bunching up the skirt of your dress over your waist with his other hand.

His palm runs over your bare ass cheek and slowly navigates your curves to your other cheek. You whimper when he pulls his palm away, already missing the warmth of his skin against yours. The unexpected strike of his palm causes you to jolt forward with a whine.

"Fuck! This is a juicy ass," he growls as his fingers dig into your flesh.

"Do it again. Harder." you pant.

You catch his devilish grin in the mirror as he lifts his arm with a flattened palm. The din of the party muffles the sound of it moving through the air before it lands on your other cheek. Harder. Just like you asked. You feel another wave of arousal rush through you.

"Oh, baby. We're going to have so much fun."

Joel takes his cock and runs the tip through your folds, You haven't seen it, but you can feel it's big as he teases your entrance with just the tip. Your mouth begins to water as you fantasize about taking him between your lips, the heavy weight of it on your tongue as you take him down your throat.

You're so distracted by the thought of choking on his dick that you yelp in surprise when his cock enters you with a forceful thrust; his pelvis slams into your luscious cheeks.

"Oh, she's fucking…" Joel pants, "she's fucking, tight."

He begins a steady pace of fucking you. His hands gripping your hips, fingertips digging in with a bruising force.

He reaches around your waist to rub your clit while he continues a relentless pace. Your walls clenching around him. Breaths increase, and your chest is slick with sweat. His thrusts push you into the counter, driving into you while he rubs your clit. The marble cooling your heated chest. "C'mon, baby. I feel you squeezing me. Let go for me."

You wail out his name as your climax takes hold. He pulls you up against his chest, his hand cupping your breast as he fucks you through your orgasm. Hot breath against your ear as he seeks his release. You wrap your hand around his neck and pull his head toward you. Your lips brush against his ear, and with a whisper, eyes fixed on him in the mirror so you can see his reaction, "Fill me up. I want to feel you dripping out of me."

Joel whimpers. He fucking, whimpers. He's at the precipice of his orgasm and grasps onto your tit tighter. You squeak at the pressure. One. Two. Three more thrusts before he spills into you, drenching your pussy with his seed.

His forehead collapses onto the back of your shoulder; his labored breathing begins to even out. When he looks up, your eyes meet his in the mirror. You both are completely fucked out. Half dressed, tits hanging out, disheveled hair, smeared lipstick. He leans back to get a good look at his spend leaking from your pussy. A boyish grin expands on his face into a toothy smile as he pushes his cum back inside with his finger. "Gotta keep my gift wrapped up."

You roll your eyes and laugh.

Joel grabs a clean washcloth from the towel bar and runs it under warm water. He gently runs the damp cloth over your inner thighs and sensitive folds, cleaning himself before tossing the washcloth in the hamper.

You notice it's after midnight, and you'll need to get home soon—even though you don't want the night to end. You both scramble to dress. Joel stops short when he realizes he can't button his shirt back up all the way. He looks around to find the loose buttons on the counter and pockets them. Softly, you brush his forearm and coo, "I can sew those back on for you."

He winks and kisses the tip of your nose. "Worth it."

--

You accept Joel's offer to walk you to your car, but not before you say your goodbyes. The two of you part to find Lucilla and Marcus to thank them for the party.

When you find Joel again, he guides you toward the door, holding his gift in one hand and the other against the small of your back. He leans toward your ear and teases, "We'll need to discuss visitation arrangements." shaking the figurine in the air.

You playfully swat his chest at his teasing.

You and Joel are unaware that Marcus and Lucilla are watching this exchange from afar. Lucilla turns to Marcus and wonders, "Now, why didn't we think to set those two up? They're perfect together."

"It doesn't look like they needed our help anyway." Marcus wraps his arm around his wife and kisses her temple. "Another successful holiday party, my lady."

Lucilla rests her head on his shoulder and lets out an exhausted but contented sigh. "Until next year, my love."

--

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻

I've got an idea brewing to revisit these two (four)...if I get a wild hair, I may take a swing at it. 😏

npt for folks who were interested in this WIP: @baronessvonglitter @kilamonster @half-moon16 @peepawispunk

[ancientcharm]

The enigmatic emperor Caracalla. Lucius Septimius Bassianus, renamed Marcus Aurelius Antoninus at age 7, was born on April 4, 188 in Lugdunum, Gaul (Lyon, France). Like 'Caligula', he's known by a nickname rather than his name.

His father, Septimius Severus, became the first Roman emperor of North African origin in 192; His mother, Julia Domna, was a noble lady of Arab origin born in Emesa (Homs, Syria)

Publius Septimius Geta was born in Rome, 11 months after his brother 'Caracalla'. All historical sources claim that they never had a brotherly relationship. According to historians, Geta was more appreciated by the Senate and the people than his brother. Herodian wrote that they constantly fought for any reason and "it was impossible to hide the rivalry between the brothers, although the emperor Septimius tried in vain to keep this from being known".

"Geta and Caracalla" by Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema (detail). In this painting the Emperor Septimius and the Empress Julia Domna are shown seated. Geta is standing next to a woman, and Caracalla is pensive by a column; the painter depicts him as sad - perhaps jealous - of his brother's popularity.

An unusual empress

Busts of Julia Domna. Photos :Bibi Saint-Pol, and Daderot (CC)

Julia Domna always accompanied her husband in all the campaigns, the reign of Septimius Severus was extremely militarized. She received the title Mater Castrorum (Mother of the legionary camps). She made political decisions directly, something unprecedented in Rome for a woman. After the death of Septimius, Julia Domna was granted the titles: Mater Senatus and Mater Patriae (Mother of the Senate, Mother of the Nation). She was a scholar in Philosophy, and had a notable influence on that subject. She was involved in several architectural projects including the famous Caracalla Baths, enormous work planning by her husband and completed by her son. She was highly respected by the Senate throughout her reign (192-217).

"Let there be peace among you both, pay the army well and forget the rest". -Septimius Severus to his children on his deathbed

'Geta Dying in his Mother's Arms' by Jacques Pajou.

Britannia, February 4, 211: Septimius died of natural causes, accompanied by his family. Caracalla and Geta, aged 22 and 21, had been emperors with their father since childhood, but after the death of Septimius, as expected, such co-government would not last long.

According to contemporary historian of that period, Herodian : "The co-emperors constantly quarreled and feared that one of them would poison the other, so they did not eat at the same table."

Rome, December 27, 211: 'Caracalla' ordered the execution of Geta, claiming to have discovered that his brother was plotting to assassinate him. The execution carried out by two centurions was in the presence of Julia Domna. According to contemporary sources, Caracalla had tried to kill Geta a few days earlier, during the Saturnalia festival.

Following Geta death he ordered the execution of all Geta's supporters, among them Lucius Aurelius, the only grandson of Marcus Aurelius, son of Lucilla and Pompeianus.

The curious thing is that empress didn't leave her son Caracalla; This caused the Empress to lose popularity among the people, especially in the eastern provinces where, according to historians, Geta was very popular.

If you were born in Roman territory so you're a Roman.

In 212 he issued the Constitutio Antoniniana, also known as the Edict of Caracalla, which granted Roman citizenship to every free men and women living in Roman territory - although by then Roman citizenship had increased significantly throughout the empire - and from then on every free child born in the Empire was a Roman. This was criticised by contemporary historians but modern historians agree that he understood what certain elitist people in the city of Rome refused to understand. 'Caracalla' was Emperor of Rome but he was of Punic and Arab origin and born in Gaul; he was living proof that the city of Rome was the capital of a multi-ethnic world.

An awesome site

Baths of Caracalla. Reconstruction made by team of 'History in 3D'

The Caldarium (sauna) was built in the Pantheon style and the vestibule was in basilica style; Just two simple parts of a baths building were something magnificent in themselves. It was an immense complex that, in addition to the typical cold, warm, and hot baths, dressing room, massage and beauty salons, included two libraries, gym, impressive swimming pools, a stadium , vast gardens, a small museum with exhibitions of works of art, and a shopping center with a wide variety of businesses.

The Alexandria Massacre

'Caracalla' by Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema

After a trip through the eastern provinces, in December 215 he arrived in Alexandria. The Alexandrians, outraged by the death of emperor Geta, began to public perform plays of satire mocking Caracalla and in which they called empress mother "Jocasta." According to the famous legend, Jocasta was the mother of Oedipus who, after killing his father, had married his own mother. Upon discovering this his wrath was such that ordered a massive executions. Caracalla attacked the city with his troops for several days, in a kind of personal war against Alexandria.

Unexpected death

Gold medal bust of Caracalla with the shield of Alexander the Great. By Sailko /CC BY 3.0 /wikimedia commons.

In 216 he offered King Artabanus IV of Parthia to marry his daughter, but the king rejected the offer. Caracalla took advantage of this "snub" to start a campaign against the Parthian empire. He began attacking the countryside east of the Tigris. In early 217 he was in Edessa (modern Şanlıurfa,Turkey) preparing to restart the campaign.

On April 8, 217, four days after his 29th birthday, he was traveling to a temple near Carras (Harran, southern Turkey) and when he stopped to urinate, the praetorian soldier Martialis assassinated him with his sword. According to historical sources, the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Macrinus commissioned him to assassination. Martialis was executed immediately after Caracalla's death, and three days later Macrinus proclaimed himself emperor.

Empress Julia Domna was in Antioch, upon learning of the assassination decided to take her own life.

This seems like the end of The Severan dynasty, however it wasn't. Julia Maesa, older sister of Julia Domna, was a strong lady.

In her hometown, Emessa, where Macrino had forced her to return, she took advantage of the fact that it was a place with an important military base. She organized with the legions a war against the usurper Macrinus. She placed his grandson Elagabalus on the throne on May of 218. Macrinus, who had fled to Cappadocia, was executed two months later. After the death of Elagabalus, the other grandson of Julia Maesa, Alexander Severus, ruled until 235.

"I know that none of you like what I do, that's why I have weapons and troops: so that at no time do I have to worry about what you say about me." -Caracalla to the Senate

Emperor Caracalla. Marble. Acquired from Rome, Italy, in 1875. Altes Museum, Berlin. Photo: Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FRCP (Glasg) CC BY-SA 4.0- Wikimedia Commons

He is known as 'Caracalla' because that is what the Romans called a Gallic garment with a hood that they say this emperor didn't take off even to sleep.

[wanderlustfuldays]

Marcus Aurelius Column Rome, Italy

[vyoongi]

“Ave atque vale”

Summary: “No matter how much the world despises us, Caracalla. No matter how much we loathe ourselves. It shall always be you and I, until the marble of Rome crumbles to dust” In a secluded corner of the imperial palace, Geta confronts the devastating decline of his brother Caracalla, who is ravaged by a mysterious illness consuming both his body and mind. As Caracalla descends into delusions and paranoia, the bond between the brothers becomes a fragile thread woven with love and despair. Geta struggles to preserve his brother’s sanity while grappling with his own suffering. Pairing: Marcus Aurelius Antoninus | Emperor Caracalla/Publius Septimius Geta | Emperor Geta (Gladiator 2) Warnings: Incestuous relationship/incestuous undertones. Mental illness. Descriptions of sores, rotting skin and other signs of illness. Angst. Self loathing. Historical innacuracies. Guilt. Toxic relationships. Words: 1.9K Requested by anonymous! A/N: Title is from the poem written by roman poet Gaius Valerius Catullus to his dead brother. Translation would be ''Hail and Farewell''. I believe this doesn't fully align with what anonymous suggested, so I apologize in advance. In the context of this story, Caracalla's illness is already quite advanced and it doesn't exactly paint him in a positive light. It's more like exploring a 'what if' scenario where Caracalla and Geta were never removed from the picture. (I don't know if I should post this on AO3 since it's quite short)

Geta had been aware of the troubling signs since an evening that felt like ages ago: his brother's trembling fingers, the dilation of his pupils, the barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his parched lips. An elderly doctor had referred to it as a nameless affliction.

Now, Caracalla had struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily like a ship on the brink of capsizing. A scream, more beast than man, tore through the stillness of the night.

"Vile traitors!" he roared, his voice breaking as he stretched his arms out wide, as though invoking a curse upon the heavens. "Rats! They stalk me, they watch me, moving between the columns! Do you not see them, Geta? They are there!"

Geta, his tunic dragging on the marble, walked slowly toward him, his hands outstretched in a sign of peace.

"There is no one here, brother. There is only you and I. Listen to my voice."

But Caracalla stepped back, heels hitting the edge of a table littered with empty goblets and shards of broken pottery. His chest rose and fell frantically, and in his piercing blue eyes Geta saw the reflection of the most primal fear: that of a wounded animal, trapped in an invisible cage.

“Do not approach!” His voice splintered like shattered glass. “It is you! It has always been you! You gaze upon me with those eyes, filled with hatred, seeking to choke the life from me!'”

Caracalla reached for something, anything, and his hand found the handle of a ceremonial dagger resting on the altar to Jupiter. He lifted it clumsily, but with enough fury that the edge gleamed in the flickering torchlight.

“Come, brother! Come closer and let us finish what we began in our mother’s womb!”

Geta didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. The dagger, trembling in Caracalla’s fevered hand, was no more than a shard of despair, sharp and cold like the abyss between them.

“If I am to die by your hand, then let it be so.” Geta moved forward, slow but resolute, the sound of his sandals striking the marble like the toll of a funeral bell. “But not tonight, Caracalla. Not like this.”

Caracalla groaned, his arm shaking and the dagger falling to the ground with a thud. At that moment, his body collapsed forward, straight into Geta, who caught him before he could hit the cold marble.

Geta's arms encircled his brother's fragile form, feeling the tension and spasms run through every fiber of his weary muscles. Caracalla sobbed, his nails digging desperately into his brother's shoulders, like a child clinging to a parent after a nightmare

“Hush now” Geta murmured softly, his voice barely a whisper through his disheveled curls. “No enemies here, brother. Only I remain”

Geta guided him to the couch carefully, almost tenderly, and forced him to sit. Caracalla could barely support his own weight, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Geta knelt in front of him, his firm, warm hands moving up to his brother's face, where the skin was cracked and damp with sweat.

“Look at me”, Geta's voice was a quiet command, firm yet tender. His dark gaze sought Caracalla's, until at last the emperor’s dilated pupils met his. “You are with me. There are no shadows here, no enemies. Only we two.”

Caracalla sobbed, his lower lip trembling beneath the layer of smeared makeup. Geta, with an almost instinctive gesture, leaned down and kissed his forehead, where the fever burned the strongest.

“Brother…” Caracalla’s voice was a shattered lament, as if torn from his very soul. “I would not be alone in the shadows”

“You shall not be”, Geta replied with quiet resolve, pressing a kiss to Caracalla’s damp cheek. “As long as breath remains in me, you shall never know solitude”

Geta’s lips moved slowly across his brother’s stained cheeks, until they brushed the corners of his mouth, where a tremor stopped them. Caracalla stood still, breathing heavily, his hands still clinging to Geta’s chest.

The world seemed to stop at that moment. The air heavy, laden with a silence that felt almost divine.

“Brother,” Caracalla whispered, and in his voice there was a plea, a total surrender. “Do not leave me”

Then, Geta embraced him, his arms a fortress of desperate strength, as if by that act alone he might piece together the broken fragments of his brother’s soul, preventing them from crumbling into ruin.

The dawn, once again, found them together. Caracalla slept with his head on Geta's lap, who slowly stroked his brother's reddish curls. His fingers ran over the scars and sores carefully, as if each one were a wound of his own.

On the horizon, Rome was awakening with its markets and forums, with the bustle of slaves and senators, with life that never stopped. But in that chamber, where the golden light was just beginning to filter through, there was calm.

Geta closed his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead on Caracalla's.

“No matter how much the world despises us, Caracalla. No matter how much we loathe ourselves. It shall always be you and I, until the marble of Rome crumbles to dust”

And in that instant, between the feverish sighs of a sick emperor and the tired gaze of his brother, time seemed to stand still. They were just two children again, lost in a palace too big, too cold, and with a destiny too heavy for their shoulders.

However, as time wore on, Geta found himself succumbing to the frailties of mere mortality. His affection remained immense, yet his patience grew ever more fragile. The illness consumed his will, suffocating his brother's body and mind in torturous madness.

The marble of the Palatine was cold even in the golden light of dusk. Outside, the Roman skyline burned with twilight fire, the silhouettes of columns standing like ancient sentinels, eternal witnesses to an empire that seemed infinite. Inside, in the dimness scented with olive oil and aged wine, the twin rulers were alone.

Caracalla, reclining on a purple velvet divan, watched Geta with an intensity that seemed to devour him from the shadows. The reflection of the light slid over his eyes, but there was something dull in them, something broken. Geta stood, his hands folded behind his back, his white tunic falling elegantly over his tall, thin figure.

“Why do you turn away, brother?'' Caracalla spoke at last, his voice raspy and tinged with a sweetness that did not match his hardened countenance. “Have I become a beast in your eyes?”

Geta pressed his lips together, shifting his gaze to the columns framing the balcony. For weeks now, something inside him had begun to twitch every time his eyes fell upon Caracalla's face. The small sores he tried to hide with makeup, the way his skin seemed more cerulean under the white powder, the faint but persistent smell of withered flesh that wafted in whenever his brother came too close.

“Do not speak nonsense, Caracalla” Geta replied in a measured voice, but he couldn't help the tense set of his jaw.

Caracalla smiled, a gesture that was meant to be seductive but in the uncertain light looked more like a grimace. He extended a trembling hand toward his brother, his fingers stained by the slight discoloration of his nails.

“Come here.”

Geta remained motionless, feeling the air thicken between them. That request wasn't new; The nights they shared more than wine and secrets were a tacit pact, a refuge in which the two emperors could escape the clutches of Rome. But now… now Geta felt something different. Something bitter that rose up his throat like a slow poison.

“I am weary, brother,” he answered at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tomorrow we must face the Senate. You should take rest.”

Caracalla dropped his arm with a sharp thud onto the divan. His smile twisted, revealing the wet shine of his teeth.

“You lie” he spat out, the words laced with contained fury. “You loathe to touch me, do you not? Do you think I do not see? Your gaze pierces me as though I were a corpse rotting in the sun!”

Geta closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain the shiver that ran down his spine.

“Do not speak in such a manner”

“Why should I not?” Caracalla rose with a clumsy yet resolute motion, swaying for a moment before steadying himself. “Have we not shared all, brother? The empire, the purple, the power— even our bodies. Yet now you deny me, as though I were a leper.”

He moved closer, too fast for Geta to react. The sickly smell hit his senses as Caracalla took his face in his hands, his thumbs brushing his cheeks with desperate softness.

“Look at me. Have your feelings for me faded? Do you no longer burn with desire for me?” Caracalla whispered, his breath warm and bitter against Geta’s lips. “I am your brother, your other half, your very soul. You cannot turn away from me.”

Geta opened his eyes and found himself gazing into Caracalla's. Within those fierce depths, anger pulsed, but beneath it lingered an unsettling fear—deep and raw. For a fleeting moment, Geta felt a twinge of pity replacing his initial disgust. Yet, the sight of the sores at the corners of Caracalla's lips drew his focus back, shattering the illusion like fragile glass.

“Enough!” Geta pushed his brother's hands away with a sharp movement, taking several steps back until they crashed into a marble table.

Caracalla stood still, his hands shaking in the empty air where Geta's face had once been. His eyes widened, and for a moment he looked like a wounded child.

“Geta…” his voice was barely a broken thread.

“I cannot…” Geta muttered, unable to find the right words. The shadow of disgust was still there, clinging to his throat, and he knew Caracalla sensed it.

Caracalla let out a bitter laugh, teetering on the edge of a sob.

“I see.”

He turned slowly, returning to his couch with a defeated posture. His shoulders hunched, and for a moment he appeared less like the mighty emperor of the known world and more like a weary old man.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument. Geta stood frozen, unable to move, as if his feet were chained to the ground. Caracalla, however, collapsed onto the couch, his face hidden in his trembling hands, as if trying to bury the weight of his own pain.

“Forgive me, brother,” Geta murmured, his voice barely more than a breath, a whisper meant for no one but Caracalla. “I did not mean to—”

“Begone,” Caracalla replied, his voice cold and distant, without even sparing him a glance.

Geta hesitated, but eventually turned and left the chamber. The door closed behind him with a hollow sound, like a stone slamming into a grave.

In the corridor, Geta leaned his back against a column, breathing heavily. His heart pounded, and the metallic taste of guilt filled his mouth.

He had loved Caracalla with the same fervor with which one loves a part of oneself, a bond so deeply woven into his soul that it was impossible to distinguish where one began and the other ended. But now, that love was tainted, shrouded in a veil of sickness, an affliction that gnawed at him, one he could no longer ignore.

And yet, deep within his chest, something still burned—desperation, yearning to return to the way they had once been, to hold his brother in his arms and attempt to heal the wounds that not even the gods of Rome could mend.

But he didn't.

In the dimness of the chamber, Caracalla stood alone, shadows covering his feverish body. His tears fell silently on his cheeks stained with smeared makeup, and the echo of his broken laughter was lost among the columns of the Palatine.

[harminder]

🏛️ Column of Marcus Aurelius 🇮🇹

[blackswaneuroparedux]

La ville de Paris a son grand mât tout de bronze, sculpté de Victoires, et pour vigie Napoléon.

Honoré de Balzac

"The city of Paris has a great mast, made entirely of bronze, with sculpted Victories and Napoleon as its lookout."

Nowadays known as the Parisian centre of jewellery and luxury, Place Vendôme was originally ordered by Louis XIV to be a showcase for the great institutions of the monarchy. The project was finally abandoned, and the land sold to great financiers. In the centre, an equestrian statue of Louis XIV recalled the royal predominance. But in 1792, this statue suffered the same fate as all the other statues of the royal squares: it was knocked down.

In 1810, Napoleon inaugurated on the site of this old statue the current column, dedicated to the victorious soldiers of Austerlitz (1805). 43 meters high, it is inspired by the Trajan column of Rome. More than 1200 cannons taken from the Russians and Austrians were melted to make the bronze plates, while a statue of Napoleon in Marcus Aurelius was at the top.

At the fall of the emperor in 1814, the statue was taken down, replaced during the Restoration by a flag with a huge fleur-de-lis. In 1830, the new monarchy, led by Louis-Philippe, decided to replace the royal flag with a tricolor flag. Then, a few years later, a new statue of Napoleon is placed on the top of the Vendôme column. Louis-Philippe, who has always cultivated an image close to revolutionary ideals, wanted to revive the figure of the military hero. Napoleon is no longer represented as a Roman emperor, but dressed as a “little corporal” in a frock coat and hat. This statue would remain 30 years, until Napoleon III, judging it unworthy of his illustrious predecessor, replaced it with a new statue of Napoleon as a Roman emperor.

In 1871, during the Paris Commune, the symbols of Napoleonic power and imperialism were again very badly seen in a bad light and the column was demolished on May 16th.

After the Commune, the Third Republic rebuilt it. By 1874 the column was rebuilt in the centre of the Place Vendome with a copy of the original statue of Napoleon Bonaparte I dressed as a Roman emperor positioned on the top.  Commissioned by Napoleon III, there was even an inner staircase, which could take you to the top of the column, that was now called the Colonne de la Grande Armee.

Photo: The Colonne Vendôme in Place Vendôme by Robert Doisneau, 1940.

[mozartbachtoven]

The Column of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina which stands in Piazza Colonna in Rome is thought to have been erected by Commodus in memory of his father and mother sometime around 180 CE.

The column was inspired by its more famous predecessor Trajan's Column which was set up, also in Rome, in 113 СЕ.

The column carries representations carved in high relief of the emperor's successful military campaigns against the Quadi across the Danube between 172 and 175 CE.

The column presently stands 39 meters tall but a further 7 meters of the base structure remains underground, the lowest portion never having been excavated. Originally, there was also a statue - most probably of the emperor on top of the column, increasing the overall height of the structure even further.

This would account for the figure of 51.95 meters (or 175 Roman feet) mentioned in the 4th century CE Regional Catalogs.

The column is hollow and inside it a spiral staircase was built which once gave access to the upper viewing platform.

The interior is entered through a doorway in the base on the Via del Corso side but is now closed to the public.

it is thought that a temple to the deified emperor and his empress was originally situated close to the column.

[mias4rt]

Strings

Water flows Blood runs Wind blows He breathes His tongue moves My tongue moves

A catatonic catamite springs to dance In the palace of Marcus Aurelius Skipping through the columns Leaping over the fountain The water droplets spin in a pirouette

Wind take me Push my feet Master, pull my strings Raise your hand So my hand will rise

The father's hand rises And he opens his mouth to say Look, son How free is life beloved When you look up at the sky above The boy with a stony face Can only see the strings That rise from his father's bony fingers

[angels-roses]

The column of Marcus Aurelius, Rome Italy

[bouncinghedgehog]

Column of Marcus Aurelius

The Column of Marcus Aurelius and Faustina which stands in Piazza Colonna in Rome is thought to have been erected by Commodus in memory of his father and mother sometime around 180 CE.

The column was inspired by its more famous predecessor Trajan's Column which was set up, also in Rome, in 113 CE.

Source: world history website

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Diane Kalen-Sukra is an expert on cultural change. She shares insights from over two decades of urban leadership, including her award-winning tenure as a city manager. Diane's published works include Save Your City and Civic Resilience, as well as regular columns in Municipal World and Public Sector Digest. She is a graduate of political philosophy from Trinity College, University of Toronto, and earned a master's degree in political science from York University. In our next Conversations with Modern Stoicism event on January 11th 2025, Diane Kalen-Sukra will explore the growing interest in Stoicism and Servant Leadership as responses to societal fragmentation and declining empathy. She highlights the resurgence of these wisdom traditions in the context of modern struggles, emphasizing their shared commitment to ethical responsibility and the common good. Key ideas include the foundational virtues of justice, self-mastery, interconnectedness, and the expansion of care from individual to global levels. She draws on historical and philosophical references, including Robert Greenleaf's vision of servant leadership and the Stoic principles of Zeno of Citium and Marcus Aurelius, to illustrate how these philosophies can inspire ethical leadership and societal renewal. Get your free ticket and all the information here: https://lu.ma/bwiyjle4?mc_cid=c505cc9188&tk=WUTFqE

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

PANEM ET CIRCENSES (XI)

Diana put on the outfit Maximus had given her before getting into the cart with him and a few of his men. Their plan had not changed: they would enter the city disguised as lepers, to hide in plain sight.

As the cart moved along the gravel road, the young woman nervously felt her hip to check that her sword was securely tied to the cart around her waist. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was.

The general's gaze rested on her for a few seconds before he gently tapped her leg with his knee.

"Hey," he said, getting her attention, "everything will be okay," he murmured, trying to reassure her. She nodded.

"Do you promise?" she asked, looking at him intently.

He looked up at the sky for a moment before looking at her again.

-Mars is on our side - she replied - he will give us strength - she assured him, holding his gaze - we will recover the city, and we will turn it into what Marcus Aurelius always wanted it to be - she paused- Are you with me?

-Always - she whispered, swallowing hard, her blue eyes shining with determination -

Maximus' gaze focused on the horses pulling his chariot, before answering her.

-Get ready, we're almost there - she made a gesture with her head while pointing to a pair of ornate columns that flanked a house -

They quietly got off the chariot and hid behind a pair of columns.

From there they observed the two praetorians who had been stationed outside. Maximus made a gesture with his hand indicating that he was going for the one on the right.

Stealthily, Diana slipped behind him and knocked him unconscious by striking him with the hilt of her sword on the back of the neck. She looked up at the general, who was hiding the body behind some thick bushes.

They both entered the place, Maximus' gaze assessing the room with critical eyes, surely evaluating what their alternative escape routes could be in case the praetorians blocked the main entrance.

They walked quickly to the gardens, where they heard a pair of voices. One was from a servant, the other was from the emperor.

The Spaniard's blue eyes fixed on Commodus, on his arrogant smile, and on the gait typical of someone of his position, before watching as the maid walked away at a quick pace.

It was then that the emperor sat on the divan in front of the inner pool, when they saw their opportunity. Diana looked at Maximus for a moment, confirming that this was the moment. He went first, walking slowly to the right of the Caesar, while she covered his other side.

Maximus rested the edge of his sword under the emperor's neck. He didn't move, as if he had already accepted his fate, he simply stood there, motionless. Diana watched as he lowered his hand into his tunic, surely to take out a dagger. Maximus had seen it too. He placed the sword closer to his neck.

-If you don't want me to slit your throat, I advise you not to move - the general ordered-

-You're not going to kill me - he replied - if you wanted to kill me I would already be dead

-You're right - Maximus murmured - for someone like you death is not enough punishment - he growled, pouring all the anger he felt into his tone - I will expose you to the citizens of Rome as what you are: a liar, a fraud and a traitor - he approached to whisper in his ear - we both know what punishment is inflicted on the latter - he held him tightly by the arm - get up - he ordered, holding the sword against his neck - Come on!

Caesar did as he was told, allowing himself to be led by Maximus to the balcony of the house. On the road the rest of his army flanked the building so that no one could pass.

The citizens looked at the man who not many days ago had given his all in the Colosseum, holding the emperor firmly, with some dismay and others with curiosity.

Diana looked at the crowd for a moment, until Maximus spoke loudly and clearly.

-Citizens of Rome - he began - I am not going to introduce myself because all of you here know who I am - he pointed with his sword at the Colosseum - the same man who faced the emperor in the arena, the only one who has dared to question his authority - he looked around at the people - I have come to free this city and turn it into what Marcus Aurelius wanted it to be, a place where everyone can live in peace and prosper towards a better future - he raised his sword to the sky - Do you agree with me?

A shout of assent spread throughout the place. The people had spoken and Maximus heard their complaints. Commodus' gaze took in the expressions of the citizens when they looked at him. We could tell that they were not pleasant gestures.

-You all know what this man has done - he pointed to the emperor - he has turned Rome into a gloomy and vile place. He has emptied it of honor and integrity, replacing those qualities with corruption and misery - he explained- What do you want us to do with him?

Kill him, kill him, kill him! The citizens shouted. Blood, blood, blood! They demanded, raising their fists towards them.

Maximus' gaze met Diana's for a moment, as he held Caesar tighter. It was then that he saw an arrow flying in his direction. The young woman opened her eyes wide, not knowing how to react. She had no shield or anything to protect herself with, so she tried to get away before the tip hit her skin.

But Maximus was faster.

He positioned himself in front of her, preventing the arrow from penetrating her body. The projectile bounced off the general's armor, without causing any scratches.

His eyes wandered over her face, trying to find any hint of pain in her expression. For her part, Diana looked back at him, not knowing how to react.

-Are you okay? –he asked, she nodded-

-Yes –she said- you have saved my life, again

-It seems that it is becoming a habit –he answered with an amused smile-

He separated from her to observe the crowd again, trying to find the origin of the shot. His eyes stopped on a man who still held the murder weapon in his hands.

Darius

Maximus had promised that when the battle began, the first blood that would stain his sword would be his.

He would keep his promise.

-Keep an eye on him –he said to Diana making a gesture towards Commodus- don't let him escape

-And what will you do? -she asked, dragging Caesar into the house, while tying his hands with a piece of rope to one of the interior columns-

-I have to go kill a traitor -he said, holding his sword tightly- you will not be alone, I will order Thracian to stay here with you

-Okay -she answered with a lump in her throat as she watched him leave-

Before he did so, she called him, making him turn around again

-Maximus! -he said, his gaze falling on hers again- don't die

-Where death is, we are not -he answered before leaving-