#looking for roleplayers in the gladiator fandom

[mylunaris]

Saturnalia: The Banquet

The grand hall of the imperial palace gleamed with the golden light of oil lamps, their flames dancing in harmony with the laughter and shouts of revelry. Saturnalia had descended upon Rome, and with it came the lifting of hierarchies, the loosening of tongues, and the indulgence of every vice. Slaves mingled with their masters, toasts rang through the air, and the tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, honeyed pastries, and amphorae of the finest Falernian wine.

Callista stood near the edge of the feast, cloaked in a gown of deep crimson—a shade she knew symbolized both defiance and allure. Her hair, bound loosely in Grecian braids, framed her sharp features, and her dark eyes swept over the room with caution veiled by indifference. The years had taught her that Saturnalia, though meant to be a time of equality, often became an arena for veiled insults and dangerous games.

Across the hall, she spotted the younger of the imperial brothers. Caracalla sat sprawled upon a cushioned couch, his tunic askew, a goblet of wine in hand. Surrounding him were a group of young men, their laughter boisterous as they leaned into each other, exchanging jests and teasing one another like schoolboys. Caracalla, cheeks flushed with drink, waved a hand in Aeliana’s direction, calling out in a voice too loud for the occasion.

“Aeliana Callista!” he slurred, his grin wide. “Come, join us! Or do you fear being the only woman among wolves?”

She inclined her head but did not move, her lips curving into a faint, calculated smile. “I would not dare interrupt such… lively company, my lord”

Caracalla laughed, sloshing wine onto his tunic. “She fears us, lads! Or perhaps she fears me most of all.” The men around him erupted into laughter, though one or two cast her appraising glances, their mirth edged with something darker.

It was then that Geta entered the hall, his presence a stark contrast to his brother’s rowdy display. Dressed in a tunic of deep indigo trimmed with gold, he walked with measured steps, his expression calm but watchful. His gaze found Aeliana almost immediately, and for a moment, their eyes locked.

“Ah, brother” Caracalla called out, raising his goblet in mock salute. “You’re late. Aeliana’s been keeping us entertained with her silence.”

“I’m sure her silence is far more profound than your rambling” Geta replied smoothly, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table. The room chuckled, and Caracalla scowled but soon returned to his wine.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew heavier with drink and indulgence. Aeliana found herself drawn into conversation with various senators and courtiers, each eager to gauge her thoughts on matters ranging from the recent campaign in Britannia to the emperors' rumored ambitions for Parthia. Her answers were careful, her tone measured, for she knew that every word she spoke would be carried beyond these walls.

It was Geta who eventually approached her, a goblet in hand and an air of quiet curiosity about him. “You have grown adept at navigating the treacherous waters of court, Aeliana. A far cry from the girl I once saw training in the arenas of the ludus.”

She turned to him, arching a brow. “And you have grown adept at wielding words like a blade, Dominus. I wonder, do you strike with them as deftly in the Senate as you do here?”

A faint smile crossed his lips, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “The Senate is no arena. It is a den of vipers. But tell me, do you miss the simplicity of the ludus? The honesty of combat?”

Aeliana hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to those early days in the arena. She had been barely more than a child, her body weak and untrained, thrown into the sands as a spectacle meant to degrade her family’s name. She remembered the two imperial boys watching from the stands, Caracalla leaning forward with giddy curiosity, while Geta had sat more stiffly, a boy imitating the posture of a man. Their father’s voice still echoed in her memory:

“Do not look to her as an example” he had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She will not last long. A child’s body is no match for the arena.”

Aeliana had heard those words, even over the roar of the crowd. They had seared into her like a brand, fueling every thrust of her blade, every desperate dodge. She had proven him wrong, but the bitterness of that moment lingered.

“Simplicity is a luxury I’ve never been afforded” she said finally, her voice steady but low. “Not in the ludus, and certainly not here.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Caracalla, who stumbled toward them with a flushed face and anarm slung around one of his companions. “What’s this? My dear brother, are you stealing my guest?”

Geta’s expression hardened slightly, though he maintained his composure. “We were merely discussing old times.”

“Old times, old wounds,” Caracalla mused, his words slurring as he leaned closer to Aeliana. “Callista, do you still dream of your father’s execution? Does his ghost haunt you when you close your eyes?”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the air thick with the weight of his words. Aeliana’s hands clenched at her sides, but her expression remained cold, unyielding. “The dead do not haunt me, my lord. It is the living I fear most.”

Caracalla blinked, then threw back his head and laughed, his mirth echoing through the hall. “A fine answer! You see, Geta? This is why she intrigues me.”

But Geta’s gaze remained fixed on her, a flicker of something like admiration in his eyes. When Caracalla finally moved away, dragging his entourage with him, Geta stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“My brother is a fool, but his words carry venom. Do not let them poison you.”

Aeliana met his gaze, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “Venom only harms those who drink it willingly. I have no intention of doing so.”

For the first time that night, Geta’s expression softened, and he inclined his head in quiet respect. “Then, perhaps, you are stronger than most who walk these halls.”

As the night wore on, Aeliana remained an enigmatic presence, her thoughts a whirlwind of anger, resolve, and the quiet satisfaction of having stood her ground. And as Geta watched her from across the room, he could not help but wonder whether she was a pawn in the imperial game—or a player in her own right.

[cyberghost-scout]

RULE PAGE

Okie Dokie, Please follow the rules before beginning.

Activity: I (the mod) am mostly shy when meeting new RP blogs. If you are a new RP partner, please dm me first that you're interested. I'm decently consistent in my replies in terms of replying. The response length varies from a sentence or two to paragraphs, and my response rate differs on my mood and energy. That's life. Please be considerate. I have the right not to respond to and delete messages I feel uncomfortable answering.

Questions: It is always open!

Friendly towards: Crossovers (If outside of fandom, please explain best as you can), OCs, and Cannon characters.

My views on God Modding it is a big fat NO: Listen here if you are new or it was clear it was a mistake, and apologize. I'll talk it out with you. But if it is apparent, you know what you are doing to me and muses and don't care. Or keep on repeating and expect me to keep on accepting to accept your apology- no. You'll get a reason I will drop you and ban you.

- Magic Anons are fine.

Magic Anons are fine.

Plot lines: For serious plotlines: Please get in touch with me if you want a thread line/ continuity of threads about these subjects (pregnancy, death, injuries, ANGST, etc.) first. It may not happen instantly, but it is nice to let me know. Communication is vital for everyone's fun.

- Also, if you see those excellent RP thread starters and memes and think of me, please share them. Those are fun.

Maturity: I am over the age of 18. (28)

- If you want an NSFW thread, DM me about it. But nsfw will tag it.

- No pedophilia.

Triggers: DM me if you have triggers you want me to avoid as we RP. DM me if I made mistakes with you.

To avoid Drama, here is my Do not list. If violated after, you'll be blocked.  

- Don't force ships between my muses if I meet you. And forcing the ship in a way that warps my own OCs into something different. (A variant of Godmodding looks up my views of Godmodding.)

- My DM's are not a proper RP thread location, and the dm can use them to show plottings threads and aus: posts, funny memes, or funny muse reactions. As well as communication for the muns if a thread response was accidentally unclear, etc. But I kind of it with myself; it makes it far too easy for me to bend backward and let unintentional or not disrespectful roleplayers cross my boundaries, making me feel bad.

- Don't force Rape.

- No TERFs or anti lgbt. 

- No Nazis/ Zionists

- No Discrimination of anything. 

- No Abuse and harassment.

- No pedophilia.

- Updated on 1/17/2023: Due to the onslaught of porn/spam bots, If anyone is going to follow me, please your icon should not be the generic icon or hot people in suggestive poses with nothing in your dashboard.

Please, anyone, who is new, write a post that you are unique and getting settled.

Pornbots and other bots DNI with this blog, you'll be reported and blocked immediately.

Tags: https://www.tumblr.com/cyberghost-scout/727006033346723840/re-done-tag-dump?source=share

MUSES: (New information and links are coming eventually, but I'll leave some info here)

The blog's star, Ghostwire: A grounder cold construct and ex-Decepticon scout, but oddly she kept her symbol. She is a young femme with a powerful (but heavily flawed) ability to phase through an object and make a few others as mass transparent as her. Despite her dark aesthetics and high body count, she's gentle and passionate. Full summary Click here. Here’s what she looks like.

Flow: Ghostwire's closest (and still alive) friend. A dainty seeker from the dancer caste of Vos. Despite her crybaby, fashion-loving, bossy nature- she's charming, can decode, and still has a spitfire of a well-trained seeker. Full summary Click here.

Fedelis: He's Ghostwire's and Phantasma's adoptive sire, a blunt old tank with a brain cell. An old gladiator doctor turned war medic turned defector from what TFA Decepticons have turned to be in cannon, and now a tired tank mech trying to keep everyone he loves and cares for while praying for some patients and vacation. Full summary Click here.

Delta Queen: Flow's boss from when she worked at the Royal's Den, a burlesque club. Very Vampy, milf energy, loves older mechs, boy toys, and some older femmes. She is not afraid to kick you out of her club if you have done something warranted.

Phantasma: Ghostwire's resurrected (long story) sister will be sassy and dry to most. Confident and a trickster, she is trying to get her life together, but most things will not stop her. Full summary: Click here.

[mylunaris]

[OOC] looking at this picture of Geta and Aeliana, do you think they'd share the same heavy eyeliner and dark eyeshadow? Personally, I think they absolutely would. I can totally imagine them sharing a mirror and perfecting that dramatic look together. Maybe a headcanon for the future.

[mylunaris]

He walks like someone who’s known Rome.

The air within the Colosseum reeked of sweat, blood, and anticipation. The scent was familiar to Aeliana, though it no longer stirred the same sense of urgency within her as it once had. She stood near the lower tunnels, where the roar of the crowd echoed like thunder rolling through the earth. Today, a name lingered on the lips of the arena’s spectators—Hanno.

She had seen him fight only once before, on the fateful day when the brutal performance against savage apes had baptized him in Roman bloodlust. The memory of him sinking his teeth into the creature’s flesh was seared into her mind. It was not just the act itself but the expression in his piercing blue eyes—rage untempered, yet strangely focused. It was as though he were calling for the gods themselves to bear witness to his wrath.

Aeliana leaned casually against one of the stone columns as Macrinus approached, his presence as overbearing as ever. The gladiator master wore his customary grin, a blend of cunning and arrogance, as though the world were his personal arena. She knew Macrinus, her former Master; he had pulled strings to transition her into palace service with her role as an agent. But knowing him well, she didn't know whether she should feel gratitude or resentment toward him for the trials he had put her through.

He was speaking animatedly to Hanno, though the Numidian stood in silence, arms crossed, his expression unreadable save for the sharp glint of defiance in his eyes.

“Macrinus holds a keen interest in you”, Aeliana remarked, her voice cutting through the din as she stepped forward. “That’s not a good thing. Or perhaps it is, depending on what you want out of this life.”

Hanno turned his head slightly, his gaze fixing on her. She met it without hesitation, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I’ve heard of you,” she continued, her tone calm yet deliberate, as if testing him. “The man who quotes Virgil at emperors and tears flesh from beasts. I’d call it madness if I hadn’t lived through worse.”

Macrinus chuckled, spreading his arms wide. “Ah, Aeliana, always the cynic. But you’re wrong—this one is notmad. He is driven. Isn’t that right, Hanno?”

Lucius—Hanno—did not answer immediately. His eyes narrowed as he studied Aeliana, his posture stiff but not hostile. Finally, his voice broke the tension, low and measured. “Driven to what?”

“To survive” Aeliana said, stepping closer. Her voice dropped, meant only for him. “And perhaps to endure. But tell me, Hanno, what is it you seek? Men like you don not fight for glory, not truly.”

Macrinus, sensing the shift in tone, laughed and clapped Hanno on the shoulder. “Enough philosophy, Aeliana. Let the man breathe before you sink your claws into him.”

She ignored Macrinus, her gaze never leaving Hanno. “You’ve already made an impression on Rome,” she said softly. “But be careful how you wield that rage. A storm is a powerful thing, but it can destroy the one who commands it.”

Before Hanno could respond, the booming voice of the arena’s herald announced the next match. Macrinus gave a satisfied grunt and began to walk away, barking orders at his other fighters. Aeliana lingered for a moment longer, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll be watching,” she said to Hanno, her words carrying a strange weight. “Perhaps there’s more to you than anger after all.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows of the tunnel, leaving him to the roar of the Colosseum and the choices that awaited him in the sand.