getaapologist

[getaapologist]

how dare you be so beautiful

*pics taken by me from the digital version of gladiator 2

[getaapologist]

Tragic and terrible that both Caracalla and Geta grew into something that resembles their father in the other's eye... Geta who took his father's abuse in his brother's place and now has to endure the same treatment from the very person he always protected. He can't ever blame Caracalla because he knows it's all caused by his disease. There is nothing he can do except put up with it and relive his childhood trauma.

Caracalla who blindly relies on Geta because he knows his brother will always keep him safe until Geta too grows unstable and lashes out and he's suddenly a little boy again and he's not sure anymore if it was Geta who protected him or the one he needed protection from.

Tragic that there is no true resentment between them because of this. Geta can't blame Caracalla for what his illness makes him do and Caracalla will wake up and seek out his (dead) brother, uncaring about any betrayal he made himself believe the previous night.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror..............Part IV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Letha prevents the assassination of the Emperors and picks up a wound in the process. Caracalla's indulgent tendencies prove useful in a pinch. Geta has feelings.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood. Reference to Letha's Voyeurism if you squint, 18+ only

Word Count: 3.3k

Part 4 of 13?

[ Part III ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: And here we go. I hope you like this one.

Letha held the glass to her lips but didn’t drink, letting the wine stain her lips. She couldn’t afford a lapse in concentration, not now that she knew anything could happen. She was given no guidance, no indication of who could be responsible. She would only know once someone was making a lunge for Macrinus. The hand in her lap clutched the handle of the blade tucked into her dress, in a pocket she’d watched Hyacinthia sew in as she spouted dreams of a seaside home, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep.

She had to get this right. Sure, for Macrinus’s plan’s sake, but also for her own sake. She’d drawn blood before, plenty of it. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to kill this would-be assassin herself. She wasn’t sure she had the stomach for it and there wasn’t exactly an opportunity to practice. In the weeks leading up to this celebration, she’d sparred with a select few of Macrinus’s gladiators. Those he trusted to actually help her.

She would do this.

Geta had looked over a few times, but he was currently attached at the hip to Lyra, a generous gift from senator Thraex, as he had loudly proclaimed at the start of the dinner. Probably hoping to garner favor now that his coffers were beginning to dwindle. Caracalla sat beside his brother, half out of his own chair, his arms slung around a pretty man’s bare shoulders. He had loudly praised Thraex for his thoughtful gift of new outfits for Dondus, the small monkey currently sitting on the table before them, plucking abandoned grapes off his plate in a shining outfit. Dondus was clearly used to the cacophony of sound that accompanied the Emperors wherever they went.

She couldn’t be distracted by Geta either, despite how his greeting haunted her all afternoon. Pretending like they had never met. Protecting their secret encounter as if it could mean something to him. Surely not, with the way his large hand squeezed at the flesh of Lyra’s bare thigh. No, perhaps it meant so little it had completely left his mind as soon as she slipped out of the room.

Letha could hardly stomach it. The jealousy was overwhelming. Macrinus noticed, but again mistook her half-hidden look of anger for her desire for revenge. 

“Soon, Letha. Channel that rage. Use it for this, in the right way, and soon you will certainly be in their employ. Then you can come and go as you please, and no one will ask questions of you. You will be able to do what I cannot. Just bide your time,” Macrinus instructed. She wished she still felt as angry towards Geta as she now did towards Lyra. It would certainly make her position in all this much easier to navigate. “You are my shrike,” he reminded her. “I’m letting you off the leash.”

At Macrinus’s words, Geta stood, having eyes for no one but Lyra. “As my lovely companion has reminded me, we are all here to celebrate. A toast, to Macrinus, and his hearty barbarians,” he smiled, lifting a cup in Macrinus’s direction. Most others did as well as Macrinus sat comfortably, smiling under the attention of the elite of Rome. Basking in it, even as he intended to ruin it. 

“And to Thraex, for his wonderful gifts,” Caracalla shouted, throwing himself up onto his feet suddenly. He reached down for the table to steady himself. Geta seemed a bit perturbed at his brother’s state of inebriation, but said nothing of it. 

Everyone drank, but Letha hadn’t lifted her glass. As her eyes were forced away from Lyra’s searching hand at Geta’s wrist, she spotted someone striding forward through a break in the columns on the opposite side of the room. Her heart caught in her throat. He wore the dark armor of the Praetorian guard, but something was off. Her adrenaline spiked as she spotted the glint of metal in his palm. She waited, watching for someone else to notice, but no one seemed to react. He strode forward, towards the tables. 

Before she could think twice she got to her feet, gathering her dress as she fought to get out of the chair without falling over on the hem. The man advanced, no guards yet intercepting him, the atmosphere in the palace giving everyone a false sense of ease. Perhaps if she wasn’t tipped off she might not have noticed him either. But she did, either way. And now, her inaction would get someone killed.

She passed around the edge of the long table, nearly breaking into a sprint as she realized he wasn’t headed to where Macrinus sat. His eyes were dead set on the center of the table, and his legs were carrying him there, right to where the Emperors currently stood, enjoying their party and the company. 

No.

Letha intercepted the man uncomfortably close to the table, startling everyone out of their revelry. The blade in his hand seemed prepared for a stab, probably between the ribs of one of the Emperors. She reached for the arm, forcing it up and away from her own ribs, pushing hard against him with her body, forcing him back away from the twins. The man grunted, trying to force her off her feet, but she was stuck firm, as if roots grew from her feet. She knew his center of balance was higher than hers, she could keep her position quite well. He let out a frustrated roar and opened his hand, changing his grip on the knife before plunging it straight down towards her with renewed force.

Chaos ensued as people began to realize what was happening. A scream cut through the noise of the panicked guests and Letha felt the bite of the blade in the top of her shoulder. Hot, searing pain radiated from the injury as her skin split. The pain had her sweating. She saw white, her breathing becoming uneven. She had to do something more, she was stuck here otherwise. If she had been smarter she would’ve drawn the blade tucked away in her dress before now. Still, it was her only recourse. She knew what she had to do.

Letha freed a hand and accepted the blade deeper into her shoulder in favor of drawing the blade hidden within her dress. Any hangups she might’ve had about killing the hired attacker went out the window as soon as he’d stabbed her. She sank the small blade into the unprotected space beneath his arm, just above where his chestplate began at his side, striking bone, just like Viggo had instructed her. The force exerted on the knife in her shoulder ceased and she felt some small relief. She pulled her blade free and stabbed again, her other hand gripping the lip of the chestplate firmly, drawing him in close as he gasped. Once more for good measure.

After a few more agonizing breaths, he was pulled away from her, her knife wrenched free from his side as she held it in a vice grip. The guards stood around him as his blood poured out of the wound and onto his scrabbling fingers pulling at his armor as if in disbelief, spilling out onto the ornate marble floor. He fell with a loud clatter, blanketing the room in silence. She stared down at the blade in her hand, sick at seeing his lifeblood staining her skin. 

She felt faint and took a step back, stinging emanating from her shoulder. She remembered the attacker’s blade and reached up for it, pulling it up and out of her flesh, the pain a white hot flash that blinded her for a moment as she swayed on her feet, her own blood falling over her shoulder and dripping onto the floor in large droplets, the rest soaking into the dress she wore, the deep purple of it turning black. She would need to apologize to Hyacinthia.

“Letha, come here, give me those,” Macrinus soothed, his hands like hot coals on her arms. He gently removed the blades from her hands and tossed them aside before returning his hands to her upper arms, steering her away from the scene and back to her empty chair. Her vision was blurred, but she could see Macrinus knelt down before her, something close to worry in his eyes as he turned to rifle through the contents of their table, eventually finding cloth to press down into the wound at the top of her shoulder. 

He couldn’t lose his asset, she thought bitterly.

“Press down, Letha,” Macrinus barked, pushing her left hand down over top of the linens. “Hold that there,” he muttered, not quite panicked, but as close to it as she’d ever witnessed.

“Summon a healer!” a roar reached her ears. “Everyone get out, please,” the stressed voice ordered. Geta. “Where is Tegula?!”

A warm hand overtook hers, lifting it away from the cloth and pressing down itself, much harder than she could’ve. She hissed, swiping out at her abandoned glass on the table, knocking it down to the floor. Her nails found the wood and dug in as she grimaced, brought back to reality as this fresh pain cut through the rest.

“Letha,” Geta muttered, his other hand reaching out to pull at her wrist, trying to free the poor table from her crushing grip. The familiarity in his use of her name didn’t escape her. She could feel the heat of his body against her upper back as she felt ever colder. He succeeded in prying her fingers from the wood, wrapping her aching hand in his, an offering that should have delighted her. She could hardly pay attention to Geta and his softness with her. She would dwell on it later.

“Where is the healer?” Geta demanded, his voice laced with frustration. 

“Emperor, I can take her back to the arena, I have a doctor there that can stitch up her wound,” Macrinus offered. She thought of Ravi. Yes, he would be able to do it.

“No,” Geta frowned. “She saved my brother. We will look after her.”

“...Of course, your majesty,” Macrinus relented, his plans bearing fruit. He watched Geta carefully.

“You are staying close?” Geta questioned.

“Across from the Colosseum, yes,” Macrinus answered.

“Good. I will keep you informed.” Geta was dismissing Macrinus. 

Macrinus would mark this moment as the one that confirmed that all his work had been for something after all. There was no going back. “Of course. If you need anything at all,” he offered, getting to his feet. 

“You will know,” Geta promised, still applying pressure to Letha’s shoulder as Macrinus got to his feet. 

Macrinus leaned down, near her ear. “You did well,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her hair before gathering his robes in his arms and striding away. It shouldn’t have buoyed her spirits, it was all for his gain, but she still felt relief at his praise. 

“You were magnificent!” Caracalla’s giddy voice met her ears before he leaned down to be in her line of sight. “Just–Ugh!” he shouted, mimicking her stab to the man’s armpit with a reckless swipe between them.

“‘Calla,” Geta warned, though his tone lacked any real bite. “Give her space.”

Caracalla just giggled, sitting down on the floor before her, elbows on his knees. “You must be strong,” he commented. “What are you doing warming Macrinus’s bed?”

She reflexively gripped Geta’s hand in hers, reacting to the implication. “I-I don’t,” she clarified, her voice weaker than she expected. The mere act of speaking made her vision swim.

“Then what does he keep you for? His gladiators?” Caracalla’s words probably weren’t meant to incite her, but they did all the same, her grip on Geta’s palm tightening uncomfortably. 

If only you knew, she thought carelessly.

“Caracalla, move,” Geta ordered, the healer finally arriving, setting down their things before Letha on the floor, blocking Caracalla from view. Her grip relaxed.

Geta spoke calmly with the healer, explaining what had unfolded before his eyes, finally lifting the blood-soaked linen from her shoulder. The healer’s eyes widened momentarily before looking down to their supplies. Through all this, Geta never removed his hand from hers, made no attempt to withdraw. Even when he was arguably in the way, the healer didn’t mention it, probably assuming it would do no good to demand anything of an Emperor.

She groaned, grimacing as a liquid was splashed over her shoulder, the burning sensation deep in the wound almost worse than when it was created. She kept a vice-like grip on Geta’s hand and the moment the pain began to lessen she released it, apologies tumbling from her lips.

“Do not be sorry,” he spoke. “Take it,” he ordered, slipping his hand back into hers. She reluctantly did, thankful for his hands taking the ice out of her fingers. The healer got to work, threading a needle with skilled hands as if he had done this countless times. All comfort Letha had begun to feel abruptly left her as the needle pierced her skin and she let out a sob.

“Do you have nothing for the pain?!” Geta begged. The bones in his hand were forced tightly together and he wondered if they would break in her grip.

“I did not grab it, Emperor,” the healer apologized, his hands stilling over her shoulder, wondering if he should continue. 

“I might have something,” Caracalla proposed, stepping around his brother, his eyes focused on the split flesh over her shoulder, fascinated.

“You’ll kill her,” Geta accused, wishing he could send his brother away like he had everyone else. 

“Perhaps just a little,” the healer suggested, glancing at Geta as if asking permission.

“Give it to me,” she all but whispered, lifting her bloodied hand slightly off her lap. 

Caracalla beamed, reaching into his robes. He eventually withdrew a vial, lowering it to Letha’s open palm. 

“Don’t,” Geta groaned, pulling the vial quickly from Caracalla’s hand. “Wine,” he ordered. A cup was placed on the table and quickly filled. He finally pulled his hand free of her grip and stood, opening the vial over the glass. 

“Only a few drops,” the healer guided, watching carefully as Geta tilted the vial, only allowing a small amount to disappear into the wine. 

Caracalla came back around the back of her chair, stealing away the vial from his brother and stashing it back in his robes, a grin on his face. “You see, brother, I am good for something.”

Geta made no comment as he swirled the glass. He noticed the blood staining his own hand, thinking of how cold hers had been. He was reminded of his dream, a highly confusing one that left him stewing, right up until this afternoon. 

Letha had turned him to stone, one look was all it took. And he was trapped, trapped in his own skin. She just sat, watching him, observing him in some liminal, featureless place. Every part of him her eyes roamed over, he felt a trace of warmth, the barest hint of it. And that was enough for him. He woke up sweating, dazed and slightly embarrassed. He reminded himself he might never encounter her again and that brought him crashing back down to reality. 

But he did. He did, and he couldn’t deny the flare of satisfaction he felt when his attempt actually worked. When he saw her sitting there. It only lasted a moment, though, before his eyes traced the point of a blade up from her shoulder, along Macrinus’s fingers, up his arm, his shoulder, his jealousy forcing him down a murderous path.

“That’s quite enough stirring, Caesar,” the Healer offered, right as a giggle burst forth from Caracalla’s lips. If Geta thought they knew what he’d been thinking of, he might’ve felt anger. 

He held the glass in front of Letha’s mouth, gently pressing against her lower lip. His eyes were trained there, watching as she opened. He only poured a little of the hastily made tincture in. He waited as she swallowed, staring at the column of her throat, eyes lowering to the darkened fabric that had been cut away from her shoulder, the nearly-dry blood covering much of her skin. Her hand squeezing the fabric of his tunic took him out of his study of her and he tilted the glass, offering her a little more. 

This was not at all how he expected this evening to go. Finding Lyra waiting in his chambers after returning from the arena took him by surprise. He had enjoyed her, sure, but he didn’t think he’d expressed any particular desires to Thraex for his concubine. He figured the senator didn’t want to leave one of them empty-handed. He almost sent her away but thought better of it, hoping it would remind Letha of their encounter, and maybe he could relieve some of the tension lurking in his shoulders too. 

He was sure it was successful, if not a bit too successful. Letha had sat beside Macrinus the entire evening, stone-faced, definitely not enjoying herself. And then he’d toasted Macrinus. He thought the evening was going quite well otherwise, until he realized a man was stalking toward his brother, the shine of a blade in his hand. 

He’d moved in front of Caracalla, trying to shield him from this grave injury just as he had always done. Caracalla had gripped the cloth of his robes quite tightly, but didn’t voice his fear. He didn’t have to, they had experienced similar scenarios far too often. It was as natural as a reflex for Geta to step in to receive the blow. But it never came. The blade never came close, and it took him a moment to realize why. 

Letha. 

It didn’t make sense, none of it did. The guards had been so slow to react, he knew they needed to be replaced. Where had she come from? Why was she protecting them like this? As the attacker’s blade pierced her skin, he felt it as if it were his own shoulder. Where had she gotten a knife from? 

He couldn’t deny the way his chest fluttered at her easy violence. The way she clung to the man, her fingers curled around the lip of the chestplate. It stirred something within Geta that he couldn’t name. He wished it had been him pressed against her, some small part of him would even have endured the fatal wound to be that close. It was so intimate. He felt his skin flush at the sight.

And then it was done. She reached up and pulled the other blade free of her shoulder and Geta could only watch, his rapture morphing into fear as her own blood welled up and fell down either side of her shoulder, the drips echoing in his ears as she swayed before him. Before he could vault over the table Macrinus was there, steering her back to her seat. 

“That’s probably enough for now,” the healer instructed, bringing Geta back to the present moment. “I’m going to begin again, and you must keep still,” the healer warned Letha, meeting her eyes. She nodded weakly.

Geta returned to her side, dragging over a chair so he could sit behind her. His hand found hers again and she squeezed it, though only a fraction of as much as before. His brother’s penchant for recreational drugs had somehow benefited someone other than himself. 

As the needle pierced the other side of the wound, Letha hissed, turning her cheek into Geta’s chest. He welcomed her, turning his torso into her, letting her bury her face, hide her discomfort and pain as the stitches slowly knit her skin back together.

Geta did not lack intimacy. He got as much or as little of it as he desired, the nature of his position and what it granted him. But what he did long for was sincerity. True desire. He could tell the difference. It wasn’t in how they gripped his skin. It was in the eyes. And what he saw in Letha’s as she looked up at him, exhaustion weakening her eyelids, left him stunned.

[ Part V ] coming soon

[getaapologist]

JOSEPH QUINN as GETA | part 1

Gladiator II (2024) dir. Ridley Scott

[getaapologist]

the gladiator ii screenplay adds some really tragic lore to the scene where caracalla kills geta. they're so sad, my heart breaks for them

[getaapologist]

I have three more parts ready to post. I really want to speed up and get to the fun bits 😭

But I have to have patience. Might post them sooner than I want because I’m the kind of person that wants to get the surprise over with and just give someone their gift immediately. We’ll see!

[getaapologist]

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla Gladiator II | Dir. Ridley Scott

[getaapologist]

I'm experiencing Gladiator II brain rot

Gladiator II x Reductress headlines

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror................Part III

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: The games officially begin. Macrinus furthers his plot, and Letha gets to witness the Emperors in their element. Geta can keep a secret.

Warnings: Reference to Letha's Voyeurism if you squint, 18+ only

Word Count: 2.1k (next part should make up the difference)

Part 3 of 13?

[ Part II ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I love writing Macrinus. I just think he's fun. Even though we hate him, a lot. Geta is fun too. I hope you enjoy a bit from his perspective here. One latin phrase here, "Dei bene vertant" is close to "may the gods make (circumstances good) for you," or so I understand. I wanted something like "Good luck!" Also, I HC that Geta has a shortened version of Caracalla's name that he uses sometimes. Anyways, thanks for reading!

“Not much of a bodyguard, abandoning your post,” Macrinus chuckled, his spirits high. He sat on the edge of the bed in her cell where she still laid, tossing a pear up into the air and catching it, again and again, his jewelry clinking together as if in protest. He had brought her back last night, not uttering a word more to her about her disappearance, merely asking for the dress back before disappearing into his chambers.

“What’s got you smiling this morning?” she asked, avoiding his attempt to weasel information out of her. “The winnings?” She knew better.

“It wasn’t about the money, my dear Letha. It is about power and control.”

“So, a debt of two thousand gold denarii is not enough.”

“Not for what I hope to accomplish.”

He wasn’t pushing her on her disappearance, so maybe he didn’t know who she had been with. A relief, to be sure. Still, it would only take one conversation with the indebted senator and he’d get his answers. She couldn’t begin to predict his reaction once he knew.

“Yesterday paved the way to the hill. I received word today that I’m invited to attend the games. As an honored guest of the Emperors, no less.”

Letha wondered if she played any role in this invitation. Surely not. Part of her felt bad for keeping her interactions with Geta from him, but a larger part of her saw his manipulations and scheming and knew he’d drown her in a river if it put him even one step closer to his goals. She didn’t enjoy being someone else’s pawn, even if it got her what she wanted. Or what she thought she wanted.

“How long will I be stuck in here, at the mercy of your men?”

“Well, it would be about… ten days or so. But where I go, so does my bodyguard,” he winked. “I still have use for you, Letha.” With that, he stood. “Go and see Hyacinthia. She’ll help you get scrubbed up. I’m heading up early.”

He got up and strode out. She got to her feet and approached Viggo who waited just outside, cuffs and chains ready to be applied. Macrinus’s voice echoed down the corridor. “No chains, Viggo.”

Viggo seemed reluctant and she couldn’t exactly blame him. He had never done anything to her himself, but he had seen the aftermath of others that couldn’t keep their eyes or their hands to themselves. So he viewed her as a caged animal, as he should. It was better that they feared her a little.

“Get moving, princess,” he spat, gesturing to the baths.

The roaring of the crowd drowned out everything else. The city, its people, clamored for blood. They called for the gladiators elevated to household names through their bloody work in the arena. They were eager to witness inarguable power. They preferred to keep danger out of reach, the reality of it confined to this oval as if it were a play, instead of calling it what it truly was. Brutalism, propped up by religion. If there truly were gods, she didn’t think they’d be sitting here right now.

The tone of the crowd changed. Letha heard their footsteps before she could turn her head to lay eyes on them. The twins. The difference in height and build was staggering now that they were dressed in lighter clothing, an attempt to weather the heat that settled over the sand below.

She revisited her mantra to quell the way her blood reacted to the sight of Geta.

He is a monster.

And yet nothing he had done to her seemed to match that sentiment. Perhaps today would be different. She desperately needed the discouragement. Anything to bring her back to how she thought of him just a couple of days ago. The way she reacted at the sight of him filled her with shame. What would her brother have to say about the way her intestines coiled up at every glance, like a bundle of snakes had been sewn into her gut?

Macrinus sat beside her, stoic, his eyes scanning the other occupants of the Emperor’s box. The twins were taking their seats upon ornate chairs, wide enough for two, conversing quietly with each other, Caracalla’s excitement obvious. Geta mirrored his gleeful smile and she forced herself to look away, lest Macrinus catch her staring. 

She had a job to do.

A few other senators took up seats near the back of the private box, and Thraex plopped down in a seat across the aisle from where she and Macrinus sat. Thraex clearly had seen better days. Letha supposed the reminder this morning of his existing debt to Macrinus had sat in his gut like spoiled fish, even though he readily agreed to plunge ever deeper into despair by potentially doubling his losses. She figured he thought this would be his salvation. One good win would ease all his troubles.

“Dei bene vertant, senator,” Macrinus grinned. Thraex offered a muttered returned wish with a short smile before he was saved by Caracalla turning in his seat, peering over the back of his chair to inspect the occupants of their royal box. 

“Thraex, I never got to thank you for your wonderful party,” he spoke, his voice easygoing and free of hidden nuance. “Have you brought your best today?”

Thraex put on a mask of love for his Emperor, his smile reaching his eyes this time. “Of course, your majesty, and I have even brought some gifts, they await you back at the palace.”

“Gifts?! Do you hear that brother?”

At Caracalla’s summoning, Geta turned in his seat, following his brother’s gaze to Thraex, bypassing Letha entirely. She shouldn’t be surprised. She was a fool if she expected any of that night’s events to have impacted him. She was a tiny blip, an aberration. One of many, insignificant. When he could quite literally have his pick of anyone, it surely wouldn’t be her name spilling from his lips. 

He looked good today. Wearing gold, still dressed in contrast to his twin. He seemed tired, not as enthralled at the idea of gifts as his brother was. “How generous of you, Thraex,” he offered, turning back around to watch as the stage below was being set for a bloody battle.

“Excuse him, Thraex, he’s lost all his manners this morning. If he loses even a moment of his beauty rest, he’s just so difficult–”

“‘Calla, please,” Geta begged, his fingers pressed to his temples. 

Macrinus turned, his eyebrows lifted in slight amusement out of view of the Emperors, a look saved for only her. “Volatile, indeed,” he commented.

Before Letha could ponder further what could’ve affected him so, the crowd roared as men were let into the oval, armed with various weapons, wearing odd bits of armor, appearing as a ragtag group. “Do not forget about your task, Letha,” Macrinus warned, eyes fixed on the men below. 

“Here? Now?” she inquired, glancing around at the guards stationed at the box entrance, and on the sides, blocking the Emperors’ subjects from climbing over to exact any kind of revenge. 

“No. But tonight, at dinner, I need you on your best behavior.” His stare was deadly serious. No joking around. This was important to him. She couldn’t afford to mess it up.

“I understand,” she nodded, reminded of the moment he decided to include her in his plans. His warning. She’d have done anything then to be protected from the vultures that followed her around ever since being collected from the floor of her house. She’d lashed out at anyone that even looked at her, diverting her sorrow into rage towards those that took her family from her. 

The general should have killed her. But he didn’t. He had paved the path to this. Macrinus saw in her a tool, to be used and discarded when it broke or his purpose was achieved. She held no illusions of how Macrinus felt towards her. It was indifference, in its purest form. The act was his smiles, his gentle touches, his teasing, almost fatherly. Whether he thought she believed it didn’t matter either.

She should assume anyone could be a threat and treat them as such, the Praetorians included. The twins may somehow still have the loyalty of the commanding officer, but that didn’t mean all of the rank and file agreed. And for some, the promise of enough coin could steer their morals any which way.

Her concerns for Geta and his sour mood melted away, and she stopped looking over to try to catch a glimpse of his face as he watched the fighting below, Caracalla cheering loudly at every drop of spilled blood on the sand until Thraex’s assembled side lay dead. 

Thraex stood and left the box before anyone could speak comfortingly to him about the losses he’d suffered. They wouldn’t know the breadth of them.

Macrinus just smiled to himself, reclining in his seat, his leg brushing against Letha’s.

“How much is it up to now, Macrinus?” she asked, trying to distract herself from Geta as he rose to his feet, about to leave the box. 

“By my low born math, it must be about six?” he grinned, his arm stretching along the top of their bench seat, his fingers righting the dress where it sat atop her shoulder, lingering. 

“You aren’t done with him yet.”

“No, not yet. I don’t think we’ve reached the groveling stage,” he laughed.

Letha laughed with him, completely missing the way Geta’s eyes lifted at the sound, realizing for the first time that she was present.

Geta watched the way Macrinus’s jeweled fingers pulled at the fabric covering Letha’s shoulder. The closeness of the two of them sparked a flicker of jealousy in him, an emotion he wasn’t used to having to manage. If he was ever jealous, truly jealous, he could simply lay claim to whatever it was for himself. It usually paled in comparison to what he’d built up in his mind, but it never mattered. The possession of it was enough.

“Snap out of it.” Caracalla giggled at Geta’s expense before nudging his brother aside so he could climb the stairs up to the exit, eager to get his hands on Thraex’s promised gifts. 

The very source of his ire and frustration had been sitting just over his shoulder. He’d been too in his own head to even realize it. Before he could stop himself, coach himself on a better approach, Geta moved, words tumbling from his lips. “Macrinus, I do hope to see you at dinner this evening. We must toast to your barbarians.”

Letha’s eyes widened slightly as she was drawn out of her laughter and up to Geta’s practiced look of interest. Not in her, but in the dinner party. He was plenty interested in her. She looked a lot like she had that night, almost fearful of him. It warmed his blood.

“I am looking forward to it, Emperor, I greatly appreciate the hospitality,” Macrinus praised, gesturing at the confines of the royal box.

Geta smiled. “I thought you would.” He looked over at her, seeing some recognition there. He had hoped Macrinus’s other lady would still be indisposed with her fictional illness. His gamble had paid off. Perhaps she hadn’t told Macrinus of their encounter. What would she have said? ‘Macrinus, I watched Geta lie with a concubine.’ Though not fully, he reminded himself. He would’ve asked more of Lyra, but then he caught Letha’s stare. As if he’d been bewitched, he sent Lyra away early. Letha’s gaze was as strong as the fabled gorgon’s. 

Still, best not to give up their little secret. Anything to keep Macrinus bringing her around. “And this is?”

“Oh, yes, of course. This is Letha, your majesty,” Macrinus introduced her. She bowed to him, all mirth gone from her face. 

“Ah, Letha, well, please, what’s ours is yours. Do enjoy yourselves this evening, as our esteemed guests, both of you.” Geta knew he was looking too long at her, Macrinus wasn’t a stupid man. But some part of him didn’t care to keep up appearances. She had distracted him without even being in the room. He could enjoy this. 

One last lingering glance her way and he moved on, climbing the steps with renewed vigor, a smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in a long time, Geta felt a shiver travel down his spine at the thrill of pursuit. What he would do if he got his hands on her, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. The possession of her would be enough.

[ Part IV ]

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror.............Part II

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Letha, left alone to guard Macrinus's things as the party turns to debauchery, lets her curiosity get the better of her. She leaves a bit of an impression on a man no longer surprised by anything.

Warnings: Voyerism. 18+ only

Word Count: 2.4k

Part 2 of 13?

[ Part I ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I really hope you like this one. Letha is a bit of a peeper. I mean, you'd look too, right? Right? Hope you like it.

Letha forced herself to stare down at the swirling patterns in the outer robe Macrinus had handed off to her. She followed a line of embroidery until it was lost in a swirl of too many others, indistinguishable. The noises echoing from the individual rooms down here were uncomfortable, to say the least. She honestly might have preferred her cell. The smooth stone walls hid the real draw of Thraex’s lavish party from her eyes, thankfully. What did people with no fears do for fun? It made her feel sick.

Laughter reached her ear, causing her to turn her head in its direction. She recognized it as the same woman from earlier. The one hanging over Geta’s shoulder all evening, feeding him fruit, laughing at every word that came out of his mouth. She glanced over at the narrow opening in the stone wall to her left. Amber light spilled out, beckoning to her. The curtain covering it might as well have been invisible with how sheer it was. 

It was him. Geta. The woman sat in his lap, joy in her features as he ran a hand up and down her bare arm. She reached up for his face, her slender fingers smoothing over his jaw, the tips of them lightly brushing at the start of his bottom lip. He pulled at the sheer maroon fabric barely covering her chest from his eyes and smiled at what he saw. Letha forced herself to look away from them, doing her best to tune out his quiet words, her breathy laughter and squealing. Clothes rustling. A satisfied sigh. Oh. 

She begged herself to not look up, but she was possessed by the compulsion to observe him in such a vulnerable state. What did an Emperor look like when surrendering to another? 

He was still mostly clothed, his black and silver patterned tunic pushed up above his waist. His thighs were on full display, and even they were almost too much to look at. He had long, quite muscular legs. The way they were stretched out, it was as if he was almost all leg. Thraex’s concubine was nestled into the apex of his thighs, one of her hands resting on the pale skin beneath his hip.

He watched the woman working in his lap, doing what she was employed to do. A handful of minutes exchanged for precious gifts. To have the favor of an Emperor? Well, that was probably worth more than just a few minutes. His eyes were very nearly closed. He was breathing heavily as he reached down to hold her hair out of her face. He wanted the view. The hand on the back of her head was tender, his grip relaxed as her head bobbed beneath it. He moaned, the sound drawing blood into her cheeks.

Letha felt her own heart racing. Her face burned as if the amber light streaming out through the small window was the sun. She knew she’d spent too long there. She cautiously took a step back, her sandal scratching at the floor. She immediately looked back into the room, wondering if she had been heard. 

He was no longer blissful, his intense eyes staring daggers into hers, an unmistakable heat in them. He stared her down for almost a minute. She didn’t dare breathe. His lips finally smoothed out into a knowing smile as he reclined back further, relaxing underneath the pretty woman’s ministrations. 

She found she couldn’t catch her breath, though she was merely standing still in the hall. Macrinus’s beloved robes were still in her arms and she cursed him for making her endure this. He accepted her insistence that she not participate well enough, but he couldn’t just leave without sampling something.

Letha knew for her own sake she should walk—no, run—but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The way his lips parted, the slight reddening of his cheeks and throat… It was intoxicating. And he didn’t look anywhere but at her, the woman in his lap forgotten. He was taunting her, just with his eyes, the dark brown orbs watching her every breath, looking for signs of her arousal. She couldn’t help but imagine it, with him. Would his grip be gentle or firm? What did an emperor taste like? 

She knew she was as affected as him, suffering from the heat of his gaze, that same heat pooling low in her belly. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She bit her lip, her chest burning. She pushed her thighs together, almost looking away.

Geta’s eyes squeezed shut, cutting the live wire hanging between them. His breathing hitched and he gave way to his release, low moans filling the small room. The glint of the light off the silver laurel crown sent her crashing down to reality. He was an Emperor. She wouldn’t get to just walk out of here. But he hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t called for one of the guards to send her away. No. He welcomed her gaze. As the woman sat back on her knees, wiping at her mouth, Letha finally did look away, not feeling up to any more daring behavior for the evening. 

“Oh, did Macrinus abandon you?” Someone tutted. At the sound of another’s voice her head whipped around, heat rushing to her cheeks at possibly being caught. It was Thraex, and he was not wearing near enough layers for her comfort. “Letha, was it? Come drink with me, I am sure he won’t mind.” His hand was sweaty on her arm. The contrast of Thraex to Geta was staggering. A chill quickly overtook the warmth in her belly.

“I–I cannot–”

“Thraex,” Geta interrupted, his greeting stern despite his smile. She whipped her head around to look at him. His robes were righted and the woman was slipping out of the door behind him as he stepped out in the hall. Relief washed over her despite what had just occurred.

“I–Yes, your majesty?” His grip lessened and his hand fell away under the Emperor’s gaze.

“I just wanted to thank you, you are a gracious host. Caracalla does so enjoy your parties, more than most.”

Thraex smiled widely at the praise. “Thank you, Emperor Geta. It is always my goal to relieve some of the stress you two must carry. A bit of respite,” he explained, winking.

“Yes. It is appreciated.” 

Geta’s eyes moved down to where Thraex kept his hand near Letha’s arm. As if Thraex was waiting for Geta to turn around so he could whisk her away. She felt her nerves growing in the awkward silence, wondering if she would survive this evening after all. 

“Ah, these belong to Macrinus?” Geta finally spoke, gesturing to the folded robes in her arms. “Would you happen to have a place to put them? I have business with her.” Thraex realized what Geta was implying, as did she. She felt lightheaded. As if there was more than one kind of business being conducted in these halls. 

Thraex stood there stunned for a moment before he snapped back into the role of a welcoming host, collecting the folded bundle of outer robes and large necklaces and passing them off to a young man standing behind him. “Yes, yes, of course your majesty. Excuse me.” He bowed to Geta before leading his own concubine down the hall, his movements harried as he gestured to an ornate side table near the door Macrinus had disappeared into. The bundle was placed there, and then they were gone.

“Come,” Geta ordered, turning around to return to his room.

Letha felt frozen, like she was buried in hot sand up to her neck. She did not want to follow him, but it seemed she had little choice. To defy him surely meant punishment, and if the rumors were true, it was usually fatal. She had done enough to put herself in hot water already.

“You look like a frightened deer,” Geta chuckled, standing in the doorway, looking every ounce a hunter. “Come, have a drink,” he urged before stepping into the room.

He is a monster.

He is a monster.

He is a monster.

Letha sucked in a ragged breath, her stomach fluttering just beneath her ribcage as she took a step to follow him into the mostly private room. He stood near a side table, pouring some wine. 

“Shut the door.” An icy chill spread across her shoulders as she turned to do as he bid, the door offering a click as the latch fell into place. 

“Here,” he muttered, his arm outstretched, ring-adorned fingers offering a glass of wine to her. She couldn’t look him in the eye as she accepted the cup. Her limbs were shaky, her body full of nerves. “Sit,” he ordered, retaking his place on the plush bench. He patted the space beside him. The vision of him stretched out in that same spot, eyes falling closed in pleasure, filled her mind and she balked at Geta’s command.

“There?”

He grinned. “Yes. There.” His eyes were full of mirth. “You should not defy your Emperor,” he playfully scolded.

Letha felt like she was jumping into the ocean with a shark as she took a seat beside him. His dark eyes observed her over the rim of his glass, his motives indiscernible. She held her own cup with both hands, her eyes averted, unable to look at anything but the floor.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” That caught her attention, allowing her to finally meet his heavy gaze. “For the show,” his eyes were intense, but not angry, “and for saving you from Thraex.”

Heat blossomed under her skin. “Thank you, Emperor.”

“Geta,” he instructed.

“Thank you, Geta.” She brought the cup to her lips, allowing herself a small sip of the sweet red wine. Silence filled the space between and she felt his stare burning through her skin. She didn’t know what he wanted of her if he wasn’t outright angry with her. She floundered, breaking under imagined pressure. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Watch me? Don’t apologize. It was quite nice, actually.” 

She very nearly choked on the wine, moving the cup away from her lips. He bit his lip to smother a grin. He was toying with her. She had no defense against his honeyed, teasing words.

“I am curious. Does Macrinus particularly enjoy your shyness? Your… watching?”

She felt her eyes go wide. “No. Uh, I do not… He has another,” she tried to explain. He seemed surprised.

“Then why bring you, knowing what this night would devolve into?” He was studying her, his large brown eyes shining with curiosity as he took a sip from his glass.

To observe. To dangle the carrot in front of her eyes. To show her he meant what he promised. He could enter the Emperor’s orbit, allow her close enough to enact her revenge, whatever form it took. Though this didn’t feel much like revenge.

“I am here to serve Macrinus, Emp–Geta,” Letha explained, only barely catching herself using his formal title. “His usual—Hyacinthia is not feeling well.”

“What a shame.” He smiled, the tone of his words implying otherwise. She didn’t know how to respond, instead letting her eyes fall to his ringed fingers holding his cup. In a strange way, they suited him. 

“So,” he started, setting his cup down on the side table before returning his attention to her, his body turning too, “do you have any notes?” 

“Notes?” She replied, confused.

“Yes, notes, for Lyra. You were paying enough attention, surely.” His words cut through her, that same feeling from before beginning to build again. “I’ll be sure to pass them along.” 

She looked down to her lap, the heat of her blush filling her cheeks, making her feel woozy. Or perhaps it was the effect of the wine on a very empty stomach. “No.”

He grinned. “You look heated.”

“The room is stuffy,” she excused, lying. 

“Are you thirsty? In need of more wine?” He put on a good act of being concerned for her, but it was obvious he was enjoying himself.

“Do you have a habit of teasing women?” She asked, mildly frustrated, on the verge of embarrassment.

“Just the ones that watch me cum.” She was mortified. He let out a small laugh at her reaction before continuing, undaunted. “Do you have a habit of watching people fuck through windows?”

She blushed furiously, looking away from him. “Definitely not.”

He looked the part of one of the fabled wolf-children of Rome as he grinned. “What is your name?” His hands fell to his thighs, the very same thighs she’d just seen completely bare.

She wanted to lock this whole evening in a box and throw it in the sea. Her confidence in herself and her dedication to avenging the death of her family was profoundly shaken. And all it took was a pretty face. But how could she help herself, especially with the way his brown eyes watched her every move?

“Letha, your majesty.”

He looked like he wanted to scold her for the honorific, but the offering of her name seemed to satisfy him.

“Letha.”

Footsteps could be heard outside, as well as a stern voice calling out for her. Macrinus.

She looked to Geta who simply nodded, releasing her from his presence. She paused at the door, taking a moment to smooth her hair out of her face before pulling on the handle.

“Letha,” Geta called out, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. It seared against her skin. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her heart racing. “It was a pleasure performing for you. Perhaps we can do this again sometime.”

She felt her face flush and she forced herself to leave the Emperor there, unable to think of anything to say in response. She had never felt so conflicted, unable to let herself enjoy the attention of a beautiful man.

She slid through the door, careful not to open it too far to reveal the occupant. She wanted to keep this from Macrinus. She wasn’t willing to hear anything he had to say about it. She didn’t know what to make of it all herself. If Macrinus questioned her resolve too firmly it might crumble. After closing the door as quietly as she dared, she stepped out into the hall. She saw him already shrugging on his robes, head on a swivel. 

“Macrinus,” she spoke, approaching him. He turned to look at her, his eyes tired, but still alert. Surely he would notice something telling in her eyes. She quickly walked over to him, apologies and explanations ready to tumble from her lips.

“We will talk later,” he warned her, putting on his large necklaces. “I have business to tend to.”

[ Part III ]

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror...........Part I

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Macrinus has plans, layers of plans on plans on plans. He brings Letha out of her cage and shows her what Rome truly is, hopeful she can help him topple an empire. What he can't plan for is the way her resolve buckles at the sight of a certain Emperor.

Warnings: None for this one.

Word Count: 2.4k

Part 1 of 13?

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hi, hello, Geta had me in a chokehold as soon as he uttered "Persia" with so much sass. This diverges from the movie quite a bit, I just wanted things to turn out differently, I'm sure you can relate if you're here reading this... well. I may mention other GII characters, but most of this revolves around Geta, Caracalla, Macrinus, and our Letha. I'm hopeful that someone else can enjoy this self-indulgent and horribly historically inaccurate mess.

The din of the party echoed to a degree that was overwhelming. Ever since Letha was stolen away from her home she had never known peace and quiet. There was always something. Even when in her cell late at night, there was the squeaking of rats, hushed conversation from a few cages over, the antsy pacing and panting of hunting dogs. But that was nothing compared to the revelry unfolding before her eyes. Debauchery that would make Bacchus weep a tear of pride. 

A lavish spread of delicacies from all over was laid out across long tables, the smell causing her stomach to growl uncomfortably. Wine was being poured anywhere she looked. Her throat felt dry. Men and women walked confidently through the partygoers, barely dressed, painted up, beautiful. They knew who to approach. Who to talk to. This party was like a well-oiled machine, though it’s purpose was unknown to her. Perhaps just because they could.

Letha moved her wrists, grimacing. The chained cuffs clasped around them were much too tight. It was a punishment, one Viggo saw to after she got one of her arms free the night before. She had to be pulled off by Viggo and two others after reaching out and slamming a man against the bars of her cage for commenting crudely on her possible usefulness to him.

“Behave,” Viggo frowned. He unlocked the cuffs and gathered the chains up, as if to get rid of the evidence that she was little more than a prisoner. Before she could consider taking an overindulgent senator as hostage, Macrinus strode into the foyer. He was constantly adjusting and fiddling with his bountiful robes, unwilling to let them drag on the ground as if they were precious to him. They were. He kept a watchful eye on everyone and everything. 

He played at a man out of his depth, certainly with no aspirations of his own. But really, he was the most cunning man she’d ever encountered, his sights set on a far larger prize than wealth or status. But not in public. Today, Macrinus was a humble citizen of Rome who knew his place and enjoyed the games enough to make a living out of them.

Viggo departed as Macrinus approached. The elaborate necklaces and other jewelry Macrinus wore clinked together as he reached up to her shoulders, wordlessly righting the maroon dress she’d been forced to wear. She felt like she was in costume, much like him, though he was much more at home in the gilded luxury than he let on. 

“Remember, nothing happens today,” he instructed, reminding her of his plans. 

“I remember,” she spoke, unable to mask the disdain in her voice. 

He allowed himself a small grin at her obstinate nature as he watched her carefully. “Forget being my bodyguard,” he winked, “Today, you are my consort. Play at being Hyacinthia for an evening. Wait on me. Observe.”

“Oh, I have been,” she muttered, looking around at the smiling, relaxed faces. These people were indulgent to excess. They had never experienced the horrors of their conquering horde beyond these walls. They cheered for blood but wouldn’t draw it themselves unless it was for their own political advancement. Even then, it was usually done from the shadows or by another’s hand, their only involvement being the exchange of gold. They bathed in the violence, the games they held serving as some religious rite. Imagine thinking the gods truly cared about the result of their fixed matches. 

Cowards, she thought.

I don’t want you to think, Macrinus would say, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

He had moved on from her, currently chatting up the hosting senator, Thraex. She dutifully followed after him, lingering behind, waiting to be called upon, observing. There was always a plan, even when it didn’t seem like it. Some hidden motive to advance Macrinus closer to the ear of the Emperor. Well, Emperors. 

Letha had seen the smaller of the two twins pass by earlier, a whole group of waiting concubines following after him, hopeful to be allowed to sit at his side, gilded in gold and little else. It was easy to see who wielded any amount of influence. Follow the flitting of pretty women and even prettier men, see whose arms they clung to, who they laughed with. She didn’t think she could do the tough job of flattering these despicable people. How they did it, motives misguided or not, she had no clue. 

“Ah, she is new, Macrinus,” Thraex greeted, not addressing Letha directly. He wasn’t particularly lecherous, but he was very clearly hinting at the very thing she was just ruminating over. It filled her with revulsion. She suddenly felt for Hyacinthia if this is what she was subjected to regularly.

“Oh, yes, this is Letha,” Macrinus explained, his hand pressing into the small of her back, drawing her in closer to his side. Keeping up appearances. “This is her first party,” he grinned. She only barely resisted the urge to shudder at the implication, though she knew Macrinus’s suggestion was hollow. They had already discussed her participation. A staunch no. She was relieved when he accepted it.

“Oh, well, surely we will find time later to… connect?” Thraex spoke, his words falling out as both a question and a request, his eyes flitting over to her before focusing back on Macrinus. The very idea of it made her want to retch, to embarrass herself in front of him so he would leave her alone.

A sharp pinch at her side made her jump and she quickly coached her expression. 

“She’s still so new, Thraex, I’m not sure she would be up for it, but believe me, I will find you if she still has life left in her,” Macrinus winked, earning a loud chuckle and clasping of shoulders from the pasty senator. Even though Macrinus was lying, it still left her feeling ill.

“You fit right in here, Macrinus,” Thraex praised. “I heard you were perhaps…” he shot a glance at Letha, as if maybe she shouldn’t be present for the conversation, but Macrinus readjusted his grip on her side, sending the message that she would be staying. “Well, there’s talk that you are interested in standing for election to the senate?”

Macrinus laughed, swatting at Thraex’s arm. “I barely understand an abacus, I have no aspirations of the senate.” Thraex doesn’t seem totally convinced, but before he can dig up any other pointed questions disguised as friendly banter, Macrinus initiates a pivotal part of his plan. The real reason for his being here today. “I’ve heard it’s custom for your guests to make wagers at these affairs… might we…?”

Thraex seems reluctant, but forges ahead anyway. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

“Oh, perhaps… a thousand gold denarii?” Macrinus played at being unskilled far too well.

“Two,” Thraex interjected, hooked immediately.

“Is it truly so simple?” Macrinus smiles, releasing Letha to shake Thraex’s hand. 

Letha saw the wheels turning. This man was a gambler, unable to turn down a bet. Unable to resist escalating it, thinking the windfall was just around the corner. What Macrinus would do with this senator’s money, she didn’t know yet. 

“Come, let me introduce you,” Thraex insisted, leading Macrinus further into the manse, the nonexistent gold already buoying his spirits. Letha followed behind, doing her best not to get lost in the dense crowd.

There was an open area in the middle of the largest room they’d passed through yet, a gulf between the Emperors and anyone else. Thraex and Macrinus stepped into that gulf, bowing and greeting the two twin Emperors of Rome. She stayed just far back enough to not be noticed, blending in with the gathered throng. She finally set her eyes on them. The men ultimately responsible for the misery brought on her family. The real reason she had been brought to Rome in the first place. She felt the burning of Mars himself in her muscles as she fought to remain still, to resist charging over and throttling the two men. Her swift death would surely follow but it felt almost worth it.

The raised dais along the back wall contained a long plush couch. The copper-haired man she’d seen in passing earlier lounged comfortably on the right half of it, his thick red and gold robes burying his slight form. The lion’s share of the senator’s concubines laid out around him, some on the floor in front, others kneeling behind, all awaiting an opportunity to be called upon, perhaps wishing they could be whisked away from here and taken to the palace. A small monkey sat on the shoulder of a boy, its chirps echoing off the vaulted ceiling. From what Macrinus had told her, she assumed this was Caracalla. Smaller, almost child-like in comparison, he had a youthful, soft face with piercing blue eyes that seemed a bit troubled. 

Letha had a hard time rationalizing his appearance with the harrowing violence unleashed at his order. Macrinus called him bloodthirsty. His attention seemed scattered, bright eyes moving over the room, chasing the loudest of the sounds and conversation. He didn’t speak much to Macrinus and Thraex, leaving formality to his brother. He might’ve been too impaired to reliably converse. Occasionally his flighty glances slid into an almost blissful smile as something amused him. His entirely-too-comfortable position didn’t seem to bother his brother in the slightest, though they couldn’t have appeared more different from each other.

His brother. Geta. The more dangerous of the twins. Less prone to deadly outbursts, more reasonable, collected. His wavy hair was more maintained than his brother’s. Though identical in color, that seemed to be the only feature they shared. The way he was dressed contrasted with his brother, the gilded laurel crown he wore made of silver as opposed to gold. It brought out his pale skin and made his eyes seem darker, almost black. He wore dark reddish paint in a fine line around his large, inquisitive eyes. There were many rings on his fingers, deep earthen toned stones embedded in each one. He wore silver and black robes in opposition to his brother’s warmer tones. 

Letha was left with one uncomfortable thought as her eyes rose from the elaborate robes covering his shoulders, travelling up the expanse of his neck to pause on his jaw. He was beautiful. The reality of it settled like a stone in her gut.

As she continued her appraisal, noting the shape of his soft, pink lips as he offered the two men before him a warm smile, she wondered if she was making a grave mistake. She couldn’t do this. To have confessed her desire to strike the Emperors from history to Macrinus was the worst thing she’d done up to now. The weight of Macrinus’s hopes and dreams for himself was almost heavier than her own personal loss. The idea of that hurt too. Surely she would fail at this, just like she’d failed at protecting her family.

No. This is your purpose. What other reason is there to keep living?

As if he heard her thinking about him too loudly, his eyes darted over to her, sending her reeling. His gaze could cut through marble all on its own. She very nearly fell back into those standing behind her. It took her far longer than she would’ve liked to recover, finally averting her eyes from Emperor Geta. Macrinus had instructed her to observe, but she was confident this wasn’t what he had in mind. Thankfully, if her staring had irked the Emperor, he did not mention it.

“Yes, thank you, your majesties,” Macrinus smiled, bowing low again. He moved to take his place beside Geta and Letha followed, offering up a miniscule bow in her haste to move back out of sight.

From behind Macrinus she watched the woman perched on the arm of the couch beside Geta. Her smile was radiant as Geta’s ringed fingers gripped her hand, keeping her touch close. Her clothing was more of a suggestion than anything substantial, and Letha couldn’t blame the emperor for picking her out specifically. She was lovely.

“Do not lose control of your fury now, Letha,” Macrinus warned quietly, mistaking her affected state for an itch to spill their blood. She felt like her own thoughts had turned traitorous. “We are just getting started.” 

If he knew what dark secrets she was burying down deep, she was sure he would’ve handed her back to Viggo to be locked up indefinitely, never to be thought of again. She felt pathetic, weak-willed. The purpose guiding her through the worst period of her life, her revenge, the tether of it was just beginning to fray now that she was confronted with her quarry. For all Geta’s beauty, he was still a monster. They both were. She held firm to that, repeating it in her head like a mantra. She willed it to ring true. She would repeat it until it did.

Viggo walked into the room, leading one of Macrinus’s gladiators into the open space before the emperors. Another larger man was led in bearing chains as well, probably Thraex’s competitor. 

Letha could detect a heightened sense of anticipation spread out into the room as the two men were unchained, much like she had been earlier. She could feel the itch at her wrists and resisted touching the tender skin so as to not draw attention to it.

“This is your gladiator, Macrinus?” Geta questioned softly, leaning over the lap of the woman at his side to look up at Macrinus.

“Yes, your majesty,” Macrinus answered, focused on another of his many plots and plans. So focused, that he didn’t see Geta’s eyes flit over to Letha. She felt a jolt, a bolt of lightning travelling down her spine, struck down from Jupiter himself. Geta’s lips parted as if to speak, but the shout of his brother made him turn back around. Letha let out a breath and a revelation came with it. 

The difficulty of her task no longer lied in overpowering either of the two emperors, or slipping past guards. It lay in the heat slowly churning within her at the sight of Geta. A weakness, one she didn’t know she had until he was in front of her, looking at her like that. 

[ Part II ]

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror.............a series

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (named, but not visually described besides hair length)

[In progress]

[ Part I ] [ Part II ] [ Part III ] [ Part IV ] [ Part V ] [ Part VI ] [ Part VII ] [ Part VIII ] [ Part IX ] [ Part X ] [ Part XI ] [ Part XII ] [ Part XIII ] [I'll add more if I need to]

Macrinus has plans. Layers and layers of plans. He thinks he's found his perfect instrument in the form of Letha and recruits her to his cause. She has reason enough to bring vengeance upon the twin Emperors of Rome, but once she falls under the ever-watchful gaze of Emperor Geta, her will folds. Foiling an assassination attempt, Letha becomes Geta's new fixation. Still, Macrinus's aspirations are halted for no one. Can Letha weather the wrath of Macrinus? And what would happen if Geta knew the truth of her role in this dangerous game?

Or so it might say on the blurb on the back if you picked it up off the shelf. Born of the way I couldn't stop thinking about Geta after seeing GII. Also, I'm a sucker for Denzel Washington so Macrinus is definitely around. I hope this is halfway decent, I've spent a lot of time on it. If only for myself, I suppose.

This is a series, tentatively 13 parts? It could be longer if I can't rein myself in. Some parts are much longer than others because I didn't want to divide it up. Mostly from our character's POV, but occasionally we slip into Geta's mind. Even Macrinus's, where necessary. I try to make it as clear as possible when perspective shifts.

Letha is our character. She has an "origin" but I was careful to not specify what region she originates from. You can choose for yourself. I have gone out of my way to avoid describing her physically besides the fact that she has long hair and female body features/anatomy. If I missed something, please let me know. Hopefully she feels accessible to most. I just couldn't do the (y/n) thing for a series like this, or avoid using a name. It flows better. Thanks for understanding.

This is heavily modified from the movie. I really just pulled out the entire Acacius/Lucilla/Lucius main plot and went with the super interesting (to me) sub plot of the twin emperors and the man who wants to tear Rome down. Plus Letha, of course.

Historical inaccuracies abound, I'm sure. I did my best but for certain things I couldn't find sources that weren't paywalled peer-reviewed journals or I didn't know how to begin to look for information about. Still, I tried to keep it within reason. I apologize in advance.

I have my own read on the twins and it might be different from yours, but I hope you like it just the same. Besides enjoying the arena and wishing their enemies death, I didn't get the vibe that they were particularly violent, at least not in the five? days we see them. Well, they just deserved better. I don't know that I'm going to give them that here, but I'm gonna try.

Anyways, thanks for reading all this. Hope you like it.

(Moodboard by moi. I spent a long time on it for no real reason, I'm only using it here. It's just fun. I also have a playlist, but I don't think the songs necessarily obviously inspired anything. It's hard to relate them to Ancient Rome. But if you want to know what it was, I'd be more than happy to share it.)

[getaapologist]

[getaapologist]

:)

[getaapologist]

[getaapologist]

Angeli Kimatsi gives us a closer look at the cape worn by Emperor Geta in Gladiator II

[getaapologist]

he wants sanctuary (he is an emperor and flirting with the priestess)