#legionary's life

[coe-olivier]

This is random but…

I need Roman soldier plush. It doesn’t exist but I want it. I’ll marry the person who will create plushy Legionary.

[viktorgf]

🖊 + ⚔🩸faustina🩸⚔

FAUSTINA was gifted her name by his holiness escribar. she was an orphan and didn’t have one, so he gave her the name faustina, which means “fortunate”— which. is ironic. because she certainly is not fortunate. he thought so as a sick joke, of course.

how fortunate for her to have been found and given purpose, praise the miracle, etc etc but she is NOT living laughing or loving cs she’s in a constant state of having to prove herself and not once has it worked in her favor. the single time that it does is when she’s DYING.

[kabuki-writes]

Since the emperors canonically have mommy issues. What do you think if their dear empress gets pregnant??? 👀👀👀

First of all: Hell yes! THOSE EMPERORS HAVE SERIOUS MOMMY ISSUES! Like holy Jupiter!

I mean we don't really know what happened to their mother according to GII, but since we get a hint on their father being violent towards his children and the mother not being present in the movie, i personally have the headcanon that she either died in childbed or during the twin's early youth. A lot of Roman Emperors and Generals took their sons with them on war campaigns, to train them in the ways of military - a good example for this is Caligula, who accompanied his father Germanicus in Germania and got the name "Caligula" (latin for "tiny soldier boots") from the Legionaries. Given that Septimius Severus was a military man himself, i could imagine him taking Geta and Caracalla with him. And that meant quite a rough childhood for them, especially for Caracalla, whom i headcanon to be the "least favorite son" due to him being mentally ill. So the twins don't really know motherly love or someone, who deeply cares for them in a way that a mother would do - something they will seek in one way or another later in life.

Before i digress too quickly.. what do i think about them being confronted by the Empress' pregnancy? First of all, i will not spoiler anything for the fic, so this is my general headcanon only:

I think Geta would be very overwhelmed at first, but since i headcanon a breeding kink for that man, he will quickly be super happy about the news and do ANYTHING to pamper and protect his Empress. And i think that he would be a good father actually. I mean, he kinda had to protect his twin brother throughout their youth and he did it with brotherly love. He had witnessed firsthand the terrible nature of his own father and therefore i would not say that he traps into the same personality. Maybe a child would even ground him a little bit more?

With Caracalla... oof. He would be super excited of the news, always asking about the pregnancy as well as he would advise all the servants to care about the Empress 24/7. But let's face it, this man is very mentally unstable, and speaking realistically here, he is not going to be the best father material. Not because he would get agressive towards his child or something, but because he is kind of a child himself. He would kinda care for a baby the same way he would for Dondus, but that is a monkey! Also he would quickly lose his patience or be bored by the way that a baby is not able to do much stuff, which results in him giving it into the hands of handmaidens very quickly. Also he NEEDS attention all the time, having a baby around that needs the Empress' full attention, it could end up in him getting frustrated about this as well.

[blueiscoool]

How Hadrian’s Wall is Revealing a Hidden Side of Roman History

A party invitation. A broken flipflop. A wig. Letters of complaint about road conditions, and an urgent request for more beer.

It sounds like the aftermath of a successful spring break, but these items are nearly 2,000 years old.

They’re just some of the finds from Hadrian’s Wall – the 73-mile stone wall built as the northwestern boundary of the Roman Empire, sealing off Britannia (modern-day England and Wales) from Caledonia (essentially today’s Scotland).

While most of us think of Pompeii and Herculaneum if we’re thinking of everyday objects preserved from ancient Rome, this outpost in the wild north of the empire is home to some of the most extraordinary finds.

“It’s a very dramatic stamp on the countryside – there’s nothing more redolent of saying you’re entering the Roman empire than seeing that structure,” says Richard Abdy, lead curator of the British Museum’s current exhibition, Legion, which spotlights the everyday life of Roman soldiers, showcasing many finds from Hadrian’s Wall in the process. A tenth of the Roman army was based in Britain, and that makes the wall a great source of military material, he says.

But it’s not all about the soldiers, as excavations are showing.

A multicultural melting pot

Hadrian, who ordered the wall to be built in 122CE after a visit to Britannia, had a different vision of empire than his predecessors, says Frances McIntosh, curator for English Heritage’s 34 sites along Hadrian’s Wall.

“All the emperors before him were about expanding the empire, but Hadrian was known as the consolidator,” she says. He relinquished some of the territory acquired by his predecessor Trajan, and “decided to set the borders” – literally, in some cases, with wooden poles at sites in Germany, or with stone in Britannia. Where those poles rotted thousands of years ago, the wall is still standing: “A great visual reminder” of the Roman empire, says McIntosh.

It’s not just a wall. There’s a castle every mile along, and turrets at every third-of-a-mile point, with ditches and banks both north and south. “You can imagine the kind of impact that would have had, not just on the landscape but on the people living in the area,” says McIntosh.

And thanks to the finds from the wall, we know a surprising amount about those people.

Although historians have long thought of army outposts as remote, male-dominant places, the excavations along the wall show that’s not the case. Not only were soldiers accompanied by their families, but civilians would settle around the settlements to do business. “ You can almost see Housesteads as a garrison town,” says McIntosh. “There were places you could go for a drink and so on.”

The Roman rule of thumb was not to post soldiers in the place they came from, because of the risk of rebellion. That meant Hadrian’s Wall was a cultural melting point, with cohorts from modern-day Netherlands, Spain, Romania, Algeria, Iraq, Syria – and more. “It was possibly more multicultural because it was a focus point,” says McIntosh, who says that the surrounding community might have included traders from across the empire.

Soldiers were split into two groups. Legionaries were Roman citizens from Italy, who had more rights than other soldiers and imported olive oil, wine and garum (a sauce made from decomposing fish).

They worked alongside auxiliaries – soldiers from conquered provinces, who had fewer rights, but could usually acquire citizenship after 25 years of service.

Soldiers carved their names and regiments on stones to show which part of the wall they built – around 50 of them are on display at Chesters fort.

But the wall shows that women and children were equally present.

McIntosh says that pottery brought to the camps – from the Low Countries and North Africa – shows that the soldiers “brought their families, who cooked in traditional style.” Archaeologists have found what seems to be an ancient tagine for North African-style cooking.

A tombstone from Arbeia fort for a woman named Regina shows she was a freed slave from southern Britain who was bought by – and married to – a Syrian soldier.

Another woman buried at Birdoswald fort was laid to rest with chainmail that appears to be from modern-day Poland. “Perhaps she married someone in the army,” says McIntosh, who calls the wall a “melting pot of people from all over the world under the banner of the army.”

“They brought their own religions, as well as worshipping Roman gods and adopting local deities,” she adds. At Carrawburgh, a temple to Mithras – an originally Persian deity – sat near a spring with a shrine to a local water spirit.

‘Wretched little Brits’

Some of the most extraordinary finds from the Roman empire are coming from one site on Hadrian’s Wall: Vindolanda. Here, archaeologists have found a wealth of organic remains because of what curator Barbara Birley calls the “unusual conditions onsite.”

At Vindolanda there are the remains of at least nine forts over 14 levels. “When the Romans would leave, they would knock down timber forts, and cover the area with turf and clay, sealing the layers underneath,” she says.

“Because it happened so many times, the bottom five or six layers are sealed in anaerobic conditions, so things don’t decay. When we get down there, we get wooden objects, textiles, anything organic.”

Vindolanda has the largest collection of Roman textiles from a single site in western Europe, as well as the largest leather collection of any site in the Roman empire – including 5,000 shoes, and even a broken leather flip-flop. “We probably had a population of 3,000 to 6,000 depending on the period, so 5,000 is a lot,” says Birley. For Abdy, the shoes evoke the conditions of the wet borderlands. “Women’s and children’s shoes are hobnailed – you needed it in the mucky frontier dirt tracks. They’re very evocative.”

There’s even a wig made from a local plant, hair moss, which is said to repel midges – the scourge of Scotland during the summer. A centurion’s helmet is also crested with hairmoss – the ancient equivalent of spraying yourself with insect repellent.

The first woman to write in Latin

One of the most famous finds is the trove of wooden writing tablets – the largest found anywhere.

“They give a snapshot of what life was actually like,” says Birley. “We understand so much more from written correspondence than from ‘stuff,’ and, archaeologically, it’s the stuff that usually survives – things like metals and ceramics.

“These were written in ink, not on a wax stylus tablet, and we believe they were used for what we’d put in emails: ‘The roads are awful,’ ‘The soldiers need more beer.’ Everyday business.”

The tablets – or “personal letters” as Birley describes them – were found on the site of a bonfire when the ninth cohort of Batavians (in the modern-day Netherlands) were told to move on.

“They had a huge bonfire and lots of letters were chucked in the fire. Some have been singed – we think it may have rained,” she says. One of them calls the locals “Britunculi” – “wretched little Brits.” Another talks about an outbreak of pinkeye. One claims that the roads are too bad to send wagons; another laments that the soldiers have run out of beer.

Among the 1,700 letters are 20 that mention a woman called Sulpicia Lepidina. She was the wife of the commander of the garrison, and seems to have played a crucial role. There’s a letter to her from another woman, Paterna, agreeing to send her two medicines, one a fever cure.

Birley says it’s similar to today. “If you’re a group of moms, still today we say, ‘Do you have the Calpol?’ It’s very human.” For Abdy, it’s a sign that women were traders. “She’s clearly flogging her medicines,” he says. “It’s really great stuff.”

Another tablet is an invite from Claudia Severa, the wife of another commander at a nearby camp. It’s an invitation to a birthday party. Under the formal invitation, presumably written by a scribe, is a scrawl in another hand: “I shall expect you, sister. Farewell, sister, my dearest soul.”

Presumably written by Claudia herself, it is thought to be the earliest example of a woman’s handwriting in Latin.

Without the organic finds – the shoes and the letters that indisputably belonged to women, unlike jewellery or weaving equipment – it’s difficult to prove conclusively that women lived in significant numbers. Vindolanda “illustrate the missing gaps,” says Abdy. For Birley, they prove that women were as crucial a part of army communities as men. “Before the Lepidina tablets were found we didn’t really understand the interactions between the soldiers and their wives,” she says. Another tablet is written by what is thought to be a Spanish standard-bearer’s common-law wife, ordering military equipment for her partner.

“The Vindolanda collection is showing that there weren’t just camp followers and prostitutes; women were part of everyday life, and contributing to the military community in many ways,” says Birley.

Abdy says that Hadrian’s Wall is interesting because the resident women span “all classes of society,” from Regina – the dead freedwoman, who would have been “bottom of the heap” – to the trader Paterna and the noblewoman Lepidina.

And of course, there’s the wall itself.

“In the Netherlands and Germany the finds are often stunning and better preserved – you go to museums and are bowled over. But in terms of structural remains, Hadrian’s Wall must be among the best,” says McIntosh, modestly, of her site.

Abdy agrees: “I can’t think of many symbols so redolent of imperial will than that wall.”

By Julia Buckley.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Legionary

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Marcus returns to his hometown while traveling with his young soldier who's eager to learn from him. Good thing he knows your domus is always open to him. Warnings: SMUT, bad Roman definitions, MMF, softdom!Marcus Acacius, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, lots of praise kink, m!masturbation, wine. Words: 3,400

Trēs Masterlist Masterlist

A/N: Oh hi! This is my first fic in almost two months, it's been a whirlwind of a time in my personal life, but that Gladiator trailer lit SOMETHING FILTHY in me. I know VERY LITTLE about roman times, other than the stuff I learned years and years ago in history and bits from Assassins Creed games. I know angel wasn’t really a “thing” back then but I’m using it. This hasn't been beta read and this is my first dive into MMF. A big shout out to @pascalispretty for some language help and of course @ohheypedrito for always being my sounding board. A few definitions are below to note before reading.

municipium: town | domus: home | hospitium: hotel | subligaculum: underwear 

The gate creaks as it swings open, interrupting your respite.

“Angel” the man’s familiar deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, his dark brown eyes focus on your wide eyes. 

“M-Marcus,” your voice shakes when you rise and bow to him. Ten years since you’ve seen him, Marcus Acacius, your municipium’s pride and joy, now a powerful general, commanding armies across the battlefield. Now he stands in front of you just as handsome as he was all those years ago… the hold on your heart returns. 

You’re a rarity in your municipium, running a small hospitium out of your domus hosting weary travelers and soldiers perfectly capable of doing everything on your own, yet the sight of Acacius sends you right back to the last time you saw him… your teenage crush disappearing beyond the horizon as he heads for war. 

Gray hairs streak his lush, curly hair, he’s just as beautiful as he was all those years ago. 

“No need to do that angel,” grabbing your hand he brings it to his mouth, you sink at the touch of his lips on your hand. “It’s been so long.”

“Yes, quite long,” your voice squeaks out.

“Lucius and I need a room,” Marcus nods towards the handsome blue eyed man behind him. The vision of them sends a spark to your core, corded muscles, golden skin, strength exuding out of both of them, they’re a dream. “We’re here for the night.”

___

The wine flows, Marcus is just as warm and comforting as you remember. The attraction between you crackles and sparks like the fire burning in the corner of the room. 

A slight touch against your back turns into a hand laid across your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Lucius watches all of it from across the room, his blue eyes glowing in the aureate light of the flames.

You invite all of the attention put forth by the two men, the sweet wine loosens the three of your inhibitions, laughter growing louder, stories and confessions turning more risque, Marcus’ touch searing hotter against your skin. 

“So, angel, it looks like you still haven’t found anyone good enough to have your heart?” His tone is teasing, his smile infectious.

“Not yet, still haven’t found someone as handsome or as good as you, you know all of my choices around here are nothing compared to you,” you giggle. 

His eyes darken at your words, a light joke turns serious at your confession.

Turning to him, the whole room, including his blue eyed companion, disappears. Your breath hitches at the look he gives you. Deep, dark, brooding, his pouty lips cocked up in a smirk. The look invites you to confess further. 

“I’ve thought about you every day since you left all those years ago. You pulled me apart and then left me alone to try to find someone else. You know nobody could have ever compared to you… to my first.”

His hand finds your cheek, you lean into the rough texture of his digits, eyes welling with all of the tears you refused to shed through the years. 

“Don’t speak like that angel, I’m here now. I’m here tonight. I’m here for you.” Your eyes follow Acacius’ as he looks over at Lucius, your sorrow replaced by wanton lust when you hear his voice drop deeper, “We’re both here for you tonight.” 

A gasp leaves your lips at the suggestion, your eyes still trained on Lucius. 

“Is that what you want? Both of us tonight angel? Let me prove to you how much I’ve thought of you. How I’ve destroyed every being that stood between you and I. How my heart leapt out of my chest at the sight of you. Let me show my soldier what it means to pleasure a woman. Is that what you want?” A chaste kiss is left against your exposed shoulder. His words swirl through your head, sending a rush of slick between your legs.

“Yes Marcus,” you answer.  

“Good. Do you hear that soldier? Watch as her body reacts to me.” He grabs your chin, angling it up for his plush lips to surround yours, a sigh rolls through your body. You turn to putty in his hands, malleable and ready to form yourself into any shape he wishes. He turns towards his companion, your lips chasing his, the kiss wasn’t enough. “Now go ahead, ask her what she wants, soldier, listen to her.”

Lucius sits up straighter, his shoulders rise. He is a soldier, eager to listen to his commander. “What do you want?” His words melt through you, strong and powerful, just like Marcus.

You take what you want, they’re only here for one night. “I want you both to touch me.”

The chuckle Marcus lets out vibrates against your ear before he stands and helps you up.

“You hear that?” 

Lucius nods. 

“Then come closer Lucius, she wants us both.”

Marcus’ hand runs up your spine to the knot that keeps your body sheathed in your dress, one quick pull and the fabric pools on the floor. 

A river of blue roams your body as Lucius takes in your bare form. 

Marcus stands behind you pulling you against him, the metal on his uniform presses against your skin, you wish the appliques would sear against your skin as a reminder of this night forever.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Marcus’ deep timbre sends a wave of pleasure through your body. Goosebumps cover your skin. 

“Quite,” Lucius whispers.

“Speak up soldier, a woman like this deserves to hear your praise.”

“Quite,” he stands straighter. “She’s very beautiful.”

“You see Lucius, a woman needs to be touched gently and cared for.” His calloused hand slides across the soft skin between your breasts. “Too many men take what they want and ravage, without any concern for the pleasure of their partner.”

Lucius’ eyes roam your body, his tongue peaking out to wet his lips. You wonder if they taste sweet like Marcus’ lips… like wine and honey.

Your breasts are cradled between Marcus’ hands. “Do you like this angel?” A low approving groan escapes your mouth. “Touch her soldier.”

Another set of hands joins the exploration of your skin. Marcus leads a trail down your stomach and hips, less rough and smaller hands replace his, cupping your breasts, your nipples pebbling as he twists and pulls them. 

“You never want to start too soon, you want to work a woman up, get her nice and warmed up, make her wet between the legs. You're a big man Lucius, you want her to be soft and welcoming for you.” His hands move to your core, parting your folds, running a finger through your wetness. “That takes work,” whispers across your neck before his tongue licks a line across it.  

The last time he touched you like this he swore his love and devotion to you, repeated how he’ll miss you more than the Gods could comprehend come morning. He told you he’d come back for you, though you both knew it was a lie, as long as he kept touching you, you didn’t care what untruths left his mouth.

Now, years later, he’s back for the night, his finger teasing your clit and his mouth against your skin. 

“Touch Lucius, go on, I know he wants it, but he’s being a good man and not taking what isn’t his. Let him know you want him angel.”

You’re eager to listen, to please Marcus, just like you’re under his command too. Your hands reach out to feel the young soldier’s arms, Lucius’ biceps are firm, bright blue eyes dart up to yours at the first touch, his eyes shine like the sunniest summer sky, another gush of wetness pools against Marcus’ hand. His young squire reminds you of him years ago, youthful and bright eyed, muscular and soft skinned. His brawn would seem so much more intimidating if it wasn’t for his burly leader standing behind you with his hand between your legs. 

Lucius hisses when your hands run up his chest to wrap around his neck pulling him closer, his breath puffing against your face as your tongue darts out to lick his lips. His nose crashes against yours when you kiss him, his lips aren't as plush as Marcus’ but you were right, they too taste sweet. His tongue joins yours, your kisses turning messier while Marcus worships you, sticking two of his thick fingers inside you. 

You’re thankful for Marcus’ broad body against your back and Lucius’ hands against your chest, both of them propping you up while your legs grow shakier from the pleasure.

“Feel how she’s trembling against you soldier? You like how she’s sucking at your lips while I make her cum all over my fingers?” Lucius groans against your lips at Marcus’ words. Four hands work your body to a quick orgasm, your naked body rocking between the two military men, your pussy clenching Marcus’ fingers as a rush of warmth rolls across your limbs. Overwhelmed by their touch, you’ve never felt more powerful and powerless. 

“That’s a good angel,” Marcus whispers into your ear. His fingers pull out, a whimper flits out of your lips at the loss of fullness.

“Do you want to taste her soldier?” 

“Yes master.” 

Marcus wipes his fingers across your lips, Lucius grabs your chin before licking a line across your lips now glistening with your arousal, swirling his tongue around your mouth cleaning the tangy sweetness from your skin. 

“She tastes good, doesn’t she soldier?”

“Yes master.”

“Now,” Marcus easily lifts you into his arms, his hands resting against your bottom, splaying your legs open, your arms instinctively reaching back to wrap around his neck. “Really taste her, lick her clean, shove your tongue into her cunt. Go on.”

Lucius kneels in front of you, your body lies like a ragdoll pliant and hung across Marcus’ body ready for the young soldier’s taking. His nose bumps against your clit as he penetrates you with his tongue, spiraling it around your hole. His blue eyes burn a hole into your soul, your body relaxes further into Marcus’ hold as he devours your pussy. The general’s deep voice coaches him, ordering him to suck your clit, pump his tongue in you harder, savor the taste of you soaking his mouth. Your whine echoes across the concrete walls of your domus, hands clutching Marcus’ soft curls as Lucius grinds his tongue against your clit pulling another orgasm up, your body convulsing in the general’s arms, his hard chestplate bruising your back as your pussy floods Lucius’ mouth. 

Marcus kisses your hair, gently laying you down against the soft linen of your rug. 

Two Roman soldiers stand in front of you, your body splayed and disheveled by your two orgasms and the promise of more to come.

“You’ve done well son,” Marcus pats Lucius on the back. “Look how her pussy is sparkling in this light, isn’t she the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen? Now, let us undress for her. She deserves it.”

You muster the strength to prop yourself up watching the two men unbuckle their armor, exposing golden chests, Marcus’ peppered with more scars, a burlier canvas that has seen more battles. Lucius’ body is more delicate, tight skin wrapped around bulging muscles. The general and the soldier, both now removing their skirts and unwrapping their subligaculum. Sun warmed and tanned skin, miles of tense muscles built up by war, battle, and training. Their half hard cocks lay heavy between thick thighs, your mouth waters at the thought of both of them filling your mouth and cunt. 

Marcus slides a chair into the middle of the floor. “Take a seat, soldier.” Lucius nods and settles on the wood. “You’re going to watch her take what she wants from me.” 

Marcus sits on the floor, settling his back against the wall. 

“Come here angel.” 

Crawling towards him on shaky legs, you’ve dreamt of this vision, his legs spread wide, cock standing tall, hard, and leaking… waiting for you. The crease in his brow deepens, his focus beckoning you forward, now close enough to watch the flames of the fire flicker in the reflection of his dark brown eyes. He easily lifts you again, turning you to face Lucius, leaning your body against his before rubbing his cock along your sensitive cunt. 

A booming grunt swims through your ears as you slowly sink down on Marcus’ length, your eyes squeeze shut while your body slowly accepts him, you’re surrounded by him, his voice swimming in your ears, his hands gripping your hips, his chest slick with sweat supporting your knackered body, his cock stretching you wide open.

“Oh angel, you feel devine,” he smiles into your neck once you take him all in. “She feels so good soldier, show her how much you like watching her take my cock,” he growls.

“Yes master,” Lucius licks a line up his palm before wrapping his hand around himself, his body relaxing at his own touch. You lean forward, gripping your hands around Marcus’ well-muscled sturdy calves opening yourself up wider to his thrusts. Lucius strokes himself to the same pace of your pussy sliding up and down on his general, your eyes and his blue eyes locked in contact. 

Both men’s attention blooms inside of your chest, your heart quickening as Marcus pounds your pussy. The sound of his rising hips slapping against your ass meld with the noises of Lucius’ strokes flows through your ears like a beautiful song. Your mouth slacks open, garbled noises begin escaping your throat when Marcus circles a thick finger around your clit. Lucius twists at his head, pulling and biting his lip when he sees you come apart on his leader’s cock. Your orgasm decimates you, you feel like a lone enemy soldier, two two men leaving you defenseless and utterly devastated. Strength gives out, your shivering body collapses against Marcus’ legs. Lucius rushes over and gathers you, lifting you off of his leader, his eyes looking down at you concernedly, a weak, blissed out smile pulls at your lips. 

“She’s okay soldier, this is how you know you’re doing a good job. Feel how soft and pliant she is, how she’s molding to your arms?” Marcus rises, his cock still hard and throbbing as he sits on the chair. “Hold her, tell he she’s doing good. Let her rest a bit, there is still much for her… and you, to do tonight.” 

“You’re so good, so beautiful, I know why master calls you angel, you look like one.” 

You fight off the demons of exhaustion, staring up at Lucius’ strong jaw, rising to sit in his lap, his cock pressing against your ass as a reminder that there is still much work for you to do. Marcus’ lips form a smirk, his hands resting against thick thighs, cock still standing at attention. 

“Didn’t take long, did it angel?” Marcus leans forward slowly rising and sauntering over. He cradles his dick in his hands, tempting you while he squeezes along his shaft. “Hold her hair, soldier.”

Lucius gathers your hair in his hands, his movements are so delicate compared to Marcus’ brute force. They’re the perfect amalgamation of hard and soft. 

Marcus brings his cock to your lips, precum leaks from his tip on to your puckered lips, you welcome him into your mouth, opening wide for him to slide his shaft against your tongue. He tastes divine, salty and intoxicating. Your cheeks strain, mouth agape stuffing his fat cock in your mouth. The general only conquers what he knows he can take, and he knows he can take you for everything you have. He thrusts all of his power into you hitting the back of your mouth, leaving you gagging and streaming spit down your chin. Lucius gathers your hair in his fist, pulling against your scalp, you admire his bravery to also take what he wants, making it hurt a little for you. You want these men to use you, to deplete you, to fill you with their cum, you’ll wear it as a badge of honor, much like they do on their armor.

Marcus looks down at you, eyes filled with adoration, his cock fucking your mouth, spit still drooling out of the sides of your mouth, tears welling in your eyes. You feel like a mess but the way he smiles at you blooms something bright inside of you, your cheeks hollow around his girth, sucking him harder, hands planting against his ass pulling him even deeper inside the cavern of your mouth.

Marcus yanks himself out of your mouth, leaving you gasping and mourning the feeling of his cock. “If you continue, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweet girl, and I’m not ready yet.” He plops back down on the chair, throwing the back of his wrist against his forehead wiping the sweat off his brow, you want to taste his skin. 

Lucius lets go of your hair, his hands wrapping around your torso, pushing you back to rest against him, a sigh of contentment leaves your mouth. 

“Touch her soldier, tell me if she’s still wet and waiting.” 

Lucius trails his hand down to between your legs, swiping against your sensitive flesh, you moan at the contact. 

“So wet,” he whispers incredulously, “I think she’s ready, master.” 

“Good. Can you get on all fours, angel?”

You nod, leaning forward, your quick repose giving you the strength to support yourself. 

“Take her soldier, go ahead. Conquer her. Keep your eyes on me angel.” 

You grin wide towards Marcus as Lucius slides himself in you. He’s nothing like his general, whose large cock left you wide open for his subordinate. Lucius’ exhales cools the overheated skin on the back of your neck as he folds himself over you. 

His movements are slower, more reserved, he’s holding back. 

“Fuck me soldier,” you order, legs widening, hips bucking back towards him. 

“Good!” Marcus barks and claps his hands. “You heard her, take her, she wants all of you, take her soldier,” Marcus snarls. 

“Yes master,” Lucius croaks before spearing you with his cock, giving you the lucious friction you’ve been craving from him. 

Marcus kneels down, propping your head up in his hands. Your hands grip the edge of the rug, grounding yourself in the moment of bliss. Lucius’ taut thighs knock against yours with each thrust. Your whimpers are swallowed by Marcus, his lips pepper your face with kisses in between words of praise for taking his soldier so well. Your knees burn as Lucius grinds his hips against you, pulling himself fully out before sinking himself all the way in. Marcus gives you one last chaste kiss before replacing his lips against yours with his cock. Your moans vibrate against the soft skin of him, tasting what’s left of yourself and his precum. You’re so incredibly close, shattered by the two men’s cocks taking your mouth and your pussy for everything you have, gushing from both holes to satisfy the brave soldiers. Your eyes see stars as they roll back into your head, Marcus grips your hair as he fucks your face, your nose hitting the nest of curls as he slaps the back of your throat with his cock. ‘Use me, use me, use me,’ are the only words that rattle around your brain. Shockwaves soar through your body, your pussy clenches around Lucius’ cock milking him as he cums inside your pussy, his voice chanting your name against your skin. 

Marcus lets out a guttural growl pulling his cock from your mouth. 

“Sit down and hold her against your lap soldier,” Marcus snaps. 

Lucius perches himself on the floor, placing you on his lap, the both of you still coming down from your shared climax. 

Marcus rushes over, pumping himself to his peak, his eyes squinting, upper lip snarling as he shoots thick white ropes of cum across your face and tits. The three of you collectively pant for air, a shared overwhelming feeling of euphoria plants inside of your hearts. 

“Now, clean her up soldier,” Marcus commands, taking a seat on the chair and folding his arms across his chest. 

___

Part Two

[authorhjk1]

Dea Romana

(Minatozaki Sana X Male Reader)

(Author's note:

Hi everyone! Thank you for patiently waiting for me! I'm done with writing my exams now, so I will be able to write more again until Juli. Since I like history a lot, the beginning got a bit longer than originally planned, but I hope you will be able to enjoy it nonetheless. I tried to make everything as historically accurate as possible, but please don't expect everything to be true.

Stay healthy! I will do my best to upload the next piece as soon as possible!)

Every muscle feels like it's burning. Your legs and arms feel heavy. Your feet barely lift off the uneven ground with every step you take.

Dried blood stains your face. Your armour doesn't look much better. The shield you are holding, has a big dent in it. The javelin in your right hand feels like it's made out of steel. The chainmail on your chest weighs heavier than usual.

"Marius!"

Your second in command shouts at you from the back.

"The women need a break!"

You sigh in annoyance. It's bad enough that you almost got your whole century killed. Now you have to delay your reunion with the rest of the legion because of those Gaul captives.

"We will take a short break."

You announce to your eighty legionaries and the twenty rebels you captured.

Spotting a small stream near by, you walk closer, while most of the soldiers sit on the ground, some are standing guard.

Taking off your helmet, you start to wash your face. The dried blood sticks to your skin. After some effort, you are just a little bit cleaner.

Another sigh leaves your lips as you kneel in place. In front of the small stream, your century in the back, looking into the deep forest.

You have lived a hard life. You were not born a Roman. Not born a free man. But you took your life into your own hands, instead of hoping for the mercy of the gods. Because gods don't have mercy. Only you can change your own destiny.

"Let's keep marching. We are almost there."

You go back to the front of the century, your men following your orders. Most of the Gaul rebels you captured are women and children. Their husbands and fathers killed by your swords and javelins.

Orders are orders. To kill or to be killed. These are the only two principles you live by. At least most of the time.

"Have you heard yet?"

Quintus asks from behind you, catching your attention. You silently wave for him to walk next to you. It's not necessarily the gossip you're interested in, but you did learn that it's important to know what is going on inside your century and the legion itself.

"Aelius fucked up some of his soldiers."

You raise your eyebrow while you keep walking. Nothing new there. Aelius is a spoiled son of a whore. He only became centurion in the tenth, because of his family's status. And he is usually unnecessarily brutal with his century.

"Reason?"

"They ate some of the extra rations we all got a week ago. Aelius said that they are meant for centurions only. Not for legionaries."

You have to stop yourself from spitting onto the muddy path you are walking on.

Aelius paints the perfect picture of the Roman nobility. Rich assholes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"Did he kill someone again?"

Quintus shakes his head.

"But I heard that the premus pilus had a talk with him."

You let out a dry chuckle.

"All the centurions of the first cohort are the same. Do you really think he got in trouble?"

"No. But I thought you would be interested. It's not like you have very good connections with-"

"Shut it, fool."

It's not really a secret in the tenth legion that you and Aelius are bitter rivals. The two of you are the completely opposite of one another. A rich brat, who is the centurion of the third century in the first cohort. And you. The former slave, who climbed the ranks to be the centurion of the first century in the second cohort.

There aren't many ranks that separate the two of you. But making the jump into the first cohort as a former slave is nearly impossible.

Your century walks in almost complete silence for the next couple of hours. Despite being one of the most feared soldiers in the legion, you can't help but be cautious. In case there are more rebels lurking in the shadows of the large trees.

"Marius!"

The scout you send out to check the path ahead is jogging in your direction.

"We take another short break."

A light murmur of gratitude echoes through the ranks.

You wait for the young man, barely older than a boy, to reach the spot where you are standing.

"Someone seems to be traveling towards the camp. Our paths are going to cross, once we reach the small clearing ahead."

"Do you know who it is?"

"It looked like a person from the nobility. There was a carriage. And a couple of men with spears. Probably guards."

"We can't be too cautious. Titus!"

You shout for your second in command to walk to the front.

"Take your contubernia and make fast pace. I want to make sure that everything is going according to regulations."

"Yes, Marius."

The rest of the century starts marching at normal pace again, while the eight men rush ahead. The scout leading them towards the small crossroads.

"You know what's going on?"

You shake your head at Quintus' question.

"Might be a politician from Rome. Or a nobleman's wife."

"You know that that's against the law."

Of course everyone knows. It's illegal for a legionary to be married. And yet, some centurions always think that they are above the rest of the legion, when it comes to this kind of rules.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

An angry shout echoes around the forest, just as you and your men reach the small clearing.

The scout was right. A carriage, pulled by two grays, accompanied by a handful of men, armed with spears, and some servants.

An older woman is standing in front of the carriage's door, screaming at the poor Titus. Glancing over his shoulder, your optio rolls his eyes.

"Woman. Don't scream at a Roman legionary."

You make your presence known as you keep walking towards the middle of the clearing.

The servant, probably around forty to fifty years of age, looks at you with anger in her eyes.

"Do you even know, whom you are holding up?!"

"No."

You state bluntly, finally standing in front of her. Behind you, you can hear your men take their positions. Not to threaten the travelers, but to guard the area.

"Well, she is one of the most prestigious women in all of Rome."

"And what is a woman like her doing so far away from the city?"

"Visiting her husband."

You click your tongue. As far as you know, none of the centurions in the first cohort have wives. Which means, she must be the woman of a centurion, who ranks lower than you.

A smirk, which you can't suppress, plays around your lips. How are you able to enjoy a higher position than a noble in this republic?

You walk off without another word, leaving Titus in charge. There is no need to bother with this stuff. Some of the Gaul rebels fell a little behind earlier. You have to check on them. In case they are sick or badly injured.

"Her name?"

You hear Titus ask, before the woman let's out an exaggerated gasp.

"Sana Lucii."

You groan in annoyance. By Jupiter. Is this really his wife? Lucius Aelius? Just when you thought, you couldn't hate that man even more.

You despise men, who don't follow the law and rules of the republic and the legion. Of course, sometimes you can define them a little different for your own gains, but this is just breaking them.

Trying to stay calm, your fingers tap the pommel of your gladius. You don't hear a response from Titus. He must know which Lucius the old woman ment.

"Marius?"

He finally makes you turn around.

You walk back up towards the carriage, just as the door opens.

"By Bellona! What is taking so long!"

You have to say, you are amused by the woman's expression. You didn't expect her to call out for the goddess of war.

"Just doing our duty, lady."

Titus answers politely, although you know how hard it is for him to not lash out. He hates Aelius just as much as the next soldier. Especially, since he is your optio.

You are stunned, once the woman actually shows herself. Her beautiful face is slightly twisted with annoyance. Although, you would be sure that she could look like Venus herself, when she smiles.

She is wearing a turquoise stola, which also covers her brown hair. The thin material enables you to have a look at her white tunic underneath. Her skin looks flawless and pure. A golden necklace adorns her neck and collarbone. It's probably worth more than a whole year of your salary.

An image of a goddess.

"I hope we can speed up this process. I'm supposed to be by my husband's side."

Lucky bastard.

"Please. Speak respectfully with my legionaries."

Her gaze meets yours. You can feel your heart skipping a beat. Not one woman has looked as pretty as she does. Not one.

"Who are you to lecture me on speaking?"

"Salve."

Your fist meats the blood stained chainmail on your chest.

Maybe, if you behave respectfully, so does she. The army is for her protection after all.

"My name is Marius. And-"

"What's your first name, centurion?"

A cute smile suddenly plays around her lips. Maybe this will get her out of here faster.

"Gaius."

"I see, Gaius. I'm sure you have more important things to do than stop me from traveling further? My husband must be waiting for me."

If she didn't know better, Sana could swear that she caught a glint of hate in your eyes.

"This is protocol. We have to check on everyone, who approaches the camp."

"I'm a noble woman. Can't you make an exception for me?'

You don't fall for her sweet smile. You are on duty. Not even Venus herself could distract you. Well, maybe a little bit.

"Your choice. Here, or at the gate in front of even more legionaries. Like everyone else."

That last part makes her glare at you. You won this round.

Not waiting for a response, you gesture for your men to search the woman's belongings. Your Imperial legate has more than enough enemies in Rome to be cautious of. And you don't want him to end up dead inside his own camp. Even if she is allegedly Aelius' wife.

Quintus nods in your direction after going through her belongings, signaling that everything is alright.

"We will accompany you on your way to the camp. We are on our way back, anyway."

You turn around without looking at Sana again. A signal for your men to get into formation.

It feels like she stares at your back for a second longer, before you hear the door close behind you. You don't like the Roman nobility. At all. There is only one man you are willing to follow.

After two more hours of marching, your century and the noblewoman's entourage finally reach the camp's gate.

"The village, where the senior officers are staying, is right behind the camp. You can't miss it."

The older woman, who screamed at Titus earlier, still looks at you as if she is holding a grudge.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in these wonderful lands, lady."

You raise your voice a little, making sure that Sana can hear you. It drips with sarcasm and you can hear Quintus chuckle behind you.

"Vale."

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you walk past the old servant. Her shock at your rudeness visible on her face.

Already making your way past the guards, you can't hear Sana's scoff.

Who are you to talk to her like that? If she is gonna tell her husband about this, you are going to be in trouble for sure.

Sana will never be able to get used to this. She was able to decide that, immediately after she stepped out of her carriage. It took her only a couple of steps to enter the small house her husband is living in right now. But that was enough for her already.

Nothing here looks like Rome. Even the legionaries look out of place. And their shouts and the sounds of shields and stuff isn't what she hears when she is home. Sana is already missing the comfortable house with the atrium. She likes to bathe in the sun throughout the day, while sipping on a really good wine.

"You're late."

Lucius doesn't even look up from his small table as he hears his wife coming in.

"That's how you great me after a year?"

"You know how I value punctuality."

"Out of my hands. Some centurion insisted on searching my luggage. He was really rude."

Now Lucius is looking at her. Sana knows that he can't stand someone disrespecting him. And when she gets disrespected, it goes deeper. He is affected as well.

"Who?"

She can see his eyes becoming a little darker. He bites his lip, maybe trying to prevent himself from shouting.

"His name is Garius Marius. I think?"

"That son of a whore. How does a slave dare to stop you?"

Now, Sana feels shame run down her spine. If she knew that he was born a slave, she would've hit him for talking to her like that. No matter his rank, he is and will always be beneath her. Once a slave, always a slave.

"I swear to Jupiter. One day in battle, I will..."

Lucius takes a deep breath, before focusing back on his wife.

"We are eating dinner with the Imperial legate, the leader of these legions tomorrow, and the senior generals. I expect you to impress them."

"I'd be happy to, love."

Sana almost spits out that last word, but Lucius doesn't seem to notice. He sits back down, opening an envelope. She can see how his eyebrows are still furrowed. He won't let this incident pass without consequences.

Sana eventually leaves the house to explore the small town and it's market. Despite being married to Lucius, she can't stay around him for too long. She is only his wife, because of his money and connections. As soon as she can find someone better...

Sana feels a little dizzy as she steps out of the big house. Lucius told her to be on her best behavior. But that idiot was behaving the worst throughout the dinner.

She hated how calm and reserved the other centurion was, the man who stopped her. He was the lowest ranking soldier and yet, everyone listened to his advice and thoughts about future and past battles. And how is he on a first name basis with the imperial legate? And why is Lucius too incapable to enjoy the same treatment? How can he do worse than a slave?

Sana holds onto the wall, standing right next to the entrance. Suddenly, two men walk out the door. They don't see her because it's dark. She tries to find out who they are. The first one is a little taller, while the second has broader shoulders and looks more muscular.

"We can't do this forever, Gaius. We need a plan to wipe him out. I expect you to help me with that."

"Of course, Gaius."

Sana almost groans in annoyance. Of course it's that Gaius Marius. And the other one is the Imperial legate. Gaius Julius Caesar.

"Rome is an empire. We will defeat Vercingetorix sooner rather than later. His supporters will crumble soon."

"You did a good job today, centurion. You've proven once again, why you rightfully carry the name I gave you. Gaius Marius Antonius."

Sana assumes they are talking about some barbarian leader. But Caesar gave him that cognomen? She can't help but wonder what he must've done to be called "priceless".

"You know the political situation in Rome. The more time I waste conquering Gaul, the more powerful my enemies become."

"I swear to Mars. I will cut down anyone who tries to oppose you, Gaius."

She sees Caesar put a hand on the centurion's shoulder.

"It's only a matter of time, until you will be one of the Tribuni angusticlavii, leading the tenth legion into battle. And I will make sure, you will eventually become a rich senator."

Sana has heard enough. It's so disgusting to her. A slave becoming a senator. She is working so hard to become the most powerful woman in Rome. And with that in the whole empire. How can that lowlife become something better than she herself? Sana either needs to push Lucius further up the ranks, or she needs to find someone, who can match Marius' new found status.

Sana groans in relief, when she can finally leave the small village. It's not like someone forbid her to leave, but there just wasn't something to do in and outside the village. What was she gonna do in a forest? A very dangerous one at that?

But now, she heard of a big market place around two hours away. Sana is still looking to buy some oils and pottery. She could do that in Rome of course, but she is hoping to find them cheaper in their land of origin.

Looking out of her carriage, Sana leaves behind the village and the big camp right next to it. The constant noise made her head spin. Not that Rome isn't loud, but this is something else.

After about an hour, Sana hears a troop of men marching in front of her. She became familiar with that sound after a few days. She doesn't look outside, despite being curious. Why would a century be here? The battles would take place in the opposite direction. Right?

Sana hears how the carriage passes the back of the century. The heavy steps of the legionaries kick up some dust. Her old servant looks outside, curious herself.

"It's him again."

The older woman grimaces, before letting the curtain drop back into place.

"Who?"

"The man who stopped us a couple of days ago."

Sana's attention is now on the men outside. She remembers the conversation you had with Caesar.

"Really?"

She pretends to be cold, not wanting to get caught. After having seen you around a couple of times, the young noble woman is unsure on how to feel about you.

Yes, you are a former slave. A peasant. But you are also a great centurion. A trusted man to Julius Caesar.

Despite being not the highest ranking officer, Sana did notice how the other men look at you. She catches an occasional whisper of your brave actions in battle. She sees the men greet you with almost too much respect. Even the other centurions seem to want to be on your good side.

Maybe that's what Sana has to do too. In order to further climb up the ladder. It is risky. And it's still a long time in the future. But if Caesar can really make his ambitions reality, you will be one of the first people who benefit from it. And if Sana plays her cards well, she can benefit too.

For a moment, she wonders what a man like you would need. Something she could have to bargain with. Money? You probably earn quite a lot already. Especially compared to your earlier environment. Land? You will get that too, if you stay long enough in the army. A wife? You are a soldier. You are not allowed to be married.

As Sana is still pondering on what to do to convince you to help her gain more power, she gets closer towards the front of the century.

And it's not like she doesn't have influence. She could maybe even get you a promotion into the first cohort. Of course without her husband finding out.

Sana draws back the curtain a little with only one finger. Just a few meters ahead, she can see you walking.

Your helmet is decorated by a big crest of red horse hair. The back of the helmet and the rest of your armor shimmer in the light of the sun. She remembers your first encounter. Your armor was full with blood, indicating that you were more than able to fight a battle.

You turn around as you hear horses behind you. It wouldn't have been a surprise. One of the auxilia officers could be taking his men out to train.

Surprised at the sight of the carriage, you catch a glimpse of the passenger. Her eyes meet yours, a big golden ring decorates the finger that holds back the curtain. You could swear you see a small hint of a smile play around her lips.

"Salve."

You great her by hitting your armored chest with your fist. Not because you like her, but out of politeness.

"Salve, centurion."

Her passive aggressive mentioning of your rank indicates that she is still not over that incident a couple of days ago.

"Are you visiting the market?"

"I am. I suppose you are not here to buy pottery?"

A mocking smile replaces the earlier one.

"It may sound unbelievable, but I'm not."

A cute chuckle escapes her mouth.

"Well, I hope you enjoy this beautiful day."

Is she still mocking you, because you are on duty? You are not sure, but you can see her lazily wave goodbye as the carriage drives past you.

"Don't get too close to her. She is only gonna be trouble."

You look at Quintus.

"I'm merely being polite. I don't need trouble with angry nobles. At least not now."

"By Jupiter. One might think you've become a responsible, grown man now."

"Fuck off."

You raise your hand, but Quintus ducks away, avoiding a potential slap.

Only listening with one ear to the conversation next to you, you scan the market for the young noble woman. Despite her attitude and the fact that she is married, you can't help but glance at her occasionally. Plus, the market isn't as safe as it might seem. Cunning merchants, thiefs and rebels might roam the place, ready to strike at any moment. And being a beautiful Roman woman makes her one of the most desirable targets right now.

"Listen, Roman! I barely sell anything! How do you expect me to pay your unreasonable taxes?!"

"Shut it."

You turn back to the stall holder. Titus' and his conversation got heated.

"We are not hear to argue. We are here to collect taxes."

The man grits his teeth.

"I'm telling you! I don't have anything to give away!"

The other people around you look at the scene, before walking past. Only you and a couple of legionaries are here. The rest of your century is patrolling another village nearby and the rest of the market, making sure you are not getting ambushed.

"Don't scream at me, old man. Pay up."

"I don't have a fucking coin!"

You know he is lying. You saw someone buy his fabric from a far as you entered the marketplace. And, judging by the money bag he held earlier, it wasn't cheap at all.

"We can do this the easy way, or the heard way."

You take a step forward, towering above him.

"But the hard way won't end well for you."

"I already told you, I-"

You let your head fall back in annoyance. Collecting taxes is a necessity. Not something to be proud of. It's not as honorable as fighting in battle.

"Do you really want to go this far?"

You look down at him again, your hand now resting on the pommel of your gladius.

He caught the movement of your hand, worry creeping onto his features.

"What is it gonna be? Your life? Or coin?"

The old man is not stupid. And a couple of moments later, you walk away from his stall. The tinkle behind you indicates, that Titus is adding the silver denarii into the bag with the rest of the already collected money.

"Are you trying to rob me, old man? You are a con artist!"

Women screaming at a merchant are as common as clouds under the sky, so you don't pay much attention to it as you hear someone scream.

"How can you demand so much for this lousy work?"

You keep walking, although you kinda feel, like you heard this voice before. It sounds oddly familiar.

"By Bellona! I'm going to have you beaten for your rudeness!"

And there it is. With an annoyed groan, you immediately recognize, who is disturbing the rather peaceful market.

If she was a common local woman, you would've kept walking. The Galli could solve their own disputes.

But Sana is, as unfortunate as it is, not a local. She is a Roman woman. A member of the elite even.

You take a deep breath, before walking towards her screams. You can already guess whom she is screaming at.

"Keep going."

You tell Titus over your shoulder, as you approach her from behind. Her servant must have stayed with the carriage, because Sana is standing in front of the stall of the potter all alone.

Before the young woman can scream another word, you grab her arm.

"What-"

You spin her around and walk away, pulling her with you.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

"Silence."

You didn't say it in a loud voice, but your tone makes her go silent.

After a couple of meters, you stop, turning around to look at her.

"You're welcome."

"Excuse you?"

Her hands now rest on her hips. You can't help but catch how slender her waist seems to be.

"I just saved you from embarrassing yourself even further. You owe me."

You turn away, ready to reunite with Titus and your men.

"What the-"

It's now Sana's turn to grab your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"I don't owe you shit."

"Really?"

You turn to look at her again.

"Your temper is as bad as your observation skills. Minerva would strike you down for your utter incompetence."

You said the words, before you thought about them. You are aggravated. Because of the merchant earlier, because of her causing a scene, because of Lucius (as always) and because of her being his wife. Alright, maybe that last one was a little jealousy.

"How dare you? You are some rude-"

You stop her from saying another word by grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around.

"Look. Look and tell me what you see."

"What are you talking about?"

You see her frowning. An act that makes her beautiful face a little less flawless.

"Tell me what's going on."

You realize you are using the same tone as with the men during training. Harsh, straight forward, a little condescending. But not rude. Just factual.

"The merchant is still selling his stupidly expensive pottery."

You don't answer, waiting for more.

Sana, visibly annoyed, struggles against your grip for a moment, before giving in. You are a seasoned legionnaire. There is no way she is gonna get out of your hold on her.

"There are a couple of women and men who browse his items."

"Keep going."

"Someone is buying a bowl and an amphora."

"What is the woman on the right doing?"

"She is paying for her stuff. What-"

"Can you see how much she is paying?"

"Way too much for a stupid-"

"Do you see any of the locals complaining?"

Sana hesitantly shakes her head.

"Do you know the reason?"

"Because they are stupid. In Rome it's cheap-"

"We aren't in Rome, woman. This is Gaul."

You stand behind her, both of you silent for a couple of moments. You give her time to think about the possible reason. Although she is probably just complaining about you to the gods in silence.

"They all pay the price he demands, because he and his work are respected here."

"But they look-"

"Yeah. Some of his pieces aren't pretty."

You admit that.

"But he is an old man. His hands aren't as good as they used to be. He is obviously regarded with a decent amount of respect."

You gesture for Sana to look around the market.

"Most of the people here bargain over every single item. Food, cloth, tools and even pottery."

You turn her back towards the old man's stall.

"But not there. They respect him too much to try to get a better price. His work might not be the very best anymore, but his skill is known by everyone here."

Sana groans in annoyance and anger as she sees you coming out of the biggest tent of the camp. A week has gone by, since you treated her like a child at the market. Her blood still boils, whenever she sees you from a far.

She decided against telling her husband, not wanting to cause unnecessary friction. And if you have the favor of Caesar, it might be a bad idea to egg on her husband.

And Sana is still debating on your ability to help her seize more power. She is ready to do anything to get to the top. Even if it means working together with someone as low born as you.

Sana stops in her tracks as she sees her husband walk towards you.

"Aelius."

You don't greet him like any other lower ranking centurion would. The young woman can feel the tension between the two men, despite standing barely in earshot.

"Marius."

His face shows a disapproving twitch.

"It seems like we are catching up to Vercingetorix. I hope you don't make any mistakes in battle. I would hate to lose a lower ranking officer."

You click your tongue, taking a step forward.

With the two of you standing right in front of each other, Sana realizes that you are bigger than her husband. Not just in statue, but also in the way you carry yourself. With slightly less arrogance and more discipline.

"Don't worry about me, Aelius. As you know, I always make sure my men are taken care off."

Sana feels a shiver run down her spine. She heard more than enough stories about the battles of the tenth legion since she joined her husband. The amount of times that you were mentioned in one of them was noticeably high.

The young woman heard of a battle two summers ago. You weren't a centurion at the time. Merely a soldier of the second cohort. But in battle, your centurion chose to let his men die, while he stayed behind, watching his century getting slaughtered. After half of the eighty men were dead, you walked straight towards the cowardly centurion. A nobleman, which the storyteller didn't fail to mention with a hint of disgust. Your gladius seperated his head from his shoulders in one swift motion and you took command of the second century until the end of the battle. Caesar honored your bravery and agreed with your actions. Instead of getting executed, you got promoted.

"Are you implying I'm not leading my men well?"

Sana hears you chuckle.

"News travel fast among the younger men, Aelius."

"Maybe you should discipline your soldiers like I do. Your century is a disgrace to the tenth legion."

"Nugas garris. You are pathetic."

You walk off, leaving him behind.

Sana almost expects her husband to draw his gladius. How can you call him a disgrace? And idiot? He is higher ranking than you and he is a member of the elite.

But Aelius just watches you leave, before entering the tent you just came out of.

That short interaction reminds Sana of the power you actually hold. You might not be the highest officer, but almost the whole legion treats you as such. If it wasn't for your low birth, you might have been able to be the centurion of the first century of the first cohort.

Sana's decision is slowly forming in her mind. A plan to gain more power than she has right now. Siding with you might be risky. But the rewards could be great.

Sana glances at you from across the room as you stare at Caesar, who is currently talking. She is still not quite sure what she can offer you to make you join her side. But when the leader of the legion mentions the nobility in his speech, she sees your expression change for just a second. It is obvious that you hate all the wealthy and arrogant men and women. Maybe Sana can offer you something to get back at them. Or at least get back at Aelius.

"And that's why the tenth legion outshines any other. Your bravery and honor are praised throughout the whole empire. Rome is grateful for what you have done. And the gods smile down at the men, who give their lifes to the republic."

Caesar ends his speech. And with that, the long meal is finally over. It is night time already. Only the moon and the stars still shine.

You walk out of the large tent, ready to sleep. It has been a long day and there is no doubt that you will be fighting soon. Caesar's promise to promote you to such a high position still rings in your ears. You can't believe you've come this far.

"Gaius."

Her sweet voice makes you stop in front of your tent. She doesn't sound as angry as she usually does.

"Yes?"

You turn around, standing face to face with Sana.

"I'm here to ask you for something."

You look at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I heard that you are the bravest and most powerful man in this legion. At least unofficially."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Where is all of this honey suddenly coming from?"

Sana gives you a melodic chuckle. Only now do you realize how close she is standing. Her oils make you breath in the flowery air that surrounds her.

"I want to strike a deal with you."

"What would you want from such a low ranking officer like me?"

Your sarcasm makes it hard for Sana to not lash out. Just because she needs you, doesn't mean that she likes you.

"As far as I've heard, you won't be a low ranking officer for long."

"Is that so?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Well, it's actually quite simple. You have something I want. And I have something you want."

"I highly doubt that."

You watch Sana turn her head left and right, making sure that no one is around.

"There is a always something a man wants from a woman."

You are surprised at what she is suggesting.

"Judging by the look on your face, I can comfortably say that I'm right."

You shake your head, which seems harder than usual.

"Have you never thought about having your way with me? A noble woman?"

She takes another step closer. Now, Sana's sandals are touching yours.

"A married one at that? I bet you would love to destroy my husband. This could be your first step to success."

You narrow your eyes, still unsure of what to do. You've never been in this kind of situation. Is she making fun of you? Did Aelius put her up to this, setting a trap for you? Or is she genuine?

"What would you get in return?"

"Your power. Your influence. I can't live, knowing that another person might have more power than I do. I need to be at the top of the republic."

"And you think, I can get you there?"

Sana nods.

"With my support? Definitely."

She looks at you, waiting for a response.

You are still torn. She has a nice body, yes. But you're not fond of her attitude. She is a noble woman. And she is married. Getting caught would have serious consequences. For the both of you.

But the chance to use her? A noble woman? Fucking her, while her husband is only sleeping a couple of tents away? More than just tempting.

You look around the camp yourself. No one in sight.

"Get in."

A victorious smile forms on her lips. As she walks past you, she lets her finger glide over your armoured chest.

You follow her immediately after.

"Now that we have come to an agreement, I-"

You push Sana forward, bending her over the wooden table.

"What-"

You don't give her time to speak. If you're going to do this, you're going to do this quickly.

Hiking up her red stola, you reach underneath her tunic. The smoothness of her legs makes you hard as you reach between them.

"It seems like you are enjoying this more than I expected."

Your fingers graze her lower lips. She is not just a little wet.

"Hey, I didn't give you permission to-"

You shut Sana up by covering her mouth with your other hand.

"I don't need you permission. I'm going to ruin you anyway."

Her gasp is muffled by your hand as you push your first finger inside.

You haven't slept with a lot of women, the army being mainly responsible for that. Nonetheless, you do know how to pleasure a woman.

Sana's moan escapes between your fingers as your digits slide along her wet walls. Her pussy is already gripping them tightly.

If it weren't for your hand, her head would've sunk onto the table already. But you are holding her in place, which ultimately makes her arch her back.

She tries to say something, but your grip on her mouth makes it impossible for her to speak properly.

You are surprised at how wet Sana is.

"Was your desire for power just an excuse? Do you just want me to fuck you?"

She tries to shake her head. You don't let her.

"Do you get off, knowing that a lower born man is fucking you?"

Sana is unable to respond, when you let go off her face. Her whole upper body is now lying on top of the table. You drop your belt and hike her clothes up a little further.

"Don't get confused. I still don't like you."

Sana's growl doesn't sound very convincing with your fingers inside of her.

"Might be true. But you aren't married to Aelius because of his personality anyways."

Pulling your fingers out of her core makes Sana moan loudly. She blushes in shame. Doubt starting to rise inside of her. Is she really only doing this to team up with you?

"You only seem to care for power."

"So? Only a coward wouldn't want power."

You shut her up by letting your tip graze against her lips. Sana hisses through her teeth, unwilling to moan again.

"I'm just curious about how far you would be willing to go. How dedicated you are to this cause."

"Don't worry. I'm ready to do anything."

"Anything?"

You raise an eyebrow, which Sana can't see.

"Anything."

"That's reassuring."

Your nonchalant tone makes Sana shiver.

Finally, you push inside of her.

"Fuck, woman."

You can't help but marvel at how tight she actually is.

"Fuck me already."

It's a mixture of plea and demand.

With one hand you grab her hair, pushing her cheek against the wooden surface. Your other hand holds her waist.

Another moan escapes Sana's lips as you thrust forward. Before she can react, you pull back and push inside of her again.

After just a couple of seconds, you start to fuck her hard. The table rocks back and forth with every thrust. Her moans escape her lips, whenever you bottom out inside of her.

"Harder!"

Sana holds onto the edge of the table, her knuckles slowly starting to turn white.

Because you keep pushing her upwards with your thrusts, the young woman's feet eventually dangle in the air.

You are now able to fuck her even deeper. Her moans become louder when she feels your cock invading her pussy even further.

At this point, Sana is merely a hole for you to fuck. She doesn't move. Only your thrusts rock her body back and forth. The thin material of her clothes makes Sana's nipples rub against the wooden surface. They've become hard due to her arousal and are now adding to the pleasure she is already feeling.

"So good!"

She moans yet again. You suddenly realize, that this isn't really a save place to be this loud.

"Shut up."

You growl into her ear, trying to quiet her.

But Sana can't help it. She has already lost control over her body. Your cock is parting her walls again and again, making her clench around it tightly.

She is even unable to produce a disappointed whine, when you stop fucking her. You leaver her snug pussy, before getting her off your table.

Turning her around, you push Sana against the wooden post, which is holding up the roof of your tent. Reaching for your belt, you hold her arms up, before tying them together.

Sana is now unable to leave. You pick up her light frame, making her impale herself on your cock.

"By Bellona! Fuck!"

"I told you to stay quiet."

Your faces are barely an inch apart.

Because you push her body against the post, you are able to lift her up with only your left hand. Your right one moves upwards to wrap its fingers around her throat.

"One more word..."

You let the threat of unknown punishment linger in the air for a moment.

But you can't hold yourself back for long. Sana's pussy drips her juices onto your cock, coaxing you into resuming your pounding.

A whimper escapes her mouth, when you start to fuck her again. You can tell she is at least trying to stay quiet this time. While you make her bounce on your cock, you thrust upwards. It makes her eyes roll back, whenever she feels your cock pushing against her guts.

"Venus!"

A louder sigh escapes her mouth yet again. You close your fingers around her throat a little further.

"Behave."

The conflict in Sana's eyes amuses you.

She should be the one in charge. She is the noble one of the two of you after all. But here she is, bound to your post, your hand around her throat as you fuck her as hard as you can.

Sana tries to fight the belt, wanting to tell you that you have to choke her harder. She can't keep quiet when you fuck her like this.

Another moan escapes her lips and you tighten your grip yet again.

"I warned you."

You hiss into her face.

Sana's wide eyes look beautiful. The way she stares at you, begging you to fuck her harder, while she tries her best not to make any noise.

But she fails miserably. A loud sigh echoes through the tent.

Without a word, you reach upwards. The sound of metal on metal cuts through the night as you pull your pugio out of its sheath. You let Sana get a good look at it. Then, you slowly part her lips with its blade.

"If you don't want to hurt your pretty face..."

You don't continue your sentence once more. But Sana is well aware of the risks.

With your dagger in her mouth, Sana has to pull back her lips, while simultaneously biting onto the blade, to make sure it doesn't fall or hurt her.

You see her closing her eyes as you keep fucking her. She is now really quiet, focused on keeping your pugio in place.

"Finally. Your voice so annoying."

Sana blushes in shame, able to see your honesty in your eyes.

"At least you have a nice body. I could fuck you every day."

The young woman almost lets out another moan. She really has to hold herself back. This was the first time someone reduced her to nothing but a wet hole to fuck. She didn't expect it to feel this good.

You suddenly hear footsteps outside. You stop moving, almost making Sana whine in disappointment, but then she hears it too. The two of you hold your breath. Neither of you wanting to get caught.

As the footsteps disappear into the night, you resume your fucking.

You make Sana bounce up and down on your cock. She glides along its full length. Whenever you impale her on it, Sana's eyes shoot wide open. She would scream if it wasn't for the dagger between her teeth.

"I'm gonna cum."

You hiss into her face, unable to hold back longer. Her tight pussy has been working on draining your cock this whole time. It feels perfect, almost too good to pull out. But cuming inside is obviously not an option.

You put Sana back onto her own two feet, taking the knife out of her mouth. Undoing your belt, you free her arms. Sana drops to her knees, opening her mouth. You catch a couple drops of blood on the corners of her mouth, before she wraps her lips around your cock.

Your pugio falls out of your hand and you take a fistful of her beautiful hair. Her eyes look up at you, telling you to finish inside her mouth. Her tongue glides over every inch of your cock it can find, while her lips are tightly sealed around it.

"Sana."

You manage to groan her name, before you unload inside her mouth. You feel dizzy, having to close your eyes for a moment.

When you open them again, you see Sana gulping down your cum.

"How often do we need to do this, so that we have a deal?"

"I think you know the answer."

It's so dark that Sana's face is barely lit by the torch outside. You could swear a small smile plays around her lips though.

[zazzander]

There is nothing!! You're so right.

Frank's timeline is definitely the most confusing because he should have met Percy at the Wolf House!! (And the Romans should have noticed the Wolf House wasn't operational for a while and just... didn't?)

I personally headcanon Reyna as a member of the First. It would help account for her meteoric rise. She would have been co-centurion with Octavian for at least a few months. I think it explains the general weirdness because those two, if they had "been there, done that" in terms of leading together. Reyna definitely had the credentials to get into the First, so that's where I typically see her belonging.

For point 12, people probably did look for Jason, just not in the same way as Percy. We know Octavian was tasked with finding him.

Plus, I always felt the purple shirt they found at Ma Gasket's indicated a Roman quest gone wrong - specifically one looking for Jason.

Basically, in my mind, soon after Jason disappeared, Octavian found Jason's future whereabouts. A quest went out. However, Ma Gasket caught the team before the trio showed up and they all died.

After that, Juno/Hera decided that was too close of a call and locked away Octavian's ability to locate Jason (Octavian says his vision has grown darker recently in Son of Neptune).

Without Octavian pointing the way, the Romans couldn't justify another quest. But presumably they wanted one to be called, hence Octavian still looking for him daily - even many months later.

(of course all of that is assumptions based on the limited info we have, the purple shirt could have been from a previous Titan War quest)

wait actually let me explain how stupid the timeline for CJ is.

Jason is given to Lupa at 2

We time skip and Jason already in the fifth cohort this happened sometime between his 4th birthday to twelfth.

Reyna arrives one year later, Octavian is presumably a already there too along with Dakota, Gwen & Bobby.

The Charleston quest happens with Reyna and Jason and (?) either Jason or Reyna are already centurion or (?) is

Jason strangles the Trojan Sea Monster

…Either Jason or Reyna become Centurions or both if the (?) was the centurion on the quest.

At ~15 Jason is scouting with several others to storm mount Otherys, Reyna is presumably a few months into be being praetor despite it being only three years despite long-timers Jason and Octavian who are very influential just not having that position.

Same three days as TLO the Romans storm Mount Otherys, presumably losing many people and having no ‘hey claim your fucking kids’ should lack the ability to make up the numbers.

~Jason is made Praetor, probably after hacking Krios to bits with zero godly intervention except maybe Hera at one point. (save jason and kill thalia type of deal which fits her)

~Two weeks later Nico shows up with Hazel and Thanatos goes missing around the same time (no one died in that time? Not from festering wounds or attempted suicide after the battle they just witnessed??)

~December, Jason goes missing could also be late November for Hera to properly gaslight Leo and Piper and get them in place.

No one goes looking for Jason despite it being 3 days to a month of him being gone outside of California because *superstition*

Presumably, the Camp continues to function for 7-9 months without a 2nd Praetor especially one of their more powerful ones with direct ties to Juno just not being there

Hazel becomes a full blown member (the good shit)

Frank arrives two weeks after his mom’s funeral….That’s not long enough?? Percy probably stayed with Lupa for at least a month for him to learn all that, Frank should be there later than Percy, the same time as Percy or Rick should fix his timeline issues.

All of Jason’s work for the past 6-12 years has just vanished into thin air in 7-9 months and no one tries to hold on to his ideas for camp.

Yeah, I don’t completely understand the timeline either. The first 10 years of Jason’s CJ is so mysterious and we don’t even know what was Reyna’s cohort or centurion despite it probably playing a role of why she so quickly rose to praetorship. I personally go with her Cohort being the Second and her centurion being a descendent of Jupiter and later on Bellona giving him some weight to put behind Reyna as his successor.

Frank’s little timeline weirdness is mostly not taking into account the distance between Canada and California along with the timeline Rick gave Percy who is usually the prodigy in picking up skills. This is why i’m trying to pepper in events in my HOO collection on Ao3 because there is nothing. Fucking nothing and it’s stressing me out.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 2

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Aelius shares his reservations about Marianus’ plan to give you to the emperors to become their personal physician. After a night of mindless chattering, and a near endless trek to the heart of Rome, you meet Emperors Geta and Caracalla in all their terrifying glory.

Tags: Dehumanizing treatment, hair pulling, Geta and Caracalla being dicks, mentions of slaves and slavery, medical inaccuracies probably, as historically accurate as possible, mentions of parasites and parasitic infestations, dissociating from a pov character, unbeta’d. That’s it I think

Note: Italicized words are both Latin, and when the POV character speaks English

Word Count: 6.5k Words

Chapter One.

Playlist

Upon entering Aelius’ tent, he was quick to make his displeasure for Marianus’ decision known. You blinked rapidly when his hands clasped your wrists, his distressed face inches from yours as he lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Centurio Marianus must be mad!” A bit of anxiety crept into his edges and he cast a furtive glance outside to check if Marianus heard him. After breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled the flap shut, his mouth set in a grim line. “The emperors are— are— I cannot even say for fear of being heard, medicus. That is how bad this is.”

You felt your lips pull into a frown, the guilt on Marianus’ face making more sense by the second. “They are corrupt?”

Aelius nodded, his sweat-damp hair flopping with the motion. “More than that. They are bloodthirsty and known for their quick tempers, especially Emperor Caracalla. Do not let his appearance fool you, he is quick to demand death to those who displease him.”

History wasn’t your best subject, and while the name Caracalla was familiar, you didn’t know enough about him, or his brother, to put a name to the face, nor to their actions. All you had to go by was what Aelius said. He was one of their subjects, the average legionary. If even he had poor things to say about his emperors, spoken in whispers for fear of who could be listening, it meant their rule was certain to have spread dissent within the people.

Unbidden, a cold shiver shot up your spine. If you died in your dream, would you wake up? Or, perhaps, a more sinister fate awaited you if you let your guard down for even a second. Especially now that you knew exactly the kind of men these emperors were. A sharp stab of anger towards Marianus lanced through your chest. Putting you in such a precarious position with no choice was cruel, even if he was right that the opportunities for you in the empire were limited, to say the least. Surely, there was a better option than this.

Your terror must have shown on your face because Aelius looked both guilty and ashamed. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have frightened you like that. My worry got the better of me, it won’t happen again. I— I just do not wish to see the man who saved my life suffer a terrible fate and—” He snapped his jaw shut. “Now, I will stop. Is there anything else you wish to speak of, medicus?”

A deep inhale steadied your racing heart, and you met Aelius’ nervous eyes with a smile. “Are you having any trouble breathing? Shortness or breath, a headache, any chest pain?”

Surprise made Aelius’ eyebrows disappear into his sand-colored curls before that boyish grin spread across his face once more. “Some chest pain, though I suspect that is from the bruises you left during your procedure.” Scooting back, he sat cross legged on his bedroll. “You are very strange, medicus.”

You let out a pleased hum at Aelius’ status. Still, you intended to observe him through the night in case of any complications. “How so?”

“You are more worried about my wellbeing than your own,” Aelius responded with a shrug. “It’s odd. There are not many like that.” He tilted his head, looking off in thought. “Then again, I suppose that is what makes for a good physician.”

Heat flooded your cheeks and you gave him a bashful smile. “I try to be.”

Aelius huffed out a sigh, crossing his arms. “I apologize for bringing this up again, but this is exactly why Centurio Marianus shouldn’t hand you away to the emperors. Talent and kindness such as yours should not be wasted on those—” Swallowing his criticisms, he continued on a different tangent, “Yes, you are far too soft for the legions, and yes, you are unmistakably foreign, but there must be a better option before us…”

He was right, there must be, though whatever that option was, it escaped you. Even if Aelius helped you abscond into the night, you knew you wouldn’t be able to outrun Marianus, let alone the soldiers he was sure to send after you, likely on horseback. You frowned. That was another problem, you didn’t know how to ride a horse, so that method of locomotion was out of the question. Then, there was the issue regarding your rights as a free-man. You remembered a little bit from your ancient life classes you took in college, and most of that revolved around the fact that, until you were a citizen, any minor infraction could have you named a slave. The prospect was terrifying, even in a dream.

You blinked, remembering yourself. That was right, this was a dream, and this was the path that it wanted you to take. A physician for two Roman despots. Who were you to deny your subconscious? You would simply have to be careful to not earn the emperors ire while in their service.

“I… How quick are their tempers, Aelius?”

He stopped muttering, he had been the entire time, his Latin too quick for you to pick up, to glance up at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “Well, I have never been in the presence of either emperor personally, all I know are rumors, and the rumors are not flattering to say the least.”

Mirroring his position, you sat on the earth across from him, your eyes firmly on his. “Tell me, please. I must prepare for my future.”

Aelius let out an uncomfortable noise as he shifted in place. Unable to meet your eyes, he looked off towards the lantern that illuminated the small space. He appeared nervous, as if he was preparing for you to burst into tears.

“They say that Emperor Caracalla relishes in bloodshed, to the point of finding it sexually stimulating. His brother, Emperor Geta, has a similar thirst for blood, although not for the same reasons.” Leaning closer, Aelius brought his voice down to a barely there murmur. It was then that you became aware just how badly he stank and, despite yourself, your nose wrinkled. “I hear he knows that he and his brother are unpopular with the people and he’s terrified of losing control, so he reacts to even small infractions with the highest of punishments. You must be careful.”

You gave him a distant nod, your mind elsewhere despite his grim warning. “Why do you smell so bad?”

“Huh?” He muttered, his tanned skin becoming a shade darker as he pulled back the collar of his tunic to give himself a sniff. A grimace made his features scrunch and he gave you an apologetic smile. “Eheu, I do smell bad. I apologize, Centurio Marianus assigned me to help with the horses as punishment for what happened earlier.”

“Punishment for dying,” You deadpanned.

Aelius laughed, good natured and hearty. “I may not agree with his decision to give you to the emperors, but he is a good superior. Any other centurion would have beaten me bloody with his vitis. Many say Marianus is too soft with his men, though I would follow him into even the most hopeless of battles.”

Shoulders slumping, you felt yourself deflate. While your anger at Marianus for basically selling you off was still there, you couldn’t help but respect the man. “What is a vitis? I do not recognize the word.”

“Ah, yes, somehow, I forgot how foreign you are,” Aelius laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “Your Latin is decent and you are civilized, you cannot fault me.” He reared back his arm and mimed hitting someone with what you assumed to be a stick or a rod. “A vitis is a staff made of grapevine that symbolizes a centurion’s authority. With it, he can discipline even citizens.”

You opened your mouth to ask if Marianus ever hit anyone, only for Aelius to quiet you with a raised finger. A boyish grin adorned his face as he began to dig through his pack to retrieve a spare tunic. It was an off white color with two complimentary red stripes down the sides. After he pulled out a belt, he handed both to you, his expression both proud and teasing.

“Put these on, medicus. Trousers are the mark of a barbarian, and while I am aware that you are civilized, the emperor's may not be. You need to make a good first impression.”

Examining the tunic, you stood and held it up to your body. Aelius was a bit broader than you, so it would be baggy, and the hemline would hit below your knees, but it would do. You gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, you are very good to me.”

“That is unnecessary,” He said, parroting your words from earlier back at you, playfulness glinting in his honey eyes. “I am merely doing my duty.”

You gave him a swat on head, your laughter bubbling from your chest. “Turn around, soldier.”

“A modest and a shy, medicus? You are an enigma, my friend,” Aelius teased, though he readily obliged your request, giving you the privacy you desired. After you were dressed, he offered you a pair of sandals similar to his own. It was an easy pass. The shoes you currently wore, while strange to him, were made for working long hours and you would rather die than march tomorrow with no lumbar support.

The rest of the night was spent talking with Aelius. Maybe it wasn’t your smartest move to deprive yourself of sleep before what was surely going to be nearly twelve hours of walking, but you didn’t want to risk falling asleep and something going wrong with Aelius’ recovery. In solidarity, he offered to stay up with you. It was sweet, and you found yourself becoming even fonder of the man. When you awoke, you would miss him terribly, and if you were even an ounce more sentimental, you’d dare to call him a friend.

He told you about his family back home. Of his little sister who he loved dearly despite not getting to see her often since he joined the military, his matercula, a woman with a seemingly endless well of kindness at her disposal, and his pater, a former playwright of some renown who was known for his comedies. After Emperor Geta and Caracalla rose to power, at the request of his wife, he stopped taking part in theater out of fear of retribution. Unfortunately, this meant that Aelius’ pay as a soldier was most of his family’s income.

In return, you regaled him with censored tales of your life in reality. Your long hours, how your focus on your studies rendered you unable to make the connections with others that you wanted, and how your parents' iron grip on you never seemed to loosen. It was the first time in a long time that you had managed to be so candid with someone else. Honestly, it was nice. You never had much time for friendship, maybe this was your brain’s way of telling you to try harder once you woke up. You weren’t on bad terms with your peers, you could always start there. All you had to do was wake up.

It wasn’t until you heard the camp begin to stir did you realize the sun was beginning to rise. You let out a yawn and stretched your arms over your head.

“What I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee right now,” You muttered as Aelius began to pack up his belongings in preparation for taking down the tent.

“Coffee?” The English sounded strange coming from him, an accent you couldn’t quite place draping itself around the word. He finished rolling up his bedroll and put out the lantern before shooing you out of the flap. “What a strange word. What is it?”

“It is…” You trailed off, thinking of the best way to explain. “A dark, bitter drink that energizes you upon consumption. If you are tired, all you have to do is finish a cup, and you will be awake as if you were well rested.”

Aelius chuckled, and you watched as he expertly took down the tent and rolled it into a small enough fold to place in his marching pack. Around you, other men did the same, in various states of completion. Once he was done, he straightened and handed you a waterskin. “Will posca do, medicus?”

“What is posca?” Marianus had mentioned it was what most soldiers drank and was on par with boiling water — even if you didn’t quite believe that — though you didn’t have a chance to ask what it was. With a curious sniff, you recognized the sharp smell of vinegar emanating from the waterskin.

“It’s a mix of water and wine vinegar. Sometimes, if I have it, I mix in some honey.” With a hand between your shoulder blades, he hefted his pack higher onto his back and began to lead you elsewhere. “The vinegar helps purify the water.”

You tied the waterskin back on Aelius’ marching pack without taking a sip. “I can see the benefits. The vitamins would help prevent scurvy and if I recall correctly, vinegar has antimicrobial properties. However—“ With your hands on your hips, you gave him a disapproving glare “— It does not protect against parasites. You must be full of worms! I insist that from now on, you only drink boiled water, Aelius.”

Aelius raised a teasing eyebrow. “That is not where worms come from, even I know this, medicus.”

“Where do they come from then, dominus?”

At the sarcastic honorific, a sharp bark of a laugh echoed through the open air. Aelius shook his head with a smile. “You get worms if there is too much food in your belly and it begins to rot.”

“Wrong!” You exclaimed. “You get worms from drinking dirty water, coming in contact with infested fecal matter, or eating raw meat. That is only to name a few.”

“… Are you certain?” His brows were furrowed and his lips were pursed into a thin line. Uncomfortable, he cast a glance at his waterskin hanging off his pack behind him.

You gave him a firm nod. “Absolutely. I would not lie to you. Boil water if you have the time.”

Aelius let out a huff. “If you hadn’t saved my life, I would think you were speaking nonsense. I will take your advice. Unfortunately, we do not have time to boil any water before we begin our march, so posca will have to do.”

“I’m not drinking that,” You said, firm in your decision. Dream or not, you would not be besieged by worms. Given how vivid and realistic everything had been so far, you wouldn’t put it past your subconscious to give you a whipworm infestation.

Aelius only shrugged in response, a knowing glint in his eyes. Whatever he was thinking he kept to himself, continuing to follow his fellow men towards the horses where Marianus was sure to be waiting.

As the sun began to rise, you and the rest of the century continued your slow, miserable trek to Rome. Once the two of you caught up to Marianus, he informed you that he sent a carrier pigeon to the emperors, warning them of your arrival. Apparently, he told them that you were a physician who could bring the dead back to life. Fantastic.

Marianus defended this decision by insisting that you needed to play to your strengths, and Aelius was clinically dead when he was pulled from the water. You weren’t the only one to check his pulse, you merely happened to be the one to bring him back. Your only response was a tired grimace as you turned back towards the horizon as you prayed for a pair of sunglasses to fall out of the sky. If the heat didn’t kill you, the glare was sure to blind you. Your mother would call you dramatic if she was here, but she wasn’t, so dramatic you would be.

It must have been summer because the sun was oppressive and unforgiving. You let out a low groan as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of your nose. Now that it was afternoon, the heat was unbearable, and you were still a few hours out from the city. Though you had refused the posca Aelius offered you over the course of the march, you were so dehydrated, you were considering the worms to be worth it if only to cure your horrible dry mouth.

Earlier in the day, you had checked on your patients, who were being transported together in a horse drawn cart. Unfortunately, the man with dysentery died in the night, something you felt immense guilt for. You shouldn’t have been talking to Aelius, not when there was a man who needed you. While you knew that Marianus would have dragged you back to the tent, kicking and screaming, as soon as he caught wind you were working again, that didn’t mean you should not have tried. The veterinarius assured you he lasted longer than expected under your recommended treatment. You couldn’t help but let out a frustrated noise. If you had access to more modern supplies and medication, you would have been able to save him.

Thankfully, your other patients were doing well. The maggots had eaten a majority of the necrotic flesh on the man you were most worried about. After removing most of the maggots, but leaving a few to eat what dead tissue remained, you gave the man with a fever another ibuprofen and hoped he’d receive better care in the city. For now, you had to keep his body from cooking him alive.

Unfortunately, though, you were exhausted, even more so than before. Coupled with the heat, your headache was bordering on unbearable. Aelius had slowed down significantly to keep in time with your dragging steps, and you couldn’t help but glare at him out of the corner of your eye. He was practically skipping. How was he not suffering as much as you were? You both pulled an all-nighter. Maybe it was because he was keeping hydrated with his evil worm juice. You licked your chapped lips at the thought.

Damn this dream, damn it all to hell.

After ten more minutes of walking, you said fuck it, and climbed into the cart carrying the sick and injured. At this point, you were sure to be so dehydrated, you were considered one of their kind. Flopping face first into the hot wood, you only closed your eyes for a moment before the world faded to black.

What woke you wasn’t the furious snapping by the side of your head, nor Aelius’ frantic shaking of your shoulder. It was the stench. The smell of sweat mingled with incense, and strangely enough, piss, mingled to create the tragic symphony of stimuli that accosted you. Jolting upwards, the top of your head nearly slammed into Aelius’ nose. You blinked wildly at the sight in front of you. If you didn’t already know you were dreaming, you would be certain of it now.

Before you was a bustling city, but like none you had ever seen. People in unfamiliar clothes, mostly tunics on men and long dresses on women — stolae you recognized distantly — all in a multitude of bright shades danced around your cart. Some shot dirty looks at you, and the horses leading you onwards, for taking up half the road. With wild eyes, you took in the beautiful, but strange architecture that surrounded you. Once before, in reality, you had visited Rome, and even then the remaining ancient structures drew your awe. Now, though, they left you speechless. You had to crane your neck as you passed by the colosseum to see the top. Statues sat between arches, almost judging your humble nature, stared down from above. You squeezed your eyes shut. To keep from becoming hysterical, you fixated your gaze on the bottom of the cart. It was plain, like you. A comrade in arms, you supposed

There were two unfamiliar men driving the cart now, and the only people in the back with you were Aelius and Marianus. A flick to your cheek drew your attention elsewhere.

“Boiled water, just for the spoiled medicus.” Though Marianus was frowning, his words lacked any real heat. He handed you a small tin pot full of water. Greedily, you chugged the contents faster than you would recommend for one of your patients. Whatever, you were never good at taking your own advice.

“Where are we?” You mumbled, a part of you still stunned by the sights around you. “When did you find the time to boil this?”

Aelius laughed and wrapped an arm around you. You noticed he was in his armor now, the sharp edges digging into your side. “We are in the City, my friend. Marianus had some boiled when we arrived on the outskirts. That is where the rest of our men are camped, waiting for the rest of the legion to arrive from up north.”

You cast a glance at the men driving the cart. They had their backs to you, crimson armor glowing in the afternoon sun. “Who are they?”

“Two of the Praetorian Guard. The emperors sent them to escort us,” Marianus muttered under his breath, his mouth set into a stern frown. “Best behavior from here on out, medicus.”

“Explains the dirty looks, doesn’t it?” Aelius joked only to snap his jaw shut after a withering glare from Marianus.

Dread squirmed in the pit of your gut the closer you got to Palatine Hill, and subsequently, the emperors themselves. These were the men Aelius warned you about, the men that even Marianus felt guilt for handing you over to. As far as they knew, you were a magician capable of necromancy, or at least that was what your heat-addled brain supplied. You knew that CPR was a valid technique for saving someone’s life, and you knew how exactly it worked. The average Roman — though, twin emperors were nowhere near what you would consider the average Roman — wouldn’t know any of that. You were lucky Marianus didn’t order you dead to begin with.

Uncomfortable, you clutched your duffle bag to your chest. You were thankful Aelius thought to bring it, you had all of your supplies in there. If the emperors didn’t order you to be executed where you stood, you would need your stethoscope and sphygmomanometer to perform a basic checkup on them. Clenching your jaw, you shook your head to clear your anxiety. Focus on the brightest outcome and how to get there, you told yourself. You must remain optimistic.

For a realist, such as yourself, that was easier said than done.

When you looked up, Aelius offered you a reassuring smile, though it was strained at the edges. You returned it, your own wobbly and unconvincing. He squeezed you tighter against his side in an effort to comfort you before allowing his hand to drop. Sitting on the edge of the wagon, Marianus kept his eyes focused on the horizon, waiting for the palace to come into view. Almost on cue, you saw it off in the distance, both elegant and imposing, growing closer with each passing second. Oh, how you wanted to run away. The muscles in your legs clenched as if to prepare for such a fate, even if you would never dare to give into the urge.

You were about to enter the lion’s den. Or, perhaps the wolf's den was more fitting. Romulus and Remus were twins too, after all.

The flow of time was always strange for you, especially in times of high stress. You seemed to have a knack for gliding through life, working on autopilot as your brain fogged over into nothingness. Thankfully, this never happened at work. That wasn’t the kind of stress that got to you. Having another’s life in your hands helped ground you. Your own, on the other hand, that was when you shut down. The world blurred at the edges becoming fuzzy, almost like television static.

Distantly, you recognized Marianus informing you that you had arrived. It felt as though you were moving through water as you climbed out of the cart, your duffle bag hanging on your shoulder. Aelius must have noticed you were off. Instead of wondering what he was whispering to Marianus, you stared off at a fixed point in the distance.

A hand on the back of your neck startled you. “Fix yourself, medicus. We need you at your best.”

“I know,” You muttered.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew what this was. Dissociation was a habit your brain always latched onto in the worst of times. As you walked down the opulent halls, led forward by the praetorians, you did your usual techniques in an effort to calm yourself. It was strange, grounding yourself in a dream rather than reality, but it, thankfully, worked the same. Five things you could see — the marble columns, a bust of a man you didn’t recognize, a beautiful tapestry hanging upon the wall, a peacock parading about in the gardens outside, and Aelius’ concerned expression — four things you could hear — the patter of feet on marble, slaves whispering amongst themselves as they watched you pass, the sound of birdsong, and Marianus’ pointed ‘ahem’ — three things you could touch — the rough strap of your duffle bag, the hair on Aelius’ arm, and your own skin — two things you could smell — cooking pastries carried on the wind and incense, perhaps frankincense — one thing you could taste — the bitter tang of your own fear. It was simple enough. By the time you raised your gaze from your feet to catch a glimpse of fiery red sitting atop two thrones, you were nearly back to normal. There was still a bit of distortion in your vision, and for a moment, you realized that it had been like that for a while now.

Before you were able to assess that thought, Marianus bowed his head. You didn’t have a chance to see who he was bowing to. On instinct, you followed suit, your fingers clutching the strap of your duffle tight enough for your knuckles to go white.

“Caesarēs,” Marianus said.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him, only lifting your head when he did. Upon two twin thrones sat two twin emperors, both with hair bright as a sunrise behind their golden laurels. One was taller, sitting straight backed with one leg crossed over the other, twisting a ring on his finger as he examined you. There was a paranoid air about him, as if the three of you were vipers he had noticed at the last second. The other looked completely disinterested in the entire ordeal, one leg up on his throne, the other outstretched in front of him as he rested his head on his fist. They were both wearing makeup with enough pale foundation for it to look cakey, but where one had kohl rimmed eyes, the other had doll-like blush adorning his cheeks. Their clothes were ornate and the gold that hung from their ears and around their neck clacked together with each minute movement.

“Centurion,” The one with kohl around his eyes stated as he stood, his gaze trained on you. More specifically your hair before darting to your shoes, his lips pursed into a thin line. “You are Lucius Marianus and this is the physician you brought us.” He stopped in front of you and you noticed his jaw was clenched so tight, a muscle in his cheek jumped. “The one who can bring the dead back to life.”

That got the other emperor’s attention. He perked up and you fought the urge to shiver under their dual stares.

To his credit, Marianus did not cow under the intimidation. “Yes, Emperor Geta. I witnessed the procedure myself along with a handful of my men. I can give you their names if you would like their secondhand accounts.”

So, the tall one was Geta. That meant the little one who was staring at you with a predatory smile was Caracalla. Your duffle bag was sliding off your shoulder, but you didn’t dare heft it any higher. You felt as though you were in the presence of a tiger about to pounce. The slightest movement would send either emperor on the offensive, and you really didn’t want to deal with that.

Geta’s pupils slid from Marianus, to you, before landing on Aelius, who visibly flinched under his stare. This seemed to please Geta, his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “And this is the so-called ‘man who died?’ I am sure you and the witnesses are from the same century, no less.” He sighed and took a few steps backwards, examining all three of you with his hands behind his back. “A century can be a very tight knit band of men, though I’m sure you already know this, centurion. They can be coerced to lie if their superior orders it.”

“It is no lie, Emperor,” Marianus replied, voice steady.

Caracalla spoke up for the first time, his voice a high-pitched rasp, “Perhaps a demonstration is in order, brother.”

“Yes, a demonstration of your skill, medicus.” Geta snapped his fingers and a praetorian stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his gladius. “I will have the centurion’s throat slit and you will prove to me that you can truly bring the dead back to life.”

“Wh- What?” Dumbfounded, you weren’t able to keep yourself from muttering in English. Marianus tensed, his mouth open to speak, though no words came out. Beside you, Aelius looked horrified, his face three shades paler than before. It took the praetorian unsheathing his blade for you to find your voice again. “Caesar, no, wait! That is not how the procedure works! If you slit his throat, I will not be able to save him without surgery!”

Geta raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Caracalla let out a sharp laugh. “Your accent is repulsive, foreigner. You speak Latin as a child would.” He grinned at you, blue eyes narrowed in cruel amusement. “See-zer. How ridiculous. Speak again, medicus, I want to hear more of your foolish words.”

“Yes, speak.” Geta was fidgeting with his ring again. He seemed to realize this, folding his hands behind his back, his eyes like coal. “Tell us how this procedure works then.”

“It- It, uh…” Licking your dry lips, you cast a glance at Marianus for support.

“Eyes on me, foreigner!” Geta barked. Your head snapped back to him, eyes wide and terrified.

“I apologize, I—”

“I did not ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation. Now, will you give me one, or must I have these men killed for you to find your tongue?”

A bit of cold sweat trailed down the back of your neck. It took everything you had to meet Geta’s gaze. “It’s a procedure called cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It works best on drowning victims and those who are suffering from heart problems. With your hands, you manually beat their heart, and with your mouth, you blow air into their lungs. If there is a wound, a disease, or some other problem that caused death—” You couldn’t believe you were relying on the metaphysical to explain this. What would your professors say? “— Then the spirit, no matter how strong, cannot return to the body as it has been deemed uninhabitable.”

While Geta seemed satisfied by your explanation, Caracalla was visibly disappointed. He turned his hunter’s eyes from you to Aelius. “And you, soldier. You are the one who died?”

“Yes, Caesar.” Unlike Marianus, Aelius was unable to keep the tremor from his voice. If you weren’t so close to Geta, you would have missed the pleased puff of air from his nose.

“Tell me,” Caracalla began, his grin growing wide enough to show off his singular gold tooth. “What was it like to die?”

“I do not rem— remember much. It was cold and dark, it felt as though I was both asleep and awake at the same time. I could have sworn I heard the ferryman approaching before suddenly I was… torn into awareness, my chest aching fiercely.” Gentle, he placed his hand against his chest. You were thankful you didn’t break any ribs. Once you had a moment away, you wanted to check over his bruises once more.

A strangely disappointed frown pulled at Caracalla’s lips. “That is it? No agony? No sorrow?”

“No, emperor, I felt calm. At peace, even.”

With an annoyed huff, Caracalla turned away, clearly done with the conversation. That left room for Geta to turn his attention back on you. “Where are you from, medicus? I had assumed you would be Greek considering your occupation, but I don’t recognize your accent.”

“Our last physician was Greek,” Caracalla piped up, eyeing your hair with interest. “He did not last long.”

“I- I am from…” What did you say? You couldn’t tell them that this was a dream, and saying you were from the future felt like a quick way to get killed. After a moment, you decided to rehash what you told Marianus. “I am from a country far across the western sea. It is large and civilized, much like Rome, th— though I am very impressed with what I have seen of your Empire. It’s beautiful, unlike anything I have ever seen before.”

The compliment made Geta’s chest puff out, no small amount of pride creeping into his features. “Yes, the Empire prospers under our rule.” It didn’t take long for him to remember himself, his expression steeling over once more. “I have never heard of a country to the west. Why is that? Why are you the first visitor I have ever heard of?”

“We are…” You didn’t know the Latin word for ‘isolationist,’ which left you floundering. “Our government likes us to be alone and not interact with other countries. We are not allowed to leave and no one is allowed in. I cannot return now that I am in Rome.”

“A shame,” Geta hummed, looking pleased. “And without citizenship, your options are limited.” Slow and predatory, he began to circle you. “Are you aware that an emperor is capable of granting citizenship?”

Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, you gave up on trying to keep him in your line of sight. With him behind you, goosebumps crept up your arms. “I assumed so.”

In front of you again, Geta ceased his circling. He seemed to have come to a decision. A flash of anger flickered over his face before it became stony once more, his hands clenched into tight fists behind his sides. “You will be the new imperial physician. If you serve me and my brother well, perhaps I will grant you citizenship.”

“And the reward I mentioned in my letter?” Marianus spoke for the first time in what felt like hours.

When Geta took his focus off you, a part of you relaxed. You couldn’t imagine being under either man’s piercing eyes for the foreseeable future without popping a blood vessel. “Yes, your men will be given respite before their next assignment. You, however, will remain here with this man.”

Marianus opened his mouth, probably to protest, before he thought better of it and clamped his jaw shut. “Yes, Caesar.”

“Physician,” Geta said, his voice sharp. “If you fail us in any way, you and these men will die. If you try to harm us in any way, you and these men will die. Am I understood?”

“Y— Yes, Caesar,” Was all you managed. Your heart thudded an angry rhythm in your chest. Having your own life forfeit was one thing, being responsible for two others, while familiar, was no less terrifying. It helped your mind sharpen, however. While you understood the human body innately, these games you would have to play with the emperors were new to you.

“Kai-sar,” Geta corrected through clenched teeth.

“No, don’t correct him, brother, I quite like his accent. It grows on me like maggots on a wound,” Caracalla laughed. It was squeaky and high pitched, almost mousy in tone if not for the harsh edge. With two fingers, he gestured for you to come to him. “Come here, medicus.”

It took everything in your power not to look at Marianus for permission. That had irritated Geta before, and with Aelius’ warnings ringing in your head about Caracalla, you would rather not earn his wrath either. Especially now that you knew it wasn’t only your life on the line. Cautiously, you took a few steps forward.

“Closer,” Caracalla intoned as he leaned forward in his throne.

With nervous, shuffling movements, you obeyed.

“Lean down.”

Your fingers twitched in front of your chest as you leaned down to be eye level with Caracalla, not even a foot away from him. In a blur of red, he lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, giving it a harsh yank. A scandalized yelp tore from your throat and you stumbled backwards as far as you could get the second he let go. It didn’t hurt too bad, but it was enough to startle you. When you looked up, he held a few wispy strands of green hair in his closed fist.

Caracalla let out a mean laugh. “His hair is real, brother. I knew it! Tell me, medicus, is that shade natural where you’re from.”

“I dyed it,” As hard as you tried to keep the annoyance from your tone, you failed miserably. To soothe the pain Caracalla left behind, you rubbed your knuckles against your aching scalp.

Geta looked amused at your expense, the harsh lines of his face softening once his brother was in view. Caracalla was oblivious to this change, his attention focused solely on you. “What is your name?”

When you told him your name, his nose scrunched up in disgust. “What a horrible noise. I refuse to call you that.” Caracalla turned to Geta, his hand lazily cradling his cheek as he rested his elbow upon his throne. “Brother, any ideas? Perhaps, viridans?”

Geta hummed, deep in thought. Given the speed at which he answered, it sounded as if whatever name he intended to give you had been on his mind since he met you. “Alga.”

In response, Caracalla let out another hyena-esque giggle, clapping his hands together with glee. “Yes, yes, Alga is perfect, brother!” Without missing a beat, he turned to you, gold tooth glowing in the sunset with the rest of his jewelry. “You are Alga, now, physician. We expect you to answer to it.”

Your mouth pressed into a thin line. It was the only sign of your displeasure you would let show. The emperors seemed to think of you as a stray dog or a new toy that they could tease and name as they saw fit. For as much as it irritated you, you had enough self preservation to let it go.

“Of course, Caesarēs.”

And just like that, you could practically hear the bars to your gilded cage lock shut.

A/N: Yayyyyyyy, chapter two is done. I am so, so worried that Geta and Caracalla are OOC or their dialogue seems off. Fuck it, we ball. I hope I was able to get it across well, but Geta is playing 5d chess with everyone in his head because he’s convinced Marianus and company are all traitors and spies. The only reason he agreed to let them become a physician was to catch them in the act and then make an example out of all three of them. In his defense, bringing someone back to life doesn’t seem very plausible. Caracalla, on the other hand, is too busy being like ‘tralalalala’ to keep up with the Kira Deathnote levels of insanity Geta is on.

Also, in case you missed it in the last authors note, ‘alga’ means ‘seaweed’ or ‘something of little worth’ in Latin. Those two are pricks with a capital ‘P’ let me tell you.

Oh, BTW, if you noticed that yn’s dialogue is stilted or weird in some placed, that’s on purpose! I’m trying to mimic the eay they sound speaking Latin, as it’s not theie first language and they are rather clumsy with it.

Anyway, thanks for reading!!! Comments mean so much to me btw, I love feedback. I need it to survive. And, if you have any questions about the Latin or cultural stuff, PLEASE ask, I would love to tell you. Yayyyyyy, that’s it, love you, bye!!!

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370

[midnightfox8]

Gladiator! Ghost x Emperor's Husband! Soap

Omegaverse, Ancient Rome, Dual sex omegas (author never do that before)

I

ACT ONE

Each of Ghost's scars was full of pain, each of his bleeding wounds had its own bloody beginning, each breath was a sign that fate and the gods still thirsted for revenge, each of his wild battles ended in his furious victory.

The people adored him, their eyes beholding the savagery and ferocity of Simon Riley, a former Centurion of British origin, once matched by Roman legionaries and trained by Price himself, commander of the Emperor's Praetorian Guard (*personal guard).

Ghost's face is covered with sticky sweat with drops of blood, his eyes are directed at his enemy, he swings his sword with strength and thins out when striking a blow in his direction.

“He’s not going to give up,” the alpha thinks, he leans over to better inspect the slope. Graves was not going to give up, he grinned at him predatorily.

Both sweaty under the scorching sun and wounded, they continued to compete with each other until only they remained.

The entire arena is full of enthusiastic people shouting the names of the gladiators remaining on the battlefield.

"Ghost!" "Ghost!" "Ghost!" The people screamed, shouting the name of the defamed man, as soon as the arena witnessed justice, which was the imagination of quenching glory and entertainment for the masters.

Under Simon’s feet, the loose sand became hot, and on his thighs, dried drops of blood made his skin itch, this was not the first time he had to take a life, he had killed more than once, there was no mercy for him.

“They're screaming your name, traitor.” A bead of sweat rolls down Graves' nose, his face torn with wounds.

He is limping, Simon catches the thought.

Ghost concentrates between Philip's legs and strikes with precision with a sharp blade right between the other alpha's knees. He growls loudly and falls to his knees, feeling the warm scarlet liquid coloring his legs.

"Kill!" the people roars, reaching euphoria.

A moment of dissonance and shock buys Simon time before Graves stands, holding him on his knees, dragging his sword along Graves' neck.

“Nnnggg,” Graves grunts hoarsely, a growing sense of fear gripping him as metal stained with the blood of other men is pressed against his skin.

He teases him, waiting for the moment, because they need a show.

The screams of people are getting louder, Graves clenches his teeth, he silently accepts his fate, feeling how hard and a huge palm grabs his hair.

"Kill him!" they shout.

Ghost raises his dark eyes to the highest point of the Colosseum, the abode of the emperor himself and his court. Among the faces he knows, he sees one pair of blue eyes rapidly looking at him.

In the whole world, the only ray of light is still the greatness in this blue abyss.

Simon's gaze moves to another figure, dressed in a white tunic and with a Civic Crown on his head, he's smirks with milice.

Emperor Makarovius, sitting on his throne like an arrogant deity, extends his hand and smiles smugly at the call of the crowd, his thumb pointing down, he has made a decision.

Steel pierces its way along Graves neck, and before he can even cry out, Ghost brutally decapitates the man, causing louder excitement.

The Ghost's free hand covered the man's mouth.

muffling the wet, gurgling cry of shock as he sliced ​​through the vulnerable flesh of the soldier's neck with one clean blow.

As if by a quick impulse, Ghost in an oriented manner deprived the alpha of his head, while bleeding his legs.

He lifts Graves's head from the loose sand under his feet, ignoring the puddle of blood, a grimace of pain was the last emotion imprinted on the face of the unfortunate Phillip.

Ghost! Ghost! Ghost! The screams became louder and louder each time. He won the hearts of the audience, but the only thing that worried the Gladiator was the heart of the man sitting next to the Emperor.

“Are you satisfied now?” He frowns, feeling the corners of Makarovius's lips turn up.

Graves's face froze in a silent scream.

Sick bastard...

The hubbub of the people died down when the Emperor solemnly exclaimed,

“The gods have had mercy on Ghost again!” Makarovius, dressed in an elegant tunic, delighted the people. “Lucky for you, slave!” he grins, chuckles.

Luxury, grandeur, hypocrisy and cruelty, these traits are inherent in Makarovius, no one has ever resisted his will, except for Simon Riley, it was his refusal to attack the settlement of the Britons that became an insult to the Emperor.

which is why he simply deprived the Centurion of his possessions, lands, honor and freedom, leaving it to fate.

Having survived slavery from the master Manuelius Roba, Simon was able to reach Rome thanks to battles.

Price was able to ransom him from Roba's hands, but could not give him freedom, so Simon was forced to fight for what he had lost.

But Makarovius did not know that Ghost was Simon Riley. Therefore, using the helmet and soot as a camouflage, the alpha was able to make his name as Ghost.

Ghost again receives the regalia and will leave the arena, accompanied by attentive glances.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lovers

The dim light of a torch illuminates a stone fortress prison; in the middle of a dark tunnel, a man in a dark hood with a guard approached towards a separate cell, it was spacious and locked with an iron door.

“Ghost,” Soap whispers low.

There is a rustling sound behind the door Soap glances at Gaz, the young beta slowly unlocks the iron door, he hides the keys in his belt.

“Be careful, master,” Kyle lets the man in front and closes the door behind him.

The prison cell is dark, with only a tiny number of candles illuminating the small room, but Ghost has no difficulty seeing the man with the mohawk in front of him.

Soap smiles softly at him, “Si”, the blue-eyed man with tenderness on his lips adjoins Simon.

“Johnny”, He says quietly.

Ghost is not lost, he kisses Soap.

Both hungry, bored men kissed deeply and long, clinging tightly. Erratic breathing and muffled groans fill the space.

“Simon”, Soap mutters, barely moving away from the alpha's lips.

“Got you, love,” Ghost says mildly.

His dark pupils enlarging as Johnny continues to kiss him, moving his lips along his jawline.

Simon runs his hands along Soap's waist, he touches the silky tunic and traces invisible patterns along the omega's strong shoulders.

“Ye scared me,” Soap mutters, his fingertips brushing the jagged scar along the alpha's cheek, “I don't want to lose ye”.

“Never, Johnny”, Ghost says huskily.

It seemed that such a forbidden connection between them was a sin, but how could one resist it?

Every night Soap came to him at the risk of himself, every night he sneaked out and spent the whole night with him, and in the morning they both returned to their lives.

For Soap, life in the imperial palace was dull, and he had to share a bed with his husband less and less... so Ghost captured his attention.

Upon first seeing Ghost, this is what Soap saw; a conqueror, a beast in human skin, bloody and victorious, his eyes burning with furious joy, his teeth bared as he dug his knife into the dead flesh so that it would be easier for the fire to eat.

It was love at first sight. Since then, John could not stop visiting him under the cover of darkness.

Gladiator was once just fun and a good time for John, but after... they both couldn't stop it.

John catches the dark eyes on him, he grinned.

“My alpha should get a proper reward”, he coos, kneeling in front of Ghost, who just grunts.

“Wanna makes me, Johnny?” Simon whispered hoarsely.

“Maybe,” John chuckled breathlessly, leaning forward and mouthing along the line of his cock through his pants.

The grip on his hair tightened, and John revelled in the realisation that Simon was already hard. Looking up through his lashes and holding eye contact, John smirked, opening his mouth and dragging his tongue over the fabric of Simon’s clothed crotch.

Simon looks at Soap with hunger eyes.

He’s handsome, too, stupid mohawk aside. He’s got thick arms and thicker thighs, skin honeyed by the sun, blue eyes and a sweet grin...

\\\

The heady scent of sex in the air, and then stopping sound of pussy easily swallowing Ghost fingers.

Velvet skin pulsing and sliding against his own. Ghost’s hot breath whispering near his face.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost whispers hoarsely, his pants intensifying as his pale lashes flutter.

“Simon,” he cries, the sound swallowed by Ghost’s unrelenting mouth.

Ghost sits back between Soap's legs, which means He gets an eyeful of him. Ghost has trimmed his pubic hair, just enough that it doesn't look too deliberate.

“Missed me, sweetheart?” Ghost suddenly asks. His brown eyes have gone dark and he gives Soap a hungry grin.

“Yeah,” Soap says with a breathy laugh as his cock twitches. “But I also like when you in me”.

“Fuck–” Ghost's voice is rough, and then he finally does demonstrate his grip strength.

Soap's sloppy pussy is dripping with slick, his cock is hard, Ghost growls.

It's like a vice, and for several seconds his head is full of white noise. Then Ghost lets go and Soap gasps. He's so hard it almost hurts, and he begins to grind down on Ghost with way less coordination.

“Fuck, please,” he gasps. “Fuck me, I need ya”, Soap swallowed hard.

“Fucking hell, Johnny”, Ghost says again. He sounds a bit awed.

Alpha growled softly under his breath, keeping his eyes on the younger man and spreading his legs wide, as if it would be a direct sign for Omega to approach him.

Omega tensed, slightly surprised and a bit overwhelmed by the size of the alpha, but after a few long seconds, a long moan came out of his mouth, which made Ghost immediately start to move his hips, sliding his manhood out of omega's hot pussy.

It was enough to make him lose himself in the pleasure. He was as comfortable with no one as this blue-eyed succubus.

Soap moans loudly as Ghost inserts himself again at a wilder pace, fucking him.

“Alpha,” John whimpers as a mushy palm presses into his wet folds and runs his fingers along the entire length, feeling the stretch, and then rises straight to Soap’s hard cock, making several thrusts.

Ghost moved like a beast during mating, he tore John's cunt, coaxing loud moans from the man's sweet lips. He growls, feeling the spongy walls reflexively compress him with pressure.

Loud moans, the sound of wet balls and a squelching pussy make it clear that both yearning lovers have reunited again in a passionate tandem.

With smooth strokes, Ghost continues to move, greedily kissing the omega’s loose lips.

“Inside, please,” Soap moans, wrapping his legs around Ghost’s waist.

The alpha growls contentedly, he closes his eyes and then wildly begins to lick the man’s neck.

They know they can't... But Johnny loves it when Simon kisses his scent gland.

"Johnny," Ghost whimpers as Soap's cunt squeezes him, causing his knot to swell.

Ghost's pulsating cock out like a pale web directly into the desired ring of muscles.

Both men roll their eyes, letting out a blissful moan. Soap again attaches his lips to Ghost.

By morning, John barely leaves him, again holding back his tears, the omega kisses his lover on the mouth, promising to give him the desired freedom.

ACT TWO

Soap sweeps his eyes around his periphery, he is relaxing in the garden, hidden in the shade, several servants pour him wine and serve him grapes. He doesn't feel happy, he feels like he's in a golden cage where everyone is trying to control him.

With a slight movement of his hand, he runs his fingers around the goblet, observing the scarlet liquid.

"Is my husband upset?" Makarovius's voice forces the corners of Soap's lips to droop.

“Don’t wanna to drink,” John knows that the alpha will insidiously try to find out everything about him. John is lying. He's a good actor.

Appears on Vladimir's face grin, "Whatever you say," the alpha mutters as he leans down and kisses Soap's temple.

Not like Simon, he thinks, Makarovius does not stand on ceremony; he obliges Soap to be obedient to him.

For three years now, John has been enduring this, his own mother married him off to the emperor, she humiliated her son more than his older sisters, who were able to start families out of love.

“Today the doctor will visit us,” he snaps, leaving the man alone.

Soap frowns, he has been trying to get pregnant for several years now, he tried his best to spend his heats with his husband, but Makarovius could not give birth, an alpha who is not capable of conceiving is a shame - so John became a target for bullying instead of his husband. John knows he's capable. Right now he is afraid of this, no one should know that there is a life growing under his heart.

Soap slowly runs his hand over his stomach, they have to put an end to this tonight.

***

Silence fills the walls, the sounds of guards passing by become increasingly distant, Ghost quietly enters the palace, dressed in a guards uniform.

Tonight, Price withdrew security from the west side, allowing Ghost to be deployed for a short time. Revenge. Kill. Johnny. And run away with Johnny. This was the plan, but among the main aspects, Simon chose only two - Kill Makarovius and escape with Soap.

Makarovius's chambers were large; two guards were just changing duty. Having prepared himself, Ghost was able to get inside. There was silence inside, the dim light of candles barely fills the royal chambers, when Ghost slowly and quietly approaches the bed, he does not notice anyone. It must be... The alpha turns at the sharp rumbling sound, his instincts did not deceive him.

He fuckin' knew.

Standing in front of him is Soap, frightened and pale with fear, his hands in chains and his face covered with bruises... His omega Behind him stands Makarovius, smiling disgustingly, his dark eyes sparkling with wild flame.

Ghost clutches the sword in his hand, he frowns.

"Here's a meeting of lovers, right?" Vladimir purred playfully, he holds the dagger, pointing the sharp end at Soap, drawing an invisible line at his throat. The gag in John's mouth causes the omega to growl furiously. Ghost instinctively tenses, he dared to touch his omega.

He must die.

Makarovius knows he can't win, so he uses a dirty move.

“Dirty bastard,” Ghost growls through his teeth. When he approaches both men, the alpha immediately presses the dagger directly to John, threatening to take his life with one movement of his hand.

“No, otherwise he…,” Vladimir giggles, Ghost silently looks at Soap. Omega glances at him, scared. Simon throws the sword and the metal hits the marble floor with a ringing sound.

“Simon Riley, my dear centurion, so this is where you have been,” Vlad began, “You are Ghost. So what did you come for? To kill me?” Alpha smiles evilly, he enjoys the way Simon clenches his fists, how Soap's heart beats hard under the onslaught of death...

“I’ll rip out all your bones,” Ghost hisses. Laughter fills the walls, Makarovius seems to be holding an ace in his hand, and so it is. Soap is Simon's weakness.

“You two are idiots,” Vlad runs his dagger across John’s chest, his white tunic disheveled, the omega frowning and growling through his gag, “You pretended well, dear, but your feelings gave you away.” Ghost wants to cut off Vladimir’s bloody hand and shut his mouth.

“Coward,” Ghost chuckles darkly, the alpha frowning displeasedly at his words. “Be an alpha and fight me,” Ghost comes closer, this alarms Makarovius and he sharply points the dagger straight to Soap’s stomach.

"Stay where Riley, or I'll deprive you of something valuable." Soap growls when the sharp end touches the torso –

Ghost blinks. No Simon looks at the alpha in disbelief, trying to find the truth in Soap's gaze. "This whore is carrying your bastard".

Glassy blue eyes look at him.

"Johnny," Ghost mutters. His blood rushes, he breathes loudly, feeling that anger is ready to burst out of him and destroy the bastard

“Surrender and accept death,” Makarovius is lost without letting on.

He'll regret it

"Johnny", an unfamiliar voice comes from Ghost's chest, it sounds like a wounded animal.

“If you keep this up, I’ll—” Makarovius trembles as Simon gets close to him.

Soap kicks, he loses control of him when Ghost manages to hit him.

Vladimir falls insignificantly and does not have time to grab the dagger when Ghost hangs over him and hits him mercilessly, he hits him with a wild and furious flow and forgets about how Vladimir is trying to escape as his hands wander to save himself. With a loud sound of bones, Ghost keeps his word and crushes every bone in the dead emperor's body.

Soap looks at the angry alpha, scarlet blood flowing down his hands.

Freedom

The bright rays of the sun play on Soap's tanned skin, his wide smile gives Ghost peace, he runs his large hand over the omega's big belly.

Loud children's laughter fills the walls of Riley's house. Simon watches his son and daughter play tag in the garden, laughing happily.

Johnny purrs as the alpha runs his lips over his mating gland.

“Soon there will be a third one running with them,” Soap sings.

“My love”, Simon says mildly, he swoon when his husband runs his hand over his cheek. "Still not getting enough, Johnny?" he teases.

Soap just looks at him with a challenge, “Never, I want to be full of your puppies,” the blue-eyed one gives Ghost a kiss.

That's all he wanted.

Since Emperor Makarovius was killed and justice was restored, Ghoust received the right to freedom and all his awards, possessions and regalia were returned to him.

John and Simon began to live in the south of the empire away from Rome, despite the return of the position of centurion, Riley decided to live a quiet life with his husband and his future (five) children. They lived in love and fidelity until their death, John died first and after three days Simon followed the love of his life.

In place of Makarovius, his cousin Nicolasius became emperor and became famous for his peaceful rule along with his husband Price.

The future grandson of Soap and Ghost became an emperor known as the great among the great. His reign in Rome was called the golden beginning (he abolished gladiorator fights and gave all slaves the opportunity to become free)

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: Octavian wasn’t his real name but a nickname.

Octavian joined Camp Jupiter as a wide eyed and short tempered 11 year old. He believed himself to be sharper than his peers. And that he didn’t need them to succeed.

One of the Praetor’s at the time, Jules overheard him taunting his fellow 1st cohort legionaries. She was none too pleased and so in the 1st’s next training session, she selected Octavian to fight her.

Octavian was overconfident in his own abilities and was defeated very quickly. With a cutting analysis on his abilities and his place at Camp.

You’d think a humiliating loss like that would have turned him against her.

But it became clear as time went on that Octavian’s strive to improve was built upon earning Jules respect.

Jules was a strategic mind. She was cunning, clever and a strategist that the rest of the legion looked too for guidance.

In short she was everything Octavian wanted to be and more.

He would trail behind her and constantly ask for tips and advice like an eager younger sibling. Yet Jules, despite her cold nature ever sent him away. She always answered,

It was clear she had grown fond of him too.

To the point many joked that the boy might become her successor when she stepped down as Praetor one day.

Hence the nickname.

As Octavian (formerly Augustus) named himself the successor to Julius Caesar.

Unfortunately even for a legacy like her, happy endings are never in the cards. While on a quest, Jules was ambushed by her quest mates and while she fought back valiantly she lost her life.

The traitors were killed and her body was retrieved and buried. Octavian took her death the hardest. After her funeral he discarded his old identity and took on the moniker of Octavian.

He didn’t use his old name nor did he answer to it.

He was Octavian.

Legacy of Apollo.

He would be Jules’s successor.

No matter what it cost.

(Jules is just an oc for this she doesn’t exist in canon btw.)

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

On the scale from abandonment to 'Oh my God! I'm gunna be a dad?!' level od happiness ...

Where do you think your ghoul harem would fall?

Firstly, I got quite the kick out of you calling it my harem, Anon. I can't lie, that's what my husband and I playfully call it because that's what it feels like. They all live in a little sex paddock in my brain. Also, if you or anyone else is interested and hasn't seen it, I've previously discussed how I think being pregnant by a ghoul would go, as well as what I think the genetic offspring of a ghoul would be like here.

I suppose we'll go "happiest" to "least happy". It's a tad long, but I may add others in the future; some of them are a bit NSFW. Mild trigger warnings for minor discussions of death and forced abortion.

This was a fun ask; thanks for reading!

Cooper Howard would be absolutely over the moon. Puts him in the best mood you've ever seen him in and spikes his sex drive through the roof. Ravenously horny your entire pregnancy, but, as I discussed once before, he refuses to have penetrative sex for fear of hurting you or the baby. He's one of the only ghouls we canonically know has had a child before, and he loves being a father. Though he and Barb had tried with all their might to have more children, it never worked out for them, so being a dad again was a dream he'd abandoned even before the War. Sure, he worries about the world you're bringing the child into, but he's confident in his ability to protect and provide. There would be a thick layer of guilt or sadness, as well, if he's still searching for Janey. But it's not like he's gonna give up looking for his first family just because he's creating a new one.

Edward Deegan is also thrilled, but with an edge of the typical fear you'd feel at knowing your life is about to change completely. I'd say he has the most "normal" reaction out of the bunch. He's wanted a family for a long time and has been slowly planning and building up resources, waiting for the right person to come along. Still, there's no perfect-feeling time to have a baby, he tells himself, so it'll always be a bit scary. Spoils you a ton (if you're getting a "push present" from anyone, it's him or Coop), but also infantilizes you a bit the way people often do to pregnant folks. "First time father" anxiety big time. He also gets pretty horny about it, but he's less afraid of hurting you. Figures that if the pregnancy itself is super radioactive already, a little extra won't hurt. Still, he worries about his size, so you're generally on top of him or on your side when the two of you have sex.

John Hancock is petrified beyond belief and harbors serious doubts that he's worthy of fatherhood, but that doesn't stop him from being happy, especially after you reassure him a bit. He's always wanted family, always searched for and attempted to piece one together, and the fact that you want to build one with him overwhelms him with joy. I will say that I believe John's reaction in his younger days would have been abandonment out of sheer panic. He'd hate himself for it, and he might show back up a few years down the road in an attempt to fix things once he's healed more, but if we're honest with ourselves, he has a history of hitting the road when things get tough.

Joshua Graham is of two minds about it. There's the "Mormon former Legionary and misogynist with a massive breeding kink" part of him that's very excited by the news, so excited that he gets lightheaded from how much blood rushes to his cock when you tell him. On that front, he feels a level of satisfaction he's never felt before and would love to bend you over the nearest stable surface to celebrate. You know, after a good prayer of thanks. On the other hand...he feels immediate panic and fear that it's basically a trap, not from you, but from God. Suspects he's being led into an even worse downfall than before, like he'll have you and the child only to have you both snatched away. He hides that suspicion, though; he doesn't want to scare you or make you worry. You do notice he seems to pray even more than he did before after you tell him you're pregnant, to the point you worry for his mental health (not that you didn't already). You'd worry more if you knew he basically views himself as in negotiations with God for your safety.

Gob's catatonic in shock for a solid half hour, but once his ears stop ringing, he's pretty excited. Granted, he's a massive worrier, and this only gives him another point of fear to whittle away at in his mind, another loved one to fret over. He's very sweet to you after he calms down, though, making his best efforts to apologize for not reacting "properly" to the news the first time.

Raul reacts much like Gob, but the stress literally makes him physically ill when you tell him. The pain of losing the people he already has nearly killed him, and all he can think about is how much losing a child would hurt. He comes around, though, especially once you start to show and he starts to remember what it was like to grow up with a big family full of love. He's overly protective of you, though, to the point where he may become a bit controlling out of fear and be blind to it.

Rotface is excited, but an even larger part of him feels ashamed because he knows he's not in a place to contribute materially to the raising of a child. May become especially desperate for money while you're pregnant to the point where he falls into trouble.

Kent Connolly doesn't really know how to react when you tell him. Feels guilty that his initial feeling isn't joy. He's never pictured himself as a father, and he's not sure he'd be any good at it. Plus, having a child involves looking a lot more at the future than the past, which isn't how Kent's lived his life for a long, long time. His reaction will depend a lot on your own. Will come around to being excited if you are.

Charon's reaction is complicated. He sees how excited you are, and part of him feels excited too, but a much larger part of him feels an existential dread that's trying to swallow him whole. For one, he doesn't see himself as the sort of man who would make a functional father, let alone a good one. But that isn't his primary worry. Mostly, he worries for your health. Between his size (and therefore the likely size of your baby once you reach full term) and the radiation exposure, he fears he could lose you. Traumatic birth can easily kill in the wasteland. Doesn't care for the risk, and you're all the family he needs. He definitely tries to talk you into getting rid of it, which may or may not cause a massive argument.

Harland might actually stick around a bit longer than he'd originally planned if you got pregnant, but only to help you through "taking care of it". Loses all sexual interest in you (or, at the very least, he pretends to so you won't get ideas about things working out between you). He's not a completely uncaring prick, but he's very blunt in telling you he has no intentions of being a father, and that if you choose to pursue parenthood, you'll be doing it solo. He may waver a bit on this stance, but ultimately he'd never be a consistently present father.

Jason Bright evaporates into thin air before you can finish telling him. As far as he sees it, your needs (and the needs of the child) will never matter more than his mission to liberate ghouls. Plus, being a father doesn't fit into his plans to literally leave the planet, so...

Dean Domino will stick around...if you get rid of it. You think ol' Dean-o has never pressured a woman into an abortion before? If only you could ask Vera; she'd have incredibly unpleasant stories to tell you. Don't get me wrong, he gets a kick out of the idea that he's claimed you to completely, and he may even wanna fuck you a few times while you're pregnant. However, it's very much a "Thanks, that was cute; now chuck that thing." scenario. If you're determined to keep it, contrary to what he wants, be very careful. Dean's insidious in how underhanded he can be when people cross him. Your life could be in danger.

[nthflower]

Arcades Latin quirk is so funny to me.

Like some characters being fluent in Latin and adding Latin to daily life talk for no big reason is cool and sexy concept no problems with that.

But considering the same character lives in a world where there is a huge slaver army who happens to be Roman LARPers and use Latin for everything and terrorising the area for 30ish years and there is also an upcoming war with them it becomes hilarious.

Like wtf are you doing babe average wastelander does not even know what America is anymore and he starts quoting some random Roman soldier on Latin or something out of nowhere.

And then he makes so much stress people discovering he has enclave origins like objectively chances of someone shooting him because they think he is legionary is very much higher than someone finding out where he was born.

So much stress to keep his name clean but zero effort to do it smh smh.

[elbiotipo]

The Rise and Fall of the Fantasy Roman Empire (part one(?)

I have said in many other posts that the popular fantasy genre, especially in TTRPG settings (official or homebrew) is almost married to the European Middle Ages aesthetics while in fact often presenting a more "early modern" society, with the results of intercontinental trade, widespread printing, growing literacy and urbanization, etc. This isn't limited to the fantasy genre though. In space opera science fiction, though not as common nowadays, the idea of a Galactic Empire (or a Galactic Republic that turns into an Empire), in some way or another, was considered a staple of the genre. Why is that? (long post incoming)

Perhaps the most notorious thing to note here are the parallels to the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, as in, straight up retellings of it sometimes (Isaac Asimov's Foundation). The Roman Empire is considered in many ways to be The Empire, its influence on Western culture cannot be overstated and people project their own fears and anxieties when analyizing its rise, decline and fall, which is perhaps one of the most complex areas of historiography for these reasons.

And I'm going to take a stab at this incredibly complex topic and its influence on fiction, so this will be inevitably simplified, but as you might be aware, the Roman Empire really didn't fall just like that. Of course, the Byzantine Empire survived in the East, and if you're one of those annoying Paradox Interactive Byzantine fans you know they called themselves "Romans" right to the very end all the way in 1453 CE (for reference, the last Western Roman Emperor was deposed in 476 CE, almost a thousand years before). And also, the theory of the "barbarian invasions" is overstated, while there was certainly conflict and violence, it wasn't that the last legionaries fell to hordes of barbarians. In fact, many of those barbarians WERE Romans themselves, fought for the Roman empire as allies, and after they built their own kingdoms they kept using Roman titles and administration. On the other hand, you can see a decline on quality of life, literacy, trade, public works, administration, in many places, that would not be surmounted until late in the Middle Ages.

So, some say the Roman Empire never truly fell, other say that it was just replaced by feudal goverments as it declined, and yet others say that there really was a sharp catastrophic decline that justifies the idea of a "dark ages". So, what really happened?

Well, again, to oversimplify the most debated topic ever in historiography, the Roman Empire was big, and when it fell, different places took it differently. As I've said, the Byzantine Empire survived with a highly modified society but still "Roman" in a sense, for centuries, with a centralized state and army, though it also hit hard by wars with the Persian Sassanian Empire and later Islamic empires and it turned more and more to feudalism as time went on. However, the big urban centers, goverment bureaucracy, literate society (for the time), trade centers in the Middle East... might have declined, but never dissapeared. In fact, when the Islamic caliphates conquered the region, their rule (again, to oversimplify) was a version of Roman administration, and it was the abundance of classical literature and literacy found in the region that impulsed the Islamic Golden Age.

Meanwhile... Western Europe didn't do so great. I won't stay to analyze the entire reasons for it, but the Roman administration was replaced first by ad-hoc kingdoms and then a complex feudal system which you might be familiar with, where noble families and aristocrats ruled their own pieces of land and titles, swearing fealty to a king, much unlike the more state-based Roman bureaucracy (you could even go to an extreme and say there was no state per se, just alliances and fealty among aristocratic families). There was a sharp decline of literacy outside of the church, there was not an state that could guarantee the public works and vibrant Roman economy, and wars and plagues were devastating (sometimes against the "Roman Empire" itself, like in Justinian's attempts at reconquering the West). In places such as France and Italy, you could really talk about a huge decline.

The place that probably took it the worst, however, was Britain. Roman Britain was part of the Roman Empire, connected to its trade routes, economy, and cultural dynamics. The separation was devastating (at least to the Romanized Britons, perhaps it was good for other peoples in the island). Anything resembling central authority in Britain just ceased to be, replaced by warlords. Cities were abandoned. There was no trade with the rest of the world. Literacy declined so much that little is known about the period. Post-Roman Britain is the closest thing to a true "Dark Ages", in fact, it might be the prototypical dark ages for the English-speaking world.

And this is where I was getting at. The decline of the Roman Empire left a strong impression in all of Europe (hence the Rennaisance, praised at the time as the return of classical culture, but that's another overly complex historiographic topic). But it was in Britain that it left the most strong impression of a true Dark Ages. This was reflected in one of the English-speaking world's most prominent works, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon. So prominent that it inspired Isaac Asimov's Foundation trilogy almost beat by beat (someone joked, I don't remember where, that because of the number of Galactic Empires in science fiction, Gibbon is the most influential sci-fi writer)

And you can guess where this is going with fantasy. While I can't say Tolkien, the grandfather of modern popular fantasy (the father is Gary Gygax) copied Gibbon 1:1, you can feel the same conception of the British Dark Ages sweeping through his work. Ancient ruins of the glorious past in what could be termed, a bit tongue-in-cheek, as post-apocalyptic fantasy. Lord of the Rings reads sometimes like something set in the Early Middle Ages, the so called "Dark Ages", not so much elaborate plate armor and vibrant cities, but rather chainmail armor and abandoned ruins (like the romantic conception of the Fall of Rome, I haven't even touched on romanticism here...). This is of course not a coincidence. Tolkien's favorite inspirations (Beowulf, Norse myth) were from the Early Middle Ages.

And since this scenario was already popular in the English-speaking world, and RPGs such as Dungeons and Dragons (again, the father of popular fantasy) were based on Tolkien, you can see how this shaped our conception of not only the real-life Middle Ages, but also the fantasy genre in... general. You know the "Points of Light" "setting" for D&D 4e? Read all I've told you, and think about it. Really think about it.

As an addenum, I'm from Latin America of course, and unfortunately, our own fantasy and science fiction was never as popular as the English ones. However, there is something interesting to consider here. The Roman Empire in Iberia "fell" to the Visigoths, which tried to keep a kind of Roman administration, as successors to them. The Visigoths were in turn replaced by Al-Andalus, one of the most unique cultures of all times. It was the struggle between the Christian and Muslim kingdoms (the so-called Reconquista, a simplified and supremacist narrative that forgets about all the cultural interaction that existed for centuries) and then the conquest (or rather plunder) of America which left the most striking markd in Spanish and Portuguese classical (pre-XIX century) literature. What marks did those events leave in our fiction here in Latin America? Which on its own has become its own thing beyond Iberia...

If you want to read more about the *fall* of the Roman Empire, I cannot recommend enough this three part series from the blog ACOUP (I'll leave you to figure the acronym) which I took much information for what I said in this post from, and goes into much more depth which I could ever hope to: 1, 2, 3.

For my part, I actually intend this to be an introduction to a topic I've been wanting to talk since forever (a few days ago): Space Empires. Galactic Empires and Republics. You might think they are a dead trope, you might think "'well, they're more of fantasy than realistic science fiction", but I'm not exactly to prove that Star Wars is unrealistic, but rather to talk about the worldbuilding and narrative choices (and yes, perhaps more than a bit bit of economics, politics and logistics as well) of space empires, and what are some other options you could consider if you're building a space setting.

If you liked this post, and would like to read more like above, please, feel free to follow, and also consider donating to my ko-fi, as I intend to write more in the future:

[vazelinacocomix]

Sort of manga for the 20th year anniversary of the magazine belonging to the team behind Otaku festival, soon to be published. One of the oldest trees, in the Romanian capital city, almost burned down around 4 years ago, leaving behind a hollow inside. Ever since the incident, a piece of metal is strapped to its side, turning it into an occasional refuge for the homeless. This is the roughly translated version, the printed one is in Romanian.

The alt manga is about the spirit of a world living on the outskirts, almost forgotten by the hijacked revolution's aftermath. To look forward, this homeless grandfather keeps in mind the words of Lena Constante as well as the old-survivor-tree's lessons of life.

☯︎ This December marks 35 years since the Revolution of 1989, back when Ceaușescu's dictatorship ended. Nationalism, coupled with nostalgia for the by-gone Communist era, alongside homophobe outbursts and pro-extreme right Legionari fanatics have bombarded our everyday scrollable realities and, according to some, almost lead to a second Mineriad. Meanwhile, the presidential elections've been rescheduled for spring 2025.

♗♤🃟Gonna end this post and the year with a reminder to support causes such as the Innitiative Group defending the I.O.R. Park and independent journalists such as the guys at Snoop, tracing the tangled web behind our chaotic Romanian political life.

[askmalal]

The Primarchs had Their Brothers, Part XI continued.

I. The Lion:

“I did not always agree with him, nor even approve of him. But he was my brother, and I trusted him. Such a fine brother we did not deserve.”

II. (Redacted):

“(The Eleventh) nearly broke Mortarion’s nose when the latter questioned my right to sit at the table as one of the Emperor’s children. I didn’t ask him to do so. I did not call for help. He simply did it. An hour before, the two had been playing Shatar.”

III. Fulgrim:

“He tells me honestly when he feels something in my collection is too gaudy. He will be frank when he dislikes my compositions. He will tease me if he feels I am ‘preening like a peacock.’ And yet for a man who is literally incapable of seeing any color but shades of black and grey, the man’s taste in art is astoundingly spot on.”

IV. Perturabo:

“In our last correspondence, he told me that my decision at Theta-Bartlett was wrong. He was, of course incorrect. He felt that he had the right to make the criticism. He was, of course, correct.”

V. The Khan:

“There are no horses on [REDACTED]! What an awful childhood that must have been! Thank goodness they had dogs!”

VI. The Russ:

“On his adopted homeworld, the rough translation of the local word for whiskey is ‘Water of Life’. Taken from the old Gaelic. I love these people.”

VII. Rogal Dorn:

“He has asked me to help in designing new buildings for the planets in his home star system. He admits he is no architect. His ideas are sound, however, and I am sure I can work with them.”

VIII. Kurze:

“The ‘Devil’s Hound’ a local song calls him. I had to meet this man. I was not disappointed, though it took.. some time for the ice between us to thaw.”

IX. Sanguinius:

“His flying leaves a great deal to be desired. He tries, bless him, but the best jet pack in the galaxy can’t save him. This is a man meant for the void, yes, and the land and water as well. But the air? Thank goodness his Legionaries manage it.”

X. Ferrus Manus:

“Can you believe that our first operation together involved sinking a battleship? A battleship? How often have I done that? That was… that was entertaining.”

XII. Angron:

“A competent killer. Talks too much.”

XIII. Roboute Guiliman:

“I was afforded the opportunity to visit his adopted home world, once. I must tell you that I have never seen so many bovines, so many flowers… or so many cemeteries. “

XIV. Mortarion:

“He nearly broke my nose once. And upon reflection, the judgmental bastard was probably right to do it.”

“What had you done, my lord?”

“I made a rare miscalculation.”

- Exchange with a Legionary Captain

XV. Magnus:

“He is, upon occasion, overly cautious for my tastes.”

XVI. Horus:

“He is the Emperor’s pathfinder and tracker, you know. His coursing hound. Given the scent, he can find anything. Give the man an eight thousand year old map of a place the cartographer had never been, written in a language he does not read or write, and he can likely still make use of it. I’ve no doubt he could find fictional places, given the opportunity.”

XVII. Lorgar:

“His refusal to abandon his faith does him credit. But, then, he does not proselytize…”

XVIII. Vulkan:

“Have you ever seen a joke so well told that it can make a dreadnought laugh? I have.”

XIX. Corax:

“I read his ‘Summa Artilleria Logistica’’. The man made numbers and ordnance palatable, even interesting. I again regret, deeply, our never having met.”

XX. Alpharius-Omegon:

“Very, very good at keeping a secret… Very, very good indeed.”

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

My Fav (Fic) Things

Thank you to @jolapeno for putting this toot together and asking us to toot ourselves properly. Also, thank you to @schnarfer who I copied and pasted the list from because it's perfect. I'm also keeping the u's in because viva Britain! --- 🌟 Favourite P boy to write: Joel Miller, obviously. (With Dieter Bravo a very close second.) I think specifically non-outbreak Joel just does something to me. Thinking of him living a happy and normal life with Sarah. Also, baseball Joel, because I'm definitely working through the end of my favorite baseball player's career.

🌟 Favourite smut: I really love the smut in Tenacity. Something about Joel Miller breaking furniture. @ohheypedrito and I talked about a gif and then I made the gif into just very hot smut, if I do say so myself. Close second is Suburban Sparks. Please muffle me with that green shirt Javi. (Legit, like please tell me what smut you like from me if you're reading this. You can message me privately or post publicly... I am very interested to know what my readers like.)

🌟 Favourite series: Foxglove Downs is the most world building and planning I've ever put into a fic and I feel like it's paying off as the story goes. Some lovely friends have complimented me on the world I've created, and it means a lot. Close second is Golden Girl because it means @devineconjuring and I just scream at each other.

🌟 Favourite writing to resolve emotional trauma: TW: Pet death. Back in early June, my beloved dog of almost fifteen years tragically passed away. He got sick in mid May and then only two weeks later, after trying to save him we had to say goodbye. It was shocking and just shattered my heart into a million pieces. Then, the Gladiator II trailer was released and... for the first time in over a month I felt the need to write a story--and smut. So, I did what any sane person would do, I wrote a threesome fic with two characters I had very little idea about. That's how Legionary happened. After that, I was able to move on and continue writing. So, thanks Roman dicks.

🌟 Favourite fic that came from an ask: Technically, this has only happened once... and it JUST happened. Joel teaching Ellie how to play guitar. Please take this as an invite to journey over to my inbox so I can write/make you something.

🌟 Most surprising fic: Fifteen Minutes started as a thought in my head while talking to @ohheypedrito during the day of May 4th, and by bedtime I had a fully written fic that now has turned into a whole story.

🌟 Favourite challenge: @punkshort's AU challenge brought me Golden Girl which is now a full series because I fell in love with the characters. (Also, my least favorite thing about challenges is how I was assigned two right before my dog grief journey and I never got around to finishing them and I still feel guilty about not finishing them!)

🌟 Favourite line: I come back a lot to the final lines from Domestica. "In the early morning he wakes up sweaty and panicked, panting for air terrified from his nightmare. You turn over, and grab the hand on his chest, soothing him back to sleep with your sweet voice and soft body against his reassuring him he hasn’t lost anything."

🌟 Favourite hidden treasure: Sweet Sweet Girl. I can't believe I wrote Max Lord and people found it hot.