#fic: ancient history

[allmyocsarebritish]

A passion for exploration

(Known in my notes as ahkaeology)

Pairing: Ahkmenrah X reader

Warnings(?): Grave robbing

A/N: okay okay I know it's really odd that a wednesday blog is now posting for natm but I went down a rabbit hole and I'm afraid I lost the entrance. History nerd has shown through well and truly :')

Also my first multi part fic :D

Title is courtesy of my mate Abi using AI

Ch 1

Grave robbing

Was desecrating the tombs of these once honoured, omnipotent kings of Egypt really something you were willing to do? Had the circumstances preceding the grave robbery been less bleak, the answer would have undoubtedly been an definitive no. These rulers commanded the uptmost respect in life, and here you were, excavating the only memory that remained. There wasn't a day that went by during your expedition in which guilt did not infiltrate your mind, suffocating your conscience and depriving you of any sleep, even before you came close to finding an ancient tomb. But it wasn't like you had any other choice.

Pushing down your gnawing feelings of dread, you trekked on through the Egyptian desert. Rough sand brushed against your lower legs beneath your simple, calf-length skirt, chafing at the skin. You were the only one of the troupe resigned to walking, as the youngest and the lowest class. Astride camels, the two men had a better view of the surrounding plains, though the blank, barren flats stretched on long beyond the horizon.

"The valley of the kings shan't be too far from this place" called Lord Carnarvon, map still in hand.

You held back a scoff, rolling your eyes as you knew he wasn't looking at you. If only he would admit none of you knew where you were going. The only clue you were given was that the gold rich landmark was announced by a grand pyramid at the end of a hollowed valley consisting of a multitude of others. What a shame that this was the Egyptian desert.

Filled with pyramids.

Days and days stretched on of travel, and eventually, you stopped counting the sunrises, resigning to the fact that this would only stop when the valley was found, however long that took.

As with most great things, the discovery of the valley occurred at a time when you least expected. You had taken advantage of a small oasis, resting for a few hours and permitting the camels an indulgent drink. Howard Carter dozed beside you, hat pulled low over his face, in order to shield his resting eyes from the blazing fire of the sun. Carnarvon had taken his liberty and ran off, or so you had hoped. No, in fact he was continuing the investigation alone and on foot, clutching a worn, shoddy map, which was twinged a grimey brown with years of filth accumulated around the edges of the paper. He never strayed far, though attempted to work out his bearings, using the wind or some pretentious bullshit you never bothered listening to. No, you were perfectly content drawing in the sand with a stick you had found and claimed an hour or so prior.

You were more than unimpressed when the sketches you had so tediously etched into the sand were scattered by Carnarvon sprinting back to the small camp. Jolted awake, Carter sat up sharply, alarm etched across his features.

"Blimey, good sir! You gave me quite the fright!" He exclaimed as you nodded in agreement.

"Are you alright?" You asked, though your eyes may have given away your disinterest (had either man been paying an ounce of attention).

"Shh!" Carnarvon interrupted your pleasant concern, to which you rolled your eyes and began attempting to recover your drawings. "Carter, good sir! I dare say I've found it. I've discovered the pyramid!"

A bold statement, and not the first time either. No, twice prior you had been dragged into the colossal ancient skyscrapers, only to find they were far from your true destination. Empty of any treasure or historical worth beyond the buildings themselves, you continued on, fruitless. Grand structures were quite an obvious goldmine, and previous grave robbers had left the tombs void of, well, anything.

Though of course, it was more than worth it to explore this fresh discovery, not taking any chances.

Time was of the essence, or so you were told. Camels saddled up in record time, you were hoisted up from your seat on the floor by Carter, borderline dragged up.

"Come, young Y/N, you heard his lordship. We may have found the Valley. Hurry on, now" his words were gentle, still treating you as he had done in your childhood, despite the fact you were now 19. It was something that you both appreciated and hated simultaneously. Howard was kind to you, much more so than Lord Carnarvon, who cared as little for you as you did for him. The mutual disinterested made for some long, awkward silences, and many threats to leave you in an unknown grave.

Still dragging you by the arm, Carter began to untie his camel, before finally letting go of you. The rush was honestly needless, you had been expeditioning for months at the least, what harm would a few mere minutes cause? But the men were adamant, and there was no arguing, especially not from a useless child as yourself.

"Can I at least keep my stick?"

Recieving no reply from Carnarvon and an incredulous stare from Carter, you concluded the answer was yes.

The journey from the oasis to the pyramid was shorter than anticipated, though still rather long. Another day passed, spent entirely wandering through the desert. Exhaustion washed over your entire body, and it was a war every minute to keep your eyes open. But, alas, you must continue, and eventually your trek drew to a close as with further examination, it became clear this pyramid was not what you were searching for.

Disappointment and rage filled Carnarvon upon the realisation that this was, in fact, not the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but rather a singular, sandy pyramid. "Why, there must be some mistake!" He complained impetuantly, always one to shift blame elsewhere. You exchanged a look with Carter, who for once was willing to admit the incompetence of the troupe's leader. After all, what were the chances that a random pyramid would mark the infamous, esteemed valley?

From a distance it appeared mighty, though in fact that was more than likely a mirage caused by the monochromatic nature if the desert. Upon further examination, however, the pyramid was far from the grandeur anticipated by Carnarvon and Carter. Huge gashes and rifts in the brickwork jumped out from metres away. Crumbling brickwork was cratered, resembling a sponge with many holes, as dusty gravel avalanched down the sides of the architecture at every other interval. Overall it was worn and aged, therefore more likely to be looted and barren.

"I do say it's worth taking a look around, my lord." You spoke, addressing him clearly. Carnarvon waved his hand dismissively, wishing you out of his presence.

"Yes, yes. Go ahead child." Did you expect that? No. Did you need to be told twice? Also no. A small grin gracing your features, you took off into the pyramid.

Racing across the gravely surface of the desert, the sand provided a slight level of resistance. Nevertheless, you persevered onwards, stride refusing to falter. Basking in the glorious heat of the warm Egyptian sun's rays casting down on your face, you closed your eyes as you ran, chin tilted upwards. Naturally, this obscured your vision, rendering you blind, and therefore leading you to miss the gaping hole in the ground.

A short squeala of surprise passed your lips as you suddenly found yourself unexpectedly falling through the earth. The drop was rather long, and you landed in a heap on the floor of the dugout with a large thud. You weren't aware of how long you were unconscious, but judging by the severe lack of any source of light, sunset had passed. Pain shot through your body, coarsing through your veins and ricocheting off each of your bones in turn. Head pounding, you groaned slightly, trying to work out what in the hell just happened to you.

Darkness continued to fill the room, prompting you to fish within one of your pockets, pulling out a match and striking it aflame. The hidden chamber was large, that much you could tell even despite the dim lighting. Blinking twice as you began to, very slightly, register your surroundings, you noticed the sheer obscurity of this interior. You'd heard of the saying 'paintings that seemed to follow you around the room', but this gave a new meaning to those words.

No, wait.

Those paintings were moving, and not metaphorically. Eyes widening, you began to notice everything in the tomb writhing like a cluster of cobras. Onyx black cats prowled upon shelves, worn linen bandages slowly unfurling from being bound around each of their limbs. Animated drawings of men, deities and horses alike moved naturally, as though it were a perfectly normal occurrence. Shabti servants, the colour of oxidised copper and ranging from 5-30cm tall formed an army scattered throughout the tomb. Then, slowly, as though delaying the inevitable, your eyes trained upon it.

The sarcophagus.

Shuffling away rapidly, your back hit the decrepit wall of the hidden grave. The embodiment of terror plastered over your face, you watched in horror as the coffin began to violently shake. Your blood ran cold as bangs from the inside began to echo across the acoustic chamber. The rusted hinges were worn and flimsy, and the bolts began to unscrew from their holdings. Padlocks had become frail with ages and popped open, one almost smacking you square in the forehead, to which you responded with a short yelp. For a moment, all movement ceased, as though whatever was inside had begun to listen to the intruder in their grave. You took liberty of the fleeting moment, and began to craft a way out. The quiet was short lived, however, as, with one final, mighty heave, the final lock was broken.

The sarcophagus had been opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, the air thick and suffocating as you watched a wrapped hand emerge from the tomb. The coffin lid was ajar, though it didn't take much pushing to be removed almost entirely. Almost at once, the creatures residing in the grave marched forward, crowding their newly awoken master. Hidden in the shadows, you froze, hoping to remain unseen and ignored, and thus leaving unscathed. Soon enough Carter and Carnarvon were bound to find you?

Right?

A huge open grave couldn't be subtle, you only missed it as you eyes were closed. A stupid decision really, and you mentally cursed yourself.

You remained rooted to the spot on the freezing floor, as the reanimated corpse continued to rise from its grave. Surely this was an affect of your concussion; for all you knew this was just an unconscious dream. Besides, with all the travel in the desert, dehydration had undoubtedly left you delirious. It was at that split second of slight relaxation (if you could call it that) in which you spied the piles of treasure sloping at every corner of the tomb. What could you say - you were a grave robber. Carnarvon would be so proud - if you returned alive that was.

It began to claw at the ancient, frayed linen covering its face, causing your heart to race: it thumped so hard you swore you'd be given away. Praying you didn't go into cardiac arrest, you continued staring bug-eyed as the bandages unfurled in front of you, like the dramatic unveiling of an innovative new invention. Closing your eyes for the second time that day, you winced, raising your arms to shield your face from the horrors you were undoubtedly about to witness. Bile rose in your throat as your mouth drew dry. Images of rancid, rotting flesh peeling off bones flashed through your mind, prompting your whole body to tremble.

'I'm just delirious. Any moment now I'll open my eyes to be met with a chamber of riches.' You thought to yourself. Awoken mummies were the stuff of fairytales, and despite what Carnarvon and Carter believed, you were most certainly not a child.

Your internal monologue was cut short however, interrupted by the gentlest of touches placed on your arm. It prompted you to flinch away instantaneously, a soft whimper escaping. Eyes shooting open, you came face to face with the pharoah himself. And he was not what you had anticipated.

He wasn't the scary mummy you were expecting, he was a teenage kid.

Kind, cerulean eyes rimmed with a smoky black eyeliner stared into your own, azure oceans plagued with concern. Concern for you. Such a colour must have been pricelessly rare, sapphires amongst stones.

His golden, tanned hand had felt cold and lifeless against your arm, yet the heat it had radiated was electrifying, continuing to shoot jolts throughout your entire body. His skin was soft and smooth, betraying the fact that this royal had almost certainly never worked a day in his life.

Slightly unruly brown curls and a toned slender figure - he was actually rather cute.

"Are you alright? You seem a little... Lost?" He queried, to which you seemed unable to form a response.

"I- what.. who? What's going on?" You managed, stumbling over your words as your voice cracked slightly.

He gave a small smile, clearly sympathetic of your utter confusion, before gesturing at a golden tablet, as though that were supposed to help you in any way. Noting your expression of utter bewilderment, the undead Pharaoh elaborated.

"That's my tablet, blessed by Khonsu himself. It holds the power to awake the dead at night," he gestures to himself and the cats, who stared at you, blinking and unsure whether it would be safe for them to approach. Then, he pointed to the paintings in the walls and dragged his finger towards the mass of shabti dolls, both of which watched you with the same confusion. "Along with anything else resembling a life form that finds it's way into the presence of the tablet."

"Right." You answered, holding your head and still in shock.

"You needn't be afraid, you know. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Thank you, that is a relief." You swallowed thickly.

He hummed in response, smiling with an amused frown at the fact you feared him.

"So, who exactly are you?" You asked after a short yet not uncomfortable silence.

His lavish outfit betrayed the royal status he claimed in life, only accentuated by the Red Crown, or Deshret supporting a golden snake - the symbol of monarchy- resting atop his sarcophagus. Around his neck fastened a Usekh collar, adorned with teal and umber jewels and beads, and topped with golden accents. Sleeves of cloth draped over his arms, the fibres of the fabric woven with pure gold. The metallic shine of the element was evident in the chromatic sheen of the cape resting over the Pharoah's shoulders. At his waist there hung a Shendyt kilt, fastened with a cloth belt, also elaborately decorated. Beautiful gold jewellery decorated his figure, your eyes drawn in particular to the stunning gold bracelet cuffs he supported on either wrist, encrusted with gemstones, potentially aquamarine or topaz. Once again your attention was drawn to his face.

"I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king. And you are...?"

Stunned into silence for a moment by the regality of the ancient king before you, you blinked and paused briefly before answering.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"So, Y/N, what are you doing in my grave?" Ahkmenrah asked you, barely trying to surpress an amused smile. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to form a lie. This ruler seemed nice, and regardless, you couldn't exactly tell him you were intent on raiding his tomb for riches.

"It was an accident. Really, it was. I was running, and, well, I wasn't exactly looking where I was going."

"Clearly." He smirked. "Why were you in the desert though? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but you don't appear to be Egyptian."

"What? Oh, no I'm not. I'm English. I came out in an expedition with two other men; Lord Carnarvon and Carter. They're archaeologists." You winced at the manufactured truth. It wasn't entirely a lie, that was what the men claimed to be. Though all your troupe really planned to accomplish was glorified tomb-raiding, a fact that made you sick.

"And they left you here?" Ahkmenrah questioned incredulously, unable to fathom why on earth they would abandon you like this.

"Well, no. Not exactly. They allowed me to go check out the pyramid about 10 yards south, but, as o said, I fell down a hole." You blushed again, this time due to your own stupidity and clumsiness. This was not how to earn the respect of an esteemed king.

Ahkmenrah frowned. "So how long have you been down here?"

"Uh. I don't actually know, I was unconscious for a short time. Or possibly a long time, that I'm not sure of either."

Concern once again crossed the young Pharoah's face. "You poor thing! Are you alright? You're not concussed, are you?"

"Probably." You shrugged, further alarming him.

The next few hours were spent talking to Ahk, discussing everything from the legal affairs of ancient Egypt to the cats that accompanied him in his tomb. Over the course of the night, the two of you had grown closer, both in terms of friendship and literal distance. Most of the other inhabitants of the grave had deemed you safe, returning to their regular routine, and the most curious of the mummified cats, an (aptly) Egyptian mau apparently named Tivali, had become rather taken to you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day had caught up with you, and you slumped against Ahk's shoulder. Revelling in his presence, contentment washed over you as, for the first time on your quest, you relaxed, finally at ease. Perhaps it was delirium, but in your sleepy state you swore you felt his fingertips grace against your cheek, the ghost of his lips pressing gently against your temple.

"Sleep well, my dear."

[dragonflies-draw-flame]

For prompt "Ancient History," as part 2 of yesterday's "Otherworldly" prompt (read here).

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren Additional Tags: Ancient Greece, Minotaur Kylo, Emperor Hux, Public Sex, Monsterfucking, Bondage, Anal Sex, Top Armitage Hux, Bottom Kylo Ren, Come Eating

Summary: Hux and Kylo make known to their kingdom the truth of their relationship.

Read below or on AO3 above.

Three years it had been, Hux thought, as he surveyed the vast trembling legions before him, a lone figure on the throne—three years since his bastard of a father had placed a noose around Hux’s neck, trading his only son for a pittance. Brendol had squandered away their family’s fortune through his own frivolity, and rather than face the chains of prison himself, had paid his debts by sacrificing Hux to the fearsome beast, to appease the king and win his own freedom.

Hux’s lips twitched on an otherwise impassive face, at the preposterousness of Brendol asserting the virtue of his virginal son, which lore assured was the only way to satisfy the ferocious minotaur.

If only he had known.

Brendol had certainly not been expecting said terrible creature to call upon him days later in the dead of night, nor for the last thing he would see before death to be his son's hand on the minotaur’s broad cheek, murmuring words of gratitude and affection.

The whole kingdom would see now. Armitage and his Kylo had ravaged the empire, dispatching the loathsome senate, and the traitors and thieves they called friends, a terrifying blight upon all those who resisted their order. And now—now they would stand, side by side, upon the emperor's dais itself.

Hux had heard rumors: whispers that he had some strange hold over Kylo; that the great beast was beaten into submission in order to do Hux’s will; that Kylo was a mindless killer and Hux an untrustworthy leader for making an alliance with such a creature.

He would not stand for such divisive and undermining nonsense. Today, he would make known the truth of his bond with Kylo.

The brassy crack of trumpets, the flutter of doves, startled by the blare. Hux stood, the white and gold fabric of his robes glaringly bright in the midday sun, his laurels a comforting weight upon his head. The silence amongst the gathered was palpable, gravid. He allowed himself a small smile as he raised his fingers, signaling.

He knew Kylo had stepped out from behind the curtains when the collective gasps went up, a scurry of rustling breaths across the lips of their subjects.

‘My emperor,’ said Kylo, his approach throwing long shadows over the stones before them.

‘My Kylo,’ replied Hux, turning towards him with an indulgent smile. ‘Come.’

Kylo's hand was weighty in his, its familiar broad expanse completely encompassing Hux’s own. Hux’s robes swept heavy around his legs as they processed together to the ornamental altar, whereupon Kylo bent willingly over it, crossing his wrists behind his ample back. Waiting. Ready. Submissive to his emperor.

The gold clasp on Kylo's loincloth was unhooked, soft cloth and clinking chain fluttering to the ground. Scandalized murmurs twisted through the crowds. Kylo's naked form was undeniably impressive: lethal, exquisite, fear-inducing. Hux smirked, leering unabashedly. He had been quite taken with it upon his first glimpse of it as well.

His own robes were unsashed then, his waist relieved of its cords of rich crimson. The white linen fell open, parting just so along the narrow plane of his chest.

And then the beast was bound, his thick wrists tied, Hux's hands gentle in his ministrations. Kylo's great head lay upon the scarlet cushion, watching with devoted eyes, his scarred back lifting with expectant breaths.

A kiss, pressed softly to that furred cheek. A caress, lovingly along those muscled shoulders. Hux’s stately robes, slipped off, the fabric a hushed fall to the smooth stones under Hux's feet.

Another gasp: the people shocked at the sight of their emperor, nude and fully roused. Nudity was not uncommon in their culture, but Hux himself never partook in the communal baths or traditional wrestling. His body had been given to Kylo alone in the past years; now he stood, pale and bare but for his sandals and laurels.

And Kylo, naked but for the oil with which he had prepared himself. Hux wrapped his fingers around the base of Kylo's thick tail, moving it to the side to expose Kylo's wet, pink entrance, admiring. He tugged the tail lightly to signal Kylo. Kylo gave a soft grunt only Hux could hear, their agreed-upon consent.

Begin.

Hux took himself in hand, pressed in to Kylo's heat. He groaned. The rise of gooseflesh across his skin, the flush of arousal up his chest—the staggering thrill of fucking Kylo in full view of their kingdom, and of both of them bared to each other, to all: Hux's pique surged, and his blood rose, and he gripped Kylo's flank, and took him.

Kylo's punctuated moans were deep, echoing bellows that rang across the stone cobbles and pillars and tiled rooftops. A breathless silence amongst their subjects, every eye on the spectacle before them. Hux leaned forward, lips soft upon Kylo's firm back, fingers possessively groping as he fucked into that powerful ass.

In private, in their regal shared chambers, it was always Hux splayed open, speared by Kylo's monstrous cock, gasping like a whore in heat—which was how Hux liked it. Kylo had asked this of him. Had requested it, suggested it shyly, as though he were not a towering brute of a creature, a fearsome warrior, a majestic consort, who could take the world with a glance.

Hux had seen the plea in his dark eyes. The need, the heat. He was unprepared for how the thought had snatched his heart, burgeoning lust dripping down into his belly at Kylo's desire to be so publicly claimed. The mighty minotaur, given to Hux that he might take his pleasure from such a beast—the beast to whom he had been presented as a sacrifice. The beast that should have been his demise.

And he did take his pleasure, then: his cock was snug in Kylo's grip, oil squelching out of his hole as Hux drove into him, those great hands resting, tied in scarlet just above Hux's possessing prick. Hux could hold back his groans no longer, and a pleasured stutter fell past his lips, a murmured ‘Kylo,’ his cock hard and throbbing and close to bursting.

Kylo only whimpered weakly, those dangerous eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy, his fingers curling in their bindings as Hux's tight testicles smacked his hot thighs with every thrust. The sun was bright on Hux's back, Kylo's deep fur gleaming beneath its rays. His dark lips were parted, wet, his snout moist and panting. He was near his peak: Hux knew him well.

He twined his fingers around Kylo's rough tail, and with no preamble, yanked Kylo back onto his cock, as flush as he could go. A mighty roar from Kylo—a quick fist on that pendulous, dripping cock—and it was spilling, pulsing over Hux's fingertips, in glorious capacity.

He brought those anointed fingers to his own mouth then, tasting, glutting himself on it, before proffering them to Kylo. Kylo's thick tongue unfurled around them, suckling, eyes opening to peek up at Hux, glazed and sated and full.

‘Armitage,’ Kylo whispered.

Such precious sentiment! Hux all but collapsed upon his great back, perspiring forehead against Kylo's shoulder, raptured, ensnared, hips slamming, hands caressing, heart full and breakable and bright—

Then release: a transcending, momentous thing, the throb of his affection in his throat and his cock in Kylo's ass, the trembling breath of the come-down, the shaking of his hands, gripped weakly upon Kylo's waist.

And triumph: the victory of Kylo by his side afterwards, hands joined together, their kingdom and brilliant future spilled out before them.

@kyluxshortshorts

[fridayincarnate]

Day 5: Ancient History / Roleplay

This one's for day 5 of @kyluxshortshorts! The prompt was "Ancient History." This could also fit today's other prompt "Roleplay" in a more abstract sense, and it also definitely fits day 7's prompt "In Another Life." I rolled 500 for my word count goal.

The title comes from the poem "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

A Traveller From an Antique Land (500 words) by FridayIncarnate

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

Characters: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emperor Armitage Hux, Prince Ben Solo of Alderaan, Jedi Ben Solo, Chancellor Armitage Hux, Imperial Armitage Hux

Summary:

In every life, we leave our mark on the pages of history. All the endings are the same.

[transgenderfivepebbles]

All of you are probably aware that I am a man who loves to think about the Ancients’ daily lives, but most of all I am a man who loves to think about them being happy.

The lives not spent in perpetual meditation and self-sacrifice, those spent truly living for something other than the hope to properly die.

Moon speaks of big festivals, of classical paintings so adored that people forged family portraits in their style – family portraits – they cared for their families enough to get them painted together!

She reads a fragment of a poem, from an ancient farmer. Their name is Pel, nowhere near as vivid as those of the others. In the mists of memory, your image dances, like the motes of dust, in a ray of sunlight that pierces a dark room. It is a love poem, it seems; to whom, no one knows. Nonetheless, it is a work of love, and nothing else.

She reads a dark pink pearl. In it are over six hundred memories of one person, who lived near the end of their civilization. They were married with children. They spoke in debate contests, and were apparently incredibly stylish. They preserved the memories of a tasty meal from their childhood, a triumphant victory in a debate, and a peaceful moment in their older years. They were left here to be cherished by those who remained. None do, except you.

But still, you are here. You remember what they were.

And they were alive.

[the-good-spartan]

A Few Notes on 427 BCE: The transfer of the Kingship at Sparta.

In the summer of 427 BCE, the Spartan army marched on Attika to ravage the land for the fourth time in the Arkhidamian War, but unlike the previous three occasions, they were led by an Agiad war-leader, Kleomenes. [Thuc 3.26]

Arkhidamos II, sole Eurypontid king since somewhere around 469 BCE, was probably seriously ill at this time – extrapolated from the fact that he was succeeded by his son Agis II, and the following year, the summer of 426, Agis was the War-King.

One king – the senior king - was always the war-king, so the fact that Agis didn’t lead that army in 427 means that Arkhidamos must still have been alive but couldn’t lead the army as he’d done for many years beforehand.

Kleomenes was the exiled [Agiad] king Pleistoanax’s brother, and was serving as regent to Pleistoanax’s son, Pausanias, who was underage – perhaps meaning below the age of twenty, when an ordinary Spartan could gain full citizenship if he’d met the stringent criteria related to his education, wealth and socialisation; though the eldest sons of Spartan king’s didn’t attend the agoge, so they may have had a different age requirement.

Please note that this is a guess based on almost pure academic speculation. There is a deep lack of evidence around all this topic.

Pleistoanax had been in exile for a long time. In 446, during the Second Sacred War [a series of battles between Athens, Sparta and allies on both sides, for control of Delphi] Pleistoanax invaded Attika, going as far as Eleusis and Thria, before turning back. He was believed to have been bribed into retreating. [Thuc. 2.21]

Cartledge, quoting Gomme, suggests that, ‘The real bribe, however, may not have been monetary, but “the offer to surrender, or discuss the surrender of, Megara, Troizen and Achaia,”’ [S&L:ARH pg. 197] places taken during the Sacred Wars.

In the winter of 446-445, Athens and Sparta agreed the 30 Years Peace which lasted until the outbreak of the Arkhidamian War. Pleistoanax was exiled before this, probably in 445 BCE. [Thuc. 2.21.]

For context, in 418 BCE, Agis II did the same thing, accepting a four-month treaty with Argos without consulting the ephors and gerousia then returned ‘the finest army ever seen in Hellas’ to Sparta. The authorities at home were livid - they threatened to burn down Agis’ house and fine him 100,000 drachmae. He managed to avoid this outcome, but the next time he marched out with the army, he had to take ten commissioners with him, and if he wanted to withdraw his troops from enemy territory, the ten had to agree. This was completely unprecedented. The War-King had always been the absolute authority when on campaign. [Thuc 5.63]. But, all things considered, he was lucky that his victory at the Battle of Mantinea let him off the hook.

Thucydides tells us that Pleistoanax took refuge on Mount Lykaion (in Arkadia), sacred to Zeus Lykaios, where he lived in a house that was built half inside the sanctuary, ‘because he was afraid of the Spartans.’ [Thuc 5.16]

We don’t know when Pleistoanax returned to Sparta with any precision, but it was almost certainly later in 427 BCE, and I’d personally put money on it being only possible after Arkhidamos’ death. It’s said that ‘they brought him back with the same dances and sacrifices as when they inaugurated the kings at the original foundation of Sparta.’ [Thuc 5.17]

The fact that he wasn’t made War-King, despite his seniority both in personal age and the seniority of the Agiad line, suggests that he was considered a ‘new king’, rather than a restored one; but perhaps it was the cause of his exile which prevented him being made the War-King as was his ancestral right.

His return was apparently difficult for him. The Spartans, understandably, didn’t trust him at all.

When speaking of the push for the Peace [of Nikias, in 421], Thucydides tells us that Pleistoanax was very eager for the peace to be agreed, because his opponents were causing his ‘embarrassment.’ Every time Sparta had a set-back in the war, they put it down to his ‘illegal’ return, accusing him and another brother, Aristokles, of bribing the Pythia to repeatedly tell Spartan delegates seeking guidance from Apollo that ‘they must bring back the seed of the demigod son of Zeus from a foreign land to their own, or they would always plough with a silver ploughshare.’ [Thuc 5.16-7] The son of Zeus is Herakles, from whom both the Spartan royal houses traced their lineage.

Quoted Sources:

Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, translated by Martin Hammond.

Paul Cartledge, Sparta and Lakonia: A regional history 1300 - 362 BCE.

[suddenlymicah]

happy ides of march! time to kill ceasar

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

only good thing abt the vous situation is that it lets me experience tecteun calling 13 the child that im 100% convinced she actually would bc shes the only one who uses tu for her

[sevensistersofsussex]

Chapter 4 - Love More

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I was never anything else.”

Read here

[mascula-sappho]

ok so: I'm working on a series of one shots for Pride this year and the basic concept is we take historical/literature gay and trans people and stick them in the *homophobic* *transphobic* modern world exactly as it is now and watch Confusion unfold. Here are some ideas:

1. Fingon and Maedhros on the Hither Shores in the seventh age of Arda, trying to deal with the technological advancement and find out who this "Tolkien" is and also wtf the "Rings Of Power" are. Run ins with right wing weirdo Tolkien fans are a must: "dirty shippers" "what is a shipper?? we're married if that's what you're asking"

2. Alexander the Great and Hephaistion crash a Neo Nazi march. They are completely baffled as to why the world has been taken over by Persians (bc pants) and also at first are relieved that people know their names, but this quickly turns to: "we are like Achilles and Patroclus" "ah yes such pure and perfect brotherly love" "NO, we are like ACHILLES and PATROCLUS"

3. Tiresias crashes a TERF hippie seance and actually manages to predict the future (they are baffled by climate change) and end up getting Snake gendered (having their gender transed AGAIN BY THAT SAME DAMN PAIR OF SERPENTS) in front of said seance

4. Vergil and Sappho strike up a friendship and try to publish poetry, little did they know, they are in hot water due to book bans, and wonder how the current government even works.

5. Catullus writes an explicit invective against Ron DeSantis for banning Sappho's poetry. On the Statehouse of Florida's exterior. He is rather impassioned given the sheer amount of Fanboy, but his lack of regard for modern vandalism laws could land him in trouble.

6. Beleg and Túrin join a hunting group, little did they know, they might be the ones hunted, but they outfox their chasers? Idk about this on

[medusapelagia]

15 AU-gust: Ancient History

Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: implied reference to underage WC: 1066

Being a slave it’s never fun, and Decimus knows it too well. As his name easily reveals, Decimus was the tenth son of a poor Roman family and even if he was really good at playing almost any instrument, their parents sold him when he was five years old. Too skinny to help working the land and good-looking enough to be interesting. The first man he was sold to was a kind man, who helped him study music and bought him to have a playmate for his sick daughter. His name was Vergelius, but his daughter called him Wayne, so Decimus started to do the same. He quickly became like a member of the family and Wayne started to tell anyone that he was his nephew. He cared for him till the day he died and then the moneylenders came taking every possession that he had, Decimus included. After that, he was sold to so many people that he lost count. Some of them needed a servant in the house, and others needed a servant in bed, but Decimus was a slave and he had no word about his future. Years have passed and during all this time his body was beaten, fucked, and used as any of his owners deemed appropriate, and now he is working under the Colosseum helping the gladiators get ready.

There is nothing so scareing as being a fucking gladiator, in Decimus’ opinion. These men get into the arena not knowing if they will face another man, or an animal, or who knows what. Still, every day, they train hard. They even joke with each other, not knowing if, in a few hours, they will have to face each other in the arena. They are not exactly slaves, but they really look like slaves to Decimus. There is a gladiator he is particularly fond of. He has big shoulders and thick skin, and even if every part of his body is scarred, looking at him makes something tingle in Decimus’ stomach. He also has a nickname for Decium: Eddie. None else calls him like that, and when the gladiator, Stephanus, calls him like that, it feels like they are sharing a secret. Decimus, who knows the meaning of Stephanus's name, one time teased him about that “You know that it means crowned, right? And you are the fucking king of these gladiators.” he whispered on his skin while applying some oil on his aching muscles. He laughed but said nothing more. Every time Stephanus is in the arena, Decimus' jaw clenches hard until he sees him again, still standing, with blood all over his body. This time the emperor is going to free from any obligation the gladiator who will win every match and gift him with whatever he wants: money, power, glory. It’s a one-man standing. Some of the gladiators refuse to join the games, but Stephanus do not. “Why? Do you want to get killed?” Decimus asks him, while he is helping him get ready for the fight. “I’m not going to die Eddie,” he replies with a smirk. “How do you know that? It’s a last man standing! Everyone who joined is going to try to kill you.” “As they always do.” “This is different Steve!” Steve. That’s the nickname that Eddie has given him in his mind but never really told him. “Steve, uh?” he asks with a grin, then grabs Eddie's hair and drags him closer to his face “It’s going to be ok, Eddie. We are going to make it. And I will finally get you out of this shit hole! Do you trust me?” “I do…” It’s everything he manages to say before Stephanus kisses him on the lips. It’s not a sweet kiss, it’s hard and their teeth bump and still it’s the best kiss ever, but before Eddie can actually kiss him back someone is calling Stephanus's name and he leaves, without turning back.

The hours feel like days and every time the door on the back opens and a bloody corpse is dragged back in, Eddie runs, looking at the bloody mess, searching for brown hair and a birthmark on the shoulder, and when he sees that’s not him he breathes a big breath of relief. One after another, the bodies of the gladiators get dragged back in, leaving in the arena blood trails and the two stronger ones: Stephanus and Bibulus. One of the other slaves sits near him with an evil smile “Billy is going to kill your pretty king.” Bibulus, Billy. “I don’t care what you think of him. He is going to survive.” it doesn’t matter to Decimus if Stephanus is going to win or not, he just wants him to survive. That’s all he is asking for.

The last fight seems to last hours and hours; the crowd screams and yells, and Eddie is still buried deep down the Colosseum, waiting to know what happened to the man he loves. When he hears the door open once more he doesn’t run to see who won, he stays on his straw bed, unable to even look toward the door. “I need a bath. And a massage.” Eddie turns and he sees Steve. He is hurt, and bleeding, but he is alive, so very alive! He runs to him with such force that they both end up on the floor. “You are alive. You are fucking alive.” “I’m alive, Eddie. And I’m free. And you are free too.” Decimus stops and looks at the boy, confused “What did you say?” “You are free. The emperor asked me what I wanted as my prize, and I told him I want you.” “That… that means that you are my owner?” he asks even more confused. “I would like very much to say that you are mine, but I don’t want to own you. I already signed the papers. You are a free man Eddie. You can go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. Love whoever you want.” Steve’s eyes light up for a moment when he says that. “Can I go home to my family?” Stephanus’ smile falters just for a moment “You are free. You can do whatever you want.” he repeats, trying to convince the other man. Eddie hugs him tight “Will you take me home?” Stephanus smiles, toying with Decimus’ hair “Of course, Eddie. Of course.”

Ps Did I make a little reference to one of the fics I’m obsessed with? Yes I did 😀 Did I do any research about gladiators? Nope! Did I do some research to find suitable names for the period? Yes 🙂

[apocalyp-tech-a]

Tech-ology: Vol. II, Chapter 4 - Cu Next Taungsday  Tech and Wrecker find themselves at the mercy of a shady copper part merchant.

I’m a little behind on Tech-ology entries, but I finally got inspired by the world's oldest customer complaint, a cuneiform tablet from Ancient Mesopotamia circa 1750 BCE over some low grade copper sold by one shady merchant, Ea-Nasir, to a very disgruntled Nanni.  Well, I think it’s hilarious and I love ancient history so thought it was a good story, but no one else did, lol.  *shrug* :D

[ariel-s-awesome]

Every night, after Lord Hater gets snuggled in with Captain Tim, Commander Peepers reads him picture books from the Hater Empire Propaganda Collection.

They're all totally, completely nonfiction and written by Commander Peepers himself.

[bsaka7]

so who's going to write the fic where Charles and Carlos r on opposite sides of the sheep vs cattle fight on the open range in the 1870s and then they fuck. maybe there is some attempted murder. and then Charles has to go back to his crew's chuckwagon the next day for food OBV and then talk to idk fucking. Daniel. Like he doesn't know that one of Daniel's friends isn't going to go try and kill all the sheep cuz they ruin the land for the cattle. Charles' nose is sunburnt. hm????

[siderealdei]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jon Antilles/CT-7567 | Rex Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, Jon Antilles Additional Tags: AU-gust | August Writing Challenge, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Series: Part 8 of AU-gust 2023 Summary:

AU-gust Day 15: Ancient History

There are flowers in Hell.

[one-of-many-mothmen]

I have learned more history from Through the Ages GO fics than i have in any history classes ever

[victorian-platence]

about my ancient roman au

Ayo guys, I haven't posted in a few months, partly due to my ADD, partly due to research, partly due to being out of the country visiting paraguayan relatives and then inside the country but traveling around neuquen so out of province, anyways my phone broke so I couldn't write and just after I got a new one I got mugged so I'm back to square one.

In any case I'm back to writing and I got a little sorry-for-the-delay-be-patient-for-me-please present: a google drive with books I'm using for research! Most of them are academic books, I think the Phillip Matyzack ones are the only ones which aren't, coincidentally they are the most entertaining, tho throughly researched, I rec them very much!

Enjoy!

PS: if you havent read my ancient roman jasiper au: here