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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 20 days

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CHAPTER 2 - Vivere pugnare alius dies

Promt: What if Ghost and Johnny were soldiers in Boudica's army?

Tags: historycal AU, Threesome, Angst, Slowburn, Reader insert, Violence, Explicit sexual content

Summary: Cassius gaze was full of love and something else, which you wouldn't really know how to name, but which resembled the way you looked at the symbols of the goddess Juno. He looked at you as if you were holy.

There was desire in that touch and hunger, but, at the same time there was veneration. Ghost knew perfectly well that if he looked into Soap's eyes he would find there the look of one who, for the first time, stands before a god and can do nothing but worship and desire it.

TW for this chapter: Mutual masturbation, explicit scene, mention of pregnancy and miscarriage (but this one is really just a mention)

chapter 1

Holy and Profane

"How long since you've last bled, domina?"

The question, undoubtedly, might have appeared rude, and on other occasions you would have become nervous and responded with icy coldness and haughtiness to such words. But you could not have expected much from an army doctor; in fact, you found yourself thankful that Cassius had insisted on bringing one of the Greek doctors along.

"It's almost five moons now."

You had replied instead, your voice little more than a whisper, your heart raging in your chest that seemed to do everything to escape it, while the flame of hope had lit in your soul.

It had been three years now since you married Cassius, and so far only one other time had you been pregnant, at least according to the doctors who had examined you when, less than two months later, you had bled so profusely that you fainted on your way to Juno's temple for the festivities. The thought had begun to plant itself in your mind that you might, the gods forbid, be barren.

On the other hand, you hadn't paid much attention at first to the almost total lack of menstruation, blaming it on the stress of being dragged into this barbarian country.

"I congratulate you and your husband, domina, on your first child."

The doctor had commented, signaling you to close your legs and lower the dark blue wool tunic you were wearing, and then turning to rinse his hands in the bowl of herb-scented medicinal water he kept behind his back and that was changed every time a patient was examined.

"If Jupiter wills he will be a strong and healthy male."

He had added, still without looking at you, as you, once you pulled yourself back together, clutched the symbol of Juno, which you wore hanging around your neck, in your hands.

You had raised a silent prayer to the Goddess, for giving you this grace, even though in a foreign land and far from your affections.

"Do you think...do you think I can carry the pregnancy to term?"

You had asked, almost fearfully; the doctors at the time had blamed your weak uterus and the excessive heat of the Roman summer, and you had never been able to get the thought out of your mind that it was your fault.

Cassius had been the perfect husband, he had consoled you and told you a thousand times, whispering it in your ear, that it was not your fault, that you would have many more children, and that, in any case, he loved you and that was enough. But you knew, as a Roman woman your first duty was to bring healthy children into the world for your husband, just as you knew that Cassius suffered in silence from the lack of heirs.

The man had turned around frowning, his expression clearly confused.

"Forgive me domina, but why do you think you are unable to do this?"

Your expression must have been quite confused in turn because the man sighed and returned to sit by the bunk on which you had lain to be examined.

"Domina, there is no reason why this pregnancy should not go well. You are young, healthy and your hips are perfect for carrying the weight of a child. If I had to express myself frankly, I would tell you that you are in the perfect condition to have a child right now."

Your heart could only soothe itself at the Greek's words, and the color had returned to your cheeks.

"I understand that the situation is not optimal for a pregnancy, a military camp is certainly not the best place for a pregnant woman, but I am sure your husband will take the best care of you and I will always be available for you."

Oh, on the fact that a military camp was not the best place for a pregnant woman you totally agreed, but, if things had gone according to your plans, you would not have stayed there long.

Now, with her firstborn safe in your womb, Cassius would not have denied your simple request to be sent back to Camulodunum while he continued his campaign.

Of course, Camulodunum was not Rome, but even if you had asked and obtained Cassius's permission to return home, by now it was too late autumn and no ship would have dared to put out to sea for fear of storms. Moreover, you would have risked giving birth on the return voyage, and that just could not be allowed.

After thanking the doctor you had left, immediately joined by your slaves, who had silently waited in the corridor for you to finish with the examination, and you had had to fight the instinct to go immediately to find your husband to tell him the news. That certainly would not have been decent.

Therefore, with a smile on your lips, you headed home, with the idea of offering your remaining honey on Juno's altar for the grace she had given you.

Cassius had returned to you early that evening, worried about hearing that you had gone to the doctor and tired after hours upon hours of war meetings. With tears of happiness silently streaming down your face you had taken his hand and rested it on your lower abdomen, allowing him to feel the small bulge present. Your husband's eyes, usually so stoic and composed, had widened almost comically as a smile made its way onto his lips. A silent question pending between the two of you. At your nod, he burst into laughter and kissed you, hugging you tightly.

His gaze was full of love and something else, which you wouldn't really know how to name, but which resembled the way you looked at the symbols of the goddess Juno. He looked at you as if you were holy.

That same evening, when you had lain in bed embracing each other, you had taken advantage of your husband's happiness to convince him to send you safely back to Camulodunum. It had not taken much convincing, a bit of pouting, making your lips curl in that way he loved, your eyes glazed with unshed tears, and Cassius had capitulated, agreeing to be sent back, south. You would leave before the first snowfall of the season.

—--------------------------------------------------

The She Bear warriors were known for their endurance, their relentlessness, and their ability to move without alerting the enemy. And, although this was only said in a low voice when one was sure there was no She Bear warrior nearby, for their little love of horses.

Being able to choose, a She Bear warrior would always prefer to run for hours rather than ride unpredictable animals like horses, and in battle the She bears always attacked on foot.

But this time the warriors had to surrender to the fact that they would have to use horses to reach their prey, which was currently north of their position. The warriors were to leave the Silures territories and travel to the Cornovii lands to get to the Gemina Legion.

The horses, however, not ironically, had less stamina than the She Bear warriors, even if they were faster. So they had stopped in a thick grove in the middle of the night, bright enough because it was lit by the full moon, made no fire and ate some dried meat, not bothering to think about hunting or cooking. After all, they were still in enemy territory.

They had a few hours to rest, once they had decided on the turns of the guard shifts, that had to be taken in pairs.

Ghost and Soap had wasted no time, using the dry leaves that covered the ground to make some kind of mattress, insulating them, partially, from the cold, wet ground. It was not long before the first snowfall of the year, they could feel in the air.

Heavy woolen cloaks had covered their bodies as they lay side by side, the skull with which Ghost covered his face was resting just above his head.

Soap, who had never been able to keep his own hands to himself, immediately slipped his right hand under Ghost's tunic, slowly stroking the skin on his side and the scars that decorated his ribs.

The other went directly to his face, rough fingertips with calluses typical of someone constantly holding a weapon traced the thin line of the blond man's lips in a way that, every single time, forced Ghost to close his eyes and sigh.

Before Soap, no one had touched or looked at Ghost in this way, no one had considered him "holy".

It was the devotion in every touch of the man that had made Ghost capitulate years ago. If it had been just desire he would not have succumbed, after the years in Gaul his body no longer desired any touch, but the way Soap wanted him was so unique, so prayer-like, that it left him defenseless.

Ghost had opened his mouth, capturing the two fingers that were tracing the borders of his lips in a playful bite, before sliding them over his tongue and starting sucking.

The little broken moan that had left Soap's throat had gone straight to Ghost's groin, who had encircled his partner's waist with one arm and pulled against him hard, thrusting his hips against his as he played with his tongue and fingers in his mouth.

Soap watched him from under the lashes of his half-lowered eyelids, his erection rubbing against Ghost's from above his clothes and his free hand tracing the vastness of the blond warrior's back.

"Ghost..."

His name, a single word that encompassed a universe of unspoken things, a prayer in its purest form.

The warrior had let his fingers slip out of his lips and had captured Soap's mouth with his own.

He bullied his tongue into Soap's mouth, although he wouldn't have needed to, because the other's lips were already open and his tongue waiting. The appendages danced in a familiar but no less beloved dance, chasing each other, joining before separating when Ghost's tongue plunged in, tracing the contours of Soap's teeth, the soft inside of his cheeks, obsessed with possessing every single part of him.

And Soap allowed himself to be possessed, owned, but not without taking his pound of flesh. His hand from Ghost's back had slipped into his pants, clutching one of the other's butt cheeks in a firm, almost painful grip.

But for them it was so, pleasure ran on the same edge as pain, the boundaries of need mingled with those of penance.

Soap's free hand had tightened its grip around Ghost's neck, cutting off his breath just a little and causing a hoarse growl that was swallowed by his mouth.

"Ye better do somethin' about tha'."

He grumbled, millimeters from Ghost's mouth, thrusting his hips against the other's.

The blond had smiled, a predatory grin, bringing his hands between them, opening his pants just enough to pull out their erections and squeeze them in one of his big hands.

"Slag. You can't even wait five minutes, can you?"

The answer had come from Soap in the form of a bite on Ghost's lower lip, his hips moving, humping his partner's hand.

Ghost had suppressed a laugh and a moan and had begun to imitate the other, moving his hips so that their cocks rubbed against each other as well as against his hand. Soon drops of precum had made it easier, and the movements had quickened, the urgency ever more pressing.

The kisses had become, in turn, more violent and sloppy, excess saliva produced dripping down the sides of their mouths as grunts and moans were swallowed by tongues and teeth.

Soon enough, the situation made it impossible to take the time to savor the pleasure, Soap had strained against Ghost, a broken whine trapped in his throat, and then he came.

Ghost didn’t stop, neither with his hand nor with his hips, seeking his own pleasure and enjoying his partner's moans and shivers from the overstimulation. Shortly thereafter Ghost had felt his cock twitch in his hand and the orgasm had taken his breath away, his semen joining Soap's in his hand.

"Now clean up the mess you caused."

He had whispered, still out of breath from his orgasm, looking his partner in the eyes and bringing the hand, dirty of their mixed spent, to Soap's lips.

Obediently the other had opened his lips, using his tongue to carefully clean those fingers full of scars and calluses, treating them as the most precious of relics.

The love in Soap's eyes and the so incredibly obscene yet holy way in which he did what was asked of him had brought Ghost's cock to twitch in interest. But the hour was late and they both needed to rest while they could, once they acquired the target they would not have much time left.

Once his hand was sufficiently clean, Ghost moved it gently, laying one last kiss on Soap's lips before nestling his face in the crook of her neck and closing his eyes, letting himself go to sleep.

They did not need to say I love you to each other, because their love emerged in every gesture, every look and even every breath.

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 20 days

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Promt: What if Ghost and Johnny were soldiers in Boudica's army?

Tags: historycal AU, Threesome, Angst, Slowburn, Reader insert, Violence, Explicit sexual content

Vivere pugnare alius dies

Summary

Fall-Winter 51 AD

The conquest of Britain has now been underway for eight years by order of Emperor Claudius.

Legions have invaded the green fields and put the villages of Cornovii, Catuvelluni, Iceni, and many other tribes to the sword. But the Britons did not surrender; under the command of Boudica, the Victory Bearer, the army composed by members of all the tribes and the powerful Visionaries of Mona still fought, imparting great losses to the Romans.

Inside the camp of the Fourteenth Legion, the wife of Legate Cassius Aulus Plautius dreams of being in Rome in her warm and comfortable Villa.

Under icy stars Ghost and Soap, warriors of the She Bear Clan, anoint their bodies with bear fat and let their minds be transported beyond as they prepare for the most important mission of their lives.

A mission that can change the course of the war.

The hunt had begun

Rain. Rain, mud and fog. The damn country did not seem to consist of anything else. For the umpteenth time, clutching yourself in a woolen shawl whose cash value would have easily supported a family in Rome for two or three months, you cursed your young husband. Why on earth, all barbarian gods be damned, had he been so stubborn about wanting to take you along?

There was a reason why, as a rule, women were not allowed to follow the army during military campaigns, whether they were wives, mistresses or professionals. And the reason was that military life sucked.

You were forced to spend your time in damp barracks built too hastily to be comfortable when you were lucky and in tents where it rained inside and the temperature was freezing when you weren't.

All without being able to go outside because you were surrounded by rough soldiers who couldn’t be trusted, and what the heck were you going to do in a military camp anyway?

So the hours passed slowly, interminably, as you waited for the return of the only distraction you were allowed to have, your husband Cassius, Legatus of the 14th Legion, the legion called Gemina, the twin legion, under the command of Titus Flavius Sabinus.

Cassius was a promising young man, his family, in Rome, ancient, wealthy and prestigious enough to allow him to have you as his wife. You, who, though no longer a young girl, were still a close relative of Emperor Claudius and his wife, and niece, Agrippina.

The campaign to conquer Britannia was the perfect stage for Cassius to make his bones and win the respect of soldiers he would one day end up, soon he was sure, commanding in great feats.

It wasn't that you didn't like Cassius; in fact, you were quite fond of him. He was a handsome man, with a brain to match, and one who, despite the deeply patriarchal mores of Rome, respected you and your opinions, recognizing your wit when it came to politics. Not to mention that warming his bed was quite pleasant.

In Rome, many of your friends, matrons married far too young to old senators who needed their slaves to get it up, would not stop telling you how lucky you were to have such a young and handsome husband, and, after all, you couldn’t really argue with that.

But the point was that you were bored out of your mind.

The two female slaves you had brought with you were hardly a consolation and, indeed, you found yourself worrying every time they had to leave your presence to do errands, imagining what the soldiers camped around you might do to them. Especially those belonging to the cavalry wings, whose soldiers were Germans whose grandfathers had, at the time, fought against Caesar and who now served the empire but had not entirely abandoned their barbaric ways.

Also you had heard from your husband Cassius that there was some kind of a giant among them, a man so tall that he was surely the son of a god, so your husband had described him.

Of course you wouldn't have believed it if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes one evening that Cassius had invited him to his tent to have dinner with the two of you and discuss a specific strategy that they had clearly talked about previously and about which you understood very little.

When the giant had bent down to enter you nearly had a stroke; beyond his size, which was already worrisome in itself, what had startled you was the fact that the man in question had his face covered by a piece of cloth with holes for eyes. What could have possibly happened to him to lead such a man to decide to hide his face?

Seeing you frightened, Cassius had approached you, passing his arm around your soft waist and resting his hand in a relaxed yet possessive way on your side in a comforting caress. If he trusted that giant, whose name he had told you later, Koning, meant king in his barbarian tongue, then you had to trust him too.

Therefore you had done what you did in Rome, in your comfortable villa, when you entertained guests, you had smiled and played the part of the loving and not-so-smart wife.

Of the evening you don't remember much, mainly the two men had focused on military strategies and plans to suppress the villages of the Cornovii, but you remember when the conversation turned to Boudica's army.

It still amazed you that it was a woman, the one that was leading the army that was challenging the emperor's legions, resisting strenuously and causing heavy losses to the Romans.

A small part of you, not that you would ever allow yourself to admit it out loud, felt a certain respect and some envy toward her.

No, it was not the name of the red-haired warrior who inhabited the nightmares of more than one Legionnaire that had attracted attention.

What had caused you to squint and open your ears had been the sudden lowering of the two men's tones, as if they were telling each other some secret, combined with the almost reverential tone with which the giant of Gaul had begun to speak. A name chased between the two, Ghost, as if it were a prayer and, on her husband's part, an insult.

The last two teams that had been sent out to hunt with the tracers of the Trinovantes loyal to Rome had been crushed, the bodies of the legionnaires left tied to trees as a warning, their genitals cut off and stuffed down their throats, their eyes removed from their skulls and laid on the ground so the animals could easily get to them.

You had paled at this description, but you had quickly moved yourself into the shadows so that it would not be very noticeable; you did not want the two to stop talking because of you.

Where legionnaires had been executed in such a bloody way, skulls had always been found, sometimes of animals, sometimes of other unfortunates, all without lower jaws. That was the signature of the warrior called Ghost apparently, who wore on his face a mask made from a human skull.

Capturing that man was apparently among your husband's priorities, and he had tasked Koning and the men of his centuria to capture him, to raise the morale of the legions. But, so far, the giant Gaul had had no luck.

Much later that night, after the last spasms of pleasure had given way to a relaxed languor you would have liked nothing more than to sleep beside Cassius, but your mind did not seem to want to give you a break. Every time you closed your eyes you saw a blood-eyed skull in the darkness, staring back at you, shuddering as you made yourself closer to your husband's warm body and shaking your head, you told yourself that it was only your imagination and that you were certainly in no danger.

After all, why would such a man want anything from you?

Not far from where the Legion II Augusta was camped, on the side of a hill, the night was made alive by the fires of warriors and drums that seemed to have the rhythm of a heartbeat. The hillside was crowded with warriors painting each other, knotting braids and braiding warrior feathers in their hair, telling the gods how many kills they had accomplished.

The She Bear clan, made from men and women coming from Caledonia’s wilderness, formed a circle on the western slope of the rise, in a clearing among thorny bushes. As Boudica approached, the night came even more alive with the rolling of bear claws on skulls: it was hard to hear anything beyond that noise. The rumbling was a river that washed out both mind and soul, taking them to places where Boudica had never been nor desired to go.

That noise, it was said, heard for too long was capable of driving the bravest of warriors to madness, and Boudica, though brave, had no intention of testing her endurance.

As soon as she entered the flame-lit circle, the woman was surrounded by the warriors of the clan; on another occasion she might have recognized and called some of them by name, friends and comrades-in-arms, but at that moment the gods were listening and walking among them because the warriors were unrecognizable in her eyes.

Shifting shadows and flashes of teeth and claws, more animal than human at that moment, their souls and minds stretched toward the She Bear they worshipped.

"Warriors of the She Bear, we need you. Our people need you." Boudica's voice was strong and decisive, yet it seemed so small in that moment.

"Speak." The voice was that of a bear, vibrant in the drumming of skulls. "The She Bear lives to serve, but will follow only those who have big hearts and know danger."

"We, who fight by day, ask for the help of the ones that hunt men by night. There is a task for which no one else is better suited. We need someone who can track, who can hunt, who can kill without leaving even one enemy alive but who can control himself enough to bring back a hostage. Can you do this? Do you want to do this?"

The warriors began to dance, movements as old as heaven and earth since the first men began to worship the protecting She Bear. The quivering of the drums shook Boudica's soul, waves of passion, regret, love and pity wounded her heart.

A figure entirely covered in a bearskin stepped forward, stopping in front of the red-haired warrior, it could have been a man or a woman...or neither. "We can. We want to. We will."

Boudica lowered her face, grateful more than words could express.

"Before the first sunbeam overtakes the top of this hill the warriors you have asked for will come to you, give them your orders, sacred warrior, bringer of victory."

It was the last thing she was told before the circle opened wide enough for her to step out, backing away slowly and with her eyes downcast in respect. It was only when the night closed in on her, that she let out a breath she did not know she had been holding and showed her back, backing away quickly.

True to their words five She Bear warriors surrounded Boudica's fire just before the sun rose over the hill.

Three of them were men and two women; Boudica did not notice the sixth and last warrior until it was too late, luckily he wasn’t an enemy.

It was impossible to confuse Ghost with anyone else, and not only because of the skull he wore that concealed his face, but also because of that incredible ability to move so silently that he almost seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Ye almost jumped, I saw ye!��

The amused voice of one of the She Bear warriors made her turn with a smile tugging at her lips, blue eyes, an absurd haircut and a mischievous grin met her gaze. "Good morning to you too, Soap."

The woman replied, with a smile, inviting her companions to sit around the fire. When everyone had settled down one last figure joined the group. A tall, thin woman with long black hair and gray eyes as deep and dangerous as the iron of swords.

Boudica took her by the hand, kissing her on the palm familiarly, before turning back to look at the others. "Donvina had a vision from Nemain and the ancestors."

Everyone knew exactly who Donvina was, one of the most powerful visionaries ever trained on the isle of Mona, lover and companion of Boudica herself, her words would never be questioned.

Nemain, goddess of the moon and magic was Donvina's patroness, and the visions she had sent her over the course of her life had never been proven wrong.

"She Bear warriors, an arduous mission awaits you." The woman began, in a grave voice with a hint of sorrow in it. "A mission that will take you far from the great battle that is about to take place here and, instead, will take you south to the lands of the Cornovii."

The faces of the She Bear warriors gathered there opened in barely concealed snarls and expressions of anger and disbelief, but not a single voice rose to protest the Visionary's words.

Boudica could hardly blame them; the pitched battle she was going to lead would, whether they won or not, be sung for hundreds of years before the fires, and no warrior worth his salt would want to be anywhere else.

"I understand your pain, warriors, and my heart weeps for you, but the vision that Nemain and the ancestors have given me is very clear." Donvina continued, resting her hand in Boudica's hair, stroking those blood-colored curls as if to draw courage from them, she knew very well that she was asking a great deal of those men and women.

"I was shown a person, a person whose life could save the lives of thousands of our warriors and give us an advantage. This person could be what will enable us to win this war. She will be, if you find her and bring her to Mona." Donvina's voice was crystal clear and carried the shadow of divine power as if it belonged to her, again no voice dared to rise against her.

Boudica shifted her gaze to the side, she had already heard the vision, knew what was coming now and was interested to see Ghost's reaction. Despite the skull on the warrior's face, she knew enough about her comrade to be able to tell that he was not happy with what he had just heard, she could see his eyes narrow as he looked at the Visionary. "And who would this person be?" The voice belonged to one of the two women in the bear's group, Ghost would not speak, Boudica knew, since although he hunted with theShe Bear warriors, he was not part of them, not really.

The warrior's story was sad and unfair. Born in the lands of the Trinovantes in the south, he had been the son of a tribal chieftain who held that title only by the grace of the Romans. A despicable man whose soul would never rest with his ancestors, who had mistreated his son throughout his childhood and then sent him as a hostage with a Roman official who was supposed to take him to Rome.

Ghost never arrived in Rome; the official who had taken him away from his land had become so enamored of the young man with blond hair and caramel-colored eyes that he could not think of leaving Britain without him.

His personal hell had begun on a ship that had transported him to Gaul and had continued, for years, in a large roman Villa in the same land.

Nothing more than a plaything for Romans men and women bored with life and parched by war and politics. Too many hands had caressed that fair skin, taking without giving, too many humiliations had killed the child he had once been.

Finally, when he had become too big, too much of a man, for them, who had never been real men, hands had been replaced by whip strokes and knife blades. The scars that dotted the large body were an indelible reminder of the cruelty of people who called THEM barbarians.

At some point, reality here was already mixed with legend, Ghost had killed his master and anyone in that Villa, setting the whole thing on fire, burying even his old identity under ashes and rubble.

At that point he had tried to kill himself, but he failed; Gaulish auxiliaries had found him and taken him with them, making him a Roman soldier.

For years he had trained with the armies of Rome, learned how to march, how to throw a spear, how to fight in formation, and how to respond to trumpet blasts as if his squad leader were shouting directly into his ear.

The Romans, ironically, had formed the war machine that he now was.

When he had crossed the sea again, he had abandoned the Legion, disappearing into the night as only he was capable of doing, and had found Boudica's army. That time, too, Donovina had had a vision, predicting his arrival, so Ghost had been greeted by friendly faces and not by sword-threads.

Ardacos, who was leading the She Bear warriors at the time, had claimed the nameless man he found before him.

He had asked him what he wanted to be called, to which the blond had replied that since he was a ghost anyway, from now on his name would have been Ghost. Ardacos had agreed as every man has the right to be free, even to choose his own name, and had welcomed Ghost as a long-lost brother.

Almost six years had passed since then and Ghost had become one of the most dangerous weapons in Boudica's arsenal, but she had not been the one to bring him back to life, at least a little.

No, there was only one person who could soften that icy stare, Soap.

The young caledonian, who at the time had recently become a man and earned his first feather, had clung to Ghost like a tick to a dog and had never let go, despite the man trying to push him away in every way.

His resilience had paid off, slowly an ever-deepening relationship had developed between the two, first as comrades-in-arms, then as friends, and finally as lovers. Now the two were inseparable, where there was one there was also the other, whether visible or not, and Boudica feared the day one of them fell under the gladius of an enemy.

"A Roman woman. The wife of Legate Cassius Aulus Plautius." Dovina's voice brought Boudica back to the present, the faces of the She Bear warriors were increasingly incredulous, Soap even went so far as to open his mouth to retort, but Ghost's hand on his chest made him close it again.

"Why not kill her?" The same woman as before asked again, Boudica was still fixated on Ghost whose body language indicated a fury barely kept in check.

"Because she's more useful alive, she's one of Emperor Claudius's nieces, one of his favorites if rumors don't lie." Silence had fallen over the entire group after this last revelation, only through that unnatural silence was Boudica able to hear Ghost's quiet sigh.

"We will do it, Donovina. We will take her to you." Ghost's voice, which had risen for the first time during that meeting, was low and hoarse, the accent bastardized by too many languages learned over time mingling in his throat and mind.

The She Bear warriors stood up, and so did Boudica, who tilted her head toward them as a sign of respect. "Good hunting and may the gods be with you my friends." The warriors nodded and bowed their heads in turn before retreating.

The hunt had begun.

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 20 days

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COD TWT P!LINKS

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

Simon fingering your tiny pretty pink pussy

loserteenage!ghost in your room past your bed time

Simon lavishing his pretty girl

fucking your thighs

letting you dominate him once (maybe he realized he should let you more)

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH

fingering you after a long mission

sucking your tits because he missed his mommy

waking you up to this

riding him cuz you missed him

JOHN "CAPTAIN" PRICE

throwing your pretty little body around

while your watching a movie

makeup sex after your fight

letting you sit on his face whilst you read

fucking you because you asked for it

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

eating you out after dinner

after a mission

eating you out pt.2

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 21 days

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If anyone has a fic where Viking!Ghost and Viking!Soap steal reader away in a raid or even Viking!141 taking reader in a raid, please send it my way 🙏🏼

#ghost x soap x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x reader #poly 141 #price x reader #gaz x reader #viking au #poly!141 x reader #ghoap x reader

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 21 days

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black tie ♛

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 22 days

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so.. simon and johnny stopping by a seedy 24/7 roadhouse on their way back home post-op

featuring: established ghostsoap. pregnant fem!reader. alluded kidnapping, extremely toxic attitudes. they’re literally delusional. mentioned death. this verges on dark so please beware!

They’ve driven past it about a hundred times, never having given it more than a passing glance. Who would, really? Nothing about it seemed appealing – in all its sun-bleached paint job and flickering neon signage glory – but circumstances lent themselves to its consideration. What was supposed to be a half-day mission ended up taking two, meaning they haven’t had time to sleep let alone eat. On top of that, a delayed exfil made it so they touched down on base at an ungodly hour. By the time Price waived their paperwork and they got into their car, they were famished.

“Could eat the scabby heid aff a dog,” Johnny eventually groans. He’d tried his best to hang in there, mindful not to be a pest during the hours it takes his partner to decompress after a rough operation, but his stomach kills and he knows Simon’s does too. He only receives a grunt for a response, though the man abruptly steers into the leftmost lane, catching the nearest exit towards the place in his periphery. Cleary meant to model an American diner with it’s fading blue exterior and obnoxious banner: The Dahlia

But they’ve been in worse. They hardly take note of the coffee rings staining their table, or the homeless man who’s taken residence in a corner booth (besides the brief once-over in their threat assessment upon entering). No; they just slot themselves by the nearest exit, scan over the menu and decide to order the quickest meal possible.

Only for things to take a sudden turn when their waitress stops by.

Christ alive, Johnny wonders how you manage to glow under the harshest of fluorescents. Dewy skin. Bright eyes, if not a little sunken at the late hour. Still, you smile and do so genuinely as you waddle to their station, clicking a pen before asking: “And what can I do you for, gentlemen?”

Simon doesn’t look at you immediately, not even when you speak up. He’s too fixed on Johnny, replaying the past days’ events in his head. Revisits the hour where their comms malfunctioned, when he lost touch with his boy and had to fight not knowing whether he was holding up okay. He has trust in him, of course, more bleedin’ trust than he has in earth to keep rotating. Still–

You clear your throat.

His pupils shift to pin you under their scrutiny, only he can’t bring it in him to be as severe as he wants to be. Because, while the first thing Johnny notices about you is your beauty, the first thing Simon sees is your bump.

Obscured by your apron, but still there. Round. Full. 6 months along, by the looks of it.

He’s forced to recall Beth, Tommy by extension. An old working knowledge that comes back to haunt him. At 23 weeks, his sister in law’s pregnancy began to weigh on her. Heartburn. Backaches. Hot flashes that resulted in bouts of dizziness. She couldn’t be up for more than 2 hours at a time, and yet here you are.

What the fuck were you doing in a place like this?

“Need more time to decide?” You ask. Patient. Lovely. If Johnny weren’t so sleep-deprived, so in over his head, he would perhaps realise the subtle hints you were dropping. They’ve been staring too long now, unsettling no doubt. Grimy, each with a tell-tale bump on their waistbands that point to their armament. Simon sans hard-shell mask, but still in a balaclava and eyeblack. Both larger than life and practically alone with you in this isolated place.

It’s Simon who speaks up first. “Fish and chips for the both of us. To-go. Cheers.”

You scribble the order down, pausing to consider. “Coffee? Gotta inform you, it’s drip, bottom of the carafe so it might taste burnt too. Hotplate’s all out of sorts.”

“Aye, just the one. Gae head an’ dip yer finger in it too. Might benefit from a little sweetener.” It takes you a second to process Johnny’s flirt. When you do, though, you visibly blanch, ducking your head to hide your face as you pretend to jot what he said down.

“I’ll have that right out for you.”

And then you scurry off, glancing over your shoulder once you think you’re out of sight. Curious. Flustered.

Simon’s attention refocuses on the scotsman once you’re gone, an eyebrow raised under his mask. His partner is able to read the expressed question well enough: what do you think you’re doing? Strict, but not so much angry as it a press for him to think before he speaks, to balance the scales before he asks something of Ghost that he can’t refuse.

“Dinnae look at me like tha’.” Johnny whispers. “Bonnie lass, isn’t she?”

Simon blinks. “Expecting, too.”

“We cannae leave her here.”

Memories occur in rapid succession. Tommy. Beth. The cherubic face they had brought into the world – little Joseph, who was the first he found dead upon returning home.

He considers Johnny, Soap, this force of nature that wormed his way into his life and sunk his teeth into the rot of his heart, fastened before Simon could even think of brushing him off.

“And here’s that coffee! Your meals should be coming out soon, thank you for being patient.”

It’s a bad idea. Horrible. You could have a partner, a cozy home waiting for you. Nursery already painted. Names already chosen.

What good partner would let you work this shitty job?

It’s a bad, horrible idea. No good for anyone. They’re on constant deployment. They risk their lives on every run. You’d be put in harm’s way yourself.

Not if they hide you well enough. Their house is secluded for a reason.

It’s a bad, horrible, no good idea – but Johnny accepts the mug with a gracious smile and you bloom all pretty, hand inadvertently cradling your belly. Little flower, persisting against all odds. Growing from the fissures of broken concrete. Dignified still. Kind. Strong.

So what if they pluck you from your place? They’ve got somewhere much better for you to thrive.

next part

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 23 days

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Women in Film Challenge 2021: [32/52] Woman Walks Ahead, dir. Susanna White (USA, 2018)

Your society values people by how much you have. Ours, how much you give away.

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 23 days

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Guard-dog simon pretty please 🙏🏻

cw: hybrids, mentions of naked bodies

an ;; I think this was a hybrid request, not sure, but if this wasn't what you meant I had another idea ;) // not proofread 😞

— You were relatively well known in your family as the one prone to danger, a fucking magnet for the worst disasters possible. Even just going out for an evening walk you would returned with a shoe missing your hair a mess, looking shell shock as you admitted a dog just chased you for three miles. Maybe you were just unlucky, maybe you should've interacted three times with those videos for good luck. Whatever it may be, your family was fed up.

They decided the best case scenario was a guard dog hybrid, but they couldn't just trust you with some random beast from a shelter. No, they contacted your uncle. John Price. You honestly weren't sure if he was even really your uncle, but he sure as hell spoiled you like he was. Which is why it was a no brainer for him to already fess up an injured hybrid soldier to watch over you.

That hybrid being Simon Riley. Initial meetings were fucking terrifying. Your whole family too wary to approach the big, brooding male with ear pin pricked straight upward, a tail left motionless behind him, tattoos across his skin and a glaring expression from behind a skull mask.

If it weren't obvious, the two of you weren't exactly compatible at first. He was just a grumpy, old war dog. Scars across his skin you'd occasionally see while helping him clean up. Your fingers running across his bare skin, feeling the ridges and bumps. The cold water made it all ache for him, he'd wince and growl just a bit, showing some teeth. But no bite.

You were surprisingly much more gentle than anything he has experienced before, so thorough in anything you did, so different from his former captain, yet somehow still the same. You washed him to clean him of impurity, a man who had walked miles covered in blood and the fear piss of his own enemies; shrunk down to nothing but your "sweet" guard dog.

It didn't take long for him to grow fond of you.

Within a week he went from hovering next to your bedroom door to shuffling closer and closer, until you eventually yanked him down so you could bury your face in his warm body. Shared and hushed whispers between the two of you - well, sort of. It was mostly you, whispering in his ear while you traced a scar over his arm, eyes staring up at his beautiful, empty brown eyes.

"Where did this one come from?" Your voice so soft, your breath tingling against his skin. It made his eyes feel heavy, but how terrible would it be if he fell asleep first? How terrible would it be if he told you those marks came from killing a man? A living, breathing being.

Needless to say, Simon didn't speak back. He would just listen to your words, and you waited back patiently. Until you would realize this wasn't up for discussion. So you would slither your finger tips across his forearm, his tattoos, the imprints of scars, and toward his cheek. It had been a long time since he had felt that gentleness right against his face. Was it so shameful for him to shut his eyes, to let his ears pin back just a bit? To soak in your small, airy whisper?

"It's okay."

Fuck.

From then on, he wouldn't have to pretend he gave a shit about you, when you treated him as gently as this, so rewarding and pure. Not like a filthy mutt on the street. From then on, he hovered over you like a looming storm cloud. Lightning striking those with an extended gaze.

Safe to say your "luck" had improved, right?

Maybe he would tell you about those scars one day, love. As long as your keep touching him so sweetly, so gently, so curiously. Could you do that for him? For your "Si"? As you called him of course. Would you keep your prolonged touches somewhere that could get him in trouble?

Make him finally grumble out a soft, "Please."

And of course you would smile, a smile almost as manipulative as his former captain; one that made him finally see the resemblance. How much power you had over him. All he could think about was spending nights buried within your soft, steaming core. And you would just allow it, teasing him for being your needy guard dog.

He wanted to shut you up, to fuck you into silence, but Simon was a good boy. He wouldn't be rough with you. Wouldn't dream of hurting his master. So, Simon would let you rub the rip of his cock, make him cum on your thighs into a shivering orgasm. Whispering how if he was good, he could cum in your cunny. Only if he was a good boy.

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 23 days

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Your Roman Soldier/Senator!141 idea literally gives me LIFE. I hope you do something with it!!!

If enough people want it then I'll certainly give it a try!

#call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 23 days

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Dune: Part Two (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 2 months

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Martin Sensmeier as Sam in ‘1883′

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maria-and-aguilars-codex-1492 · 2 months

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Anonymous sent: Hi I always see your posts on Native Americans and I was wondering if you had any tips for writing a native American character? I value your opinion and thoughts very much. if you can’t / don’t want to do you have any articles or similar that might help?

Hello, Nonnie! Thank you for coming to my askbox! Unfortunately, I am not a source myself of Native History, I spent some time when I was a kid helping my mom cheat in her Native American History (and Dakota Language ) classes by doing her homework for her, and I can honestly recommend a bunch of the books that we had that you could read! But it’s been some time that the things I recall are from my own studies, and experiences as a Native American. And due to this, I do have things that I can advise, and personal . So here we are:

First of all, research is important. I know this is relevant with every single culture out there, of any sort. But the biggest thing that the media has done for an age (up until now), is extremely generalize or morph cultures into one. And therefore the biggest mistake that is made is that people tend to think that all of our tribes are the same. Which, no, is not the case at all. Pocahontas or Connor Kenway won’t live in a tipi, just like Geronimo or Sitting Bull won’t bet settling down within a longhouse. While some tribes are similar in regards to living, (not religion), like say some Crow, Shoshone might have their own versions of tipis, or different names for them. But that doesn’t mean everything is the same. (ways of living seem to be area dependent.) I guess the whole rant here is just- DO. NOT. GENERALIZE. UNDER. ANY. MEANS. NECESSARY.

If doing a modern verse, remember a lot of use are kept on reservations. Be good to do lots of research there too.

Don’t worry about ‘stereotypes’, don’t be afraid of them. Not all of them are bad, there are some good ones. I live on a reservation, i love frybread, i love pow wows, i have relations that are alcoholics. I talk with a reservation accent. I’m a literal walking talking stereotype.

DON’T fret away from triggering topics. Don’t be afraid to interact in a way that would be true to the times. Remember the societal norms of the old west/pre-2000s, that were heavily racist (and sometimes still are), I’d rather them be acknowledged than erased. And not writing them, or ignoring that they were ever a thing is like acting like nothing happened. And that is worse than anything, because it’s practically erasing the history that was there. Respect the history, don’t ignore it. So long as you tag things proper, it will be alright.

Don’t worry about having an fc that is part of the same tribe, there are so few native american actors. We don’t have enough really. This is why I’m not pressed on this issue, so long as there is a good amount of native in them, or look the part, then by all means. Use that FC. (like I’m using Blair Redford for Connor Kenway, who’s French, Irish, German, AND Native American. And that’s okay, because blood wise? Connor is only half himself. Point is. They’re not the same tribe, and that’s okay.) At the bare minimum, just see that they’re at least native in some way.

Keep in mind that we, as a native people, do have a connection as a whole to each other. While each tribe is different and I can’t speak for any others but my own. But there’s a certain unity in our ways of thinking that seem to be reflective across all the other Nations. I like to call it a ‘pack mentality’ cause again, we were born and raised, and it’s in our blood- to value the overall wellbeing of a nation. Look into the psychology of that, that’s the best I can recommend there.

And please, for the love of god if you’re not Native American. Do. Not. Gatekeeep. Hell, I’m a Native American and I don’t even gatekeep. I educate when it’s needed educating. That’s it.

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