#I would die for this man

[tk-m0ss]

[seafoodsoda]

I love this man but like a tired well meaning uncle/dad do you understand me

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary; You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblog and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW!! some dub con/ threat/violence/basically forced marriage/forced smut situation/Geta is such a vile human being/Macrinus is villain sorry denzel ily

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

You certainly didn’t come here of your own free will. Your father had tugged you here from Corsica. Employed clever charm with letters and schemes from his high position in the senate.

As the role of your sex; you were born to obey.

He sent you imported silken stolas the colours of cornflowers or lazurite, with gold fibulae at the shoulders. Gem inlaid jewellery, rings to decorate every finger, and earrings the sway. A golden net for your hair. Wheedled you into coming to join him. Sending servants to travel with you and take heed of your every comfort.

He made sure you dined on plump fresh fruit. Seafood of lobsters and crabs. Drank wine so rich dark it looked black.

You despise it. The stone pillars and temples. And gods of old. Eyes watch you everywhere. See you. Follow you.The governing heat and noise and sweaty heaving mass of all forms of life.

You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa.

Salacia. The ocean nymph and the being of your name. Crowned with seaweed in your hair. Sea foam dripping off your fingers. Ripped from your home, an isle by the sea, at the whim of another.

Imprisoned here in this cold marble city. A fish out of water. Gasping dry on the shore.

Pulled inland and stolen away. You can’t hear gulls or waves anymore. It sickens you. Heart pangs that throb for home.

When you arrived, pulled back your folded palla down to your shoulders. He welcomed you with open arms and fondness. Wrists linked in gold cuffs. Tugged you to his chest and embraced you warmly. Hissed in your ear - abrasive like harsh sea spray - spies are everywhere.

He needed you close by. For reasons you had yet to fathom.

You dined like spoilt deity’s. Breads and wines, fish, fruits from far regions fattened by the suns heat, and succulent meat roasted in sweet cassia spices on a spit.

He had urns of flowers - picked by the servant - placed in every room. Lilies, juniper branches still bearing dark fruit, lavender, oleanders.

Companions join him and he is boastful of you. A nubile creature offered placement at a table of old muddled men. He introduces you to trusted friends and advisors in the senate.

One man in particular takes keen interest as to your recent arrival. His name was Macrinus. Man of information and resources. Dealt in cunning and cruelty though you found him sincerely charming. Your father watched you with a desperate eye.

Macrinus bore a smile so dazzling and blinding it made you dizzy; made think of the sun god. Apollo and his light cast across golden wheat fields. Notes of fine music. He sipped his wine slow, as he learned the flavour of your name. Where you came from. Understanding the rolling sea foam in your veins.

There’s a game to be held at the coliseum. He will have your father as his guest - and you by a very pretty extension. He nods at you; his eyes glimmer like pooled liquid gold in the half lit dark. It almost makes you feel safe.

They dine and drink into the small hours. Yet you slip away.

You watched this awful city out your window that night in your silk dress the colour of night time tidal waves. The air is stale. Carrion to you. Hot. Full of dust and sweat. Here, It smells like mulberry trees and a green garden waiting for blessed rain.

You couldn’t hear the sea. Or your sisters. Your mothers humming as she wove cloth and mended clothes. And you wept.

Salt found in your tears to be your only sacred comfort of home.

~

You are soft to this hard stone city. The coliseum is magnificent. As large as it is those who hold their powerful fists over its rule. Clutched in gold. Fine for the rich. Deadly for the slaves and warriors thrown into the pit at the whim of others. Met with carnivore teeth and sand and death.

The senators, generals, and the rich merchants watch from their perch, up among the gods they serve, presiding in shade and clothed in perfumed silks and jewels. Ladies and men both.

Your hair took hours to fasten in its current coiled style. Plaited and weaved. Your dress is the colour of the softest blue shore. Your servant lavished your arms and fingers in golden finery. A serpent cuff coiled around your arm. Skin draped in lemon oil because it’s the small piece of Corsica you carry here with you. Serenity to push against this place of gore, butchery and death.

You find yourself seated here amongst giants. Macrinus is seated one side. Your father the other. He fondly lays his hand across yours in gentle touch.

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

His face looks haggard with age. The lines by his eyes more prominent. Rome is poisoning him. The golden apple just a fingertip shy of his reach. St Bartholomew flayed and stripped of skin piece by piece. Schemes and plots lay thick in his mind like rot. Sweat beads down across his brow and the thinning salt pepper of his hair.

He says something to Macrinus that you’re too absorbed to hear. It’s low. Dragged through a growl. He appears unmoved, with a slow flick of his eyes to you. Watching this finery and loudness devour you. Your eyes so full wide and round. Salt and innocence entwined.

You all rise when the emperors pass by, Geta and Caracalla, who stride in, garbed in gold and cloaks. Come to take their rightful place at the mouth of the box where you are seated.

They are like twin suns to the Roman people. Lion gold hair kissed by fire. They burn and twist and shine with it. Make noises like gold coins that clack when they move. Strung in riches and golden crowns of olive leaves and branches.

Together they make you think of Romulus and Remus. Raised rabid by wolves. And they certainly make an impression. You’ve heard tale of the voracious nature of the blood sport they all but live for. Faces limned in the glory of gore.

The crowd cheers for them. They nod and wave but it appears barbed. The games begin with a wave of applause and a regal hand.

Caracalla twists and casts an eye in your direction. Seeing new meat.

The way you sit sedately and can’t cast your mind into the butchery and violence happening below. The clash of steel. The hollow squelching cries that proceed death. The spill of viscera and the scatter of brain matter from split heads.

Each new gash or split in skin made them smile. The taint of blood. Metallic sour. Spilling of offal and exposed bone.

He tilts his head like a clever wolf. Eyes darken. His sneer as terrible as a skulls. He leans across and whispers something to his brother with a knock of his arm to gain attention.

Another set of wolfish eyes join the first in hooking to your skin. Silly soft girl. Made of gentle sea breezes and lapping blue waves calm and soft enough to wade in. Pearl shining in moonlight. So watery and weak. So good. Untouchable.

Geta swept his gaze on you from head to toe. Appraising you hungrily through greedy eyes. The beauty of your figure in that soft folds of that stola. The gold that crushed your neck. Broaches at your fair shoulders. Hair glistening and finely arranged.

He liked the way you winced when another sword blow came. The pull of your brows and how you had to look away. He wanted you gathered up in his lap; fingers crushing your jaw as he turned your head; force you to watch as the men cleaved at each other and drew blood. Hacked off limbs. Laugh at your revulsion.

Looking at you sat there; He has an urge to take his dagger, slit that fine silk from your shoulders and bare your real beauty. Grab it off you and snatch your dress down. Spoil himself on your curves. Grab your breasts. He’s sure you’ve tits that even a goddess would envy. He’d reel you in by grabbing your ass that definitely needs a spank and some attention.

You’re even prettier than some of the finest whores he’s had grace his bed. They never kept his interest too long. Too entwined in filth and sin like him; you look pure as a vestal virgin.

He likes that. He wants to pluck it off you and spoil it.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. Of course you don’t. He’s an emperor. He could have you executed for looking at him wrongly. Instead; you wring your hands in your lap and squirm. Close your eyes tighter with every dying wail.

He turns back to the fight. As do you. A gasp flies from your mouth when you draw your eyes to one of the measly soldiers in the arena. Your father left his seat to stand, mouth gaping.

You saw the familiar arrangement of strong limbs. Garbed in warriors clothing. The way his arms shook holding a sword. Inexperienced and struggling. The fight was not fair. The same head of hair that matched your own.

Your oldest brother.

Macrinus grinned. “He’s not my finest fighter. But I wager he’ll be good sport.” He smirks.

Your father turned, cursed the gods, and exploded with venomous rage. Flew for the man with his fists. Grabbed his clothing. You tried to restrain the storm of his temper - but then you’d got that trait from somewhere hadn’t you? - an ocean thrashing wild and free. Terrifying in its rage.

“You promised me.” Your father roared. Spittle flying.

“I never promised to protect your traitor of a son. Let us see if the gods spare him. Yes?” Macrinus commented.

You couldn’t take your eyes from the pit. Nor could your father. He clutched to you like he could barely stand. Weakened and shrinking. Hand a vice on your shoulder. It burned like the sting of sun but you couldn’t shrug him off.

Your brother was meeting with an opponent far larger than he was. A Retiarius. Helmet, trident, dagger and a net.

Of which had currently knocked your brother to the blood dusted dirt. Spearing the trident deep into his thigh. Pinning him to earth like a bug. His cry of pain ringing out. Blood sheeted down one side of his head. His scream is the most horrible thing you’d ever heard.

You can’t help it. Where you’re stood, you cry out. It pours forth from you.

The Retiarius loomed over your bother like a terrible storm cloud. Looking up at the stands for direction. The whole audience cheered and screamed for more.

Geta stood up and the crowd bayed. He sneered at the sight before him. All the power of a god; crammed into a mortal man.

He raised his arm. And hesitated for a moment. Before he smirked. And pointed his thumb right up.

Death.

Your father wailed. The huge lumbering gladiator descended onto your brother. Flinging the net off and cutting his throat in one fast slice. Blood poured and pooled around lifeless eyes. Stained the sand.

Macrinus stood to his feet and clapped along with everyone else. The emperors’ laughed like hyenas at the sight. Blood and pain only made their smiles grow.

Before you knew what was happening, the palace guards had you and your father surrounded. Hands viced around your arms. Your shoulders. Your father too.

Traitor. He decried. A traitor in the senate. The tarpeian rock.

Just like his now dead son. People’s poised against the glory of Rome. Against Caracalla and Geta. Death to all.

Macrinus spoke harshly to the guards to release you. He backhanded you across your cheek. Your eye felt like it was going to burst. Cheek flamed with fire. Lip cut and bleeding down your chin from his ring.

He then wasted little time in digging his fingers into your finely done hair. Hauled you along screaming. Tears streaming.

Your father could only watch, limbs wrenching forwards in terror to help, as Macrinus marched you across the stands to where they sat.

He threw you to the ground like a feral animal. Tumbled you onto your knees. Skimmed your hands. As you squirmed and cried at your body twisted to his cruelty.

“Your majesties. I have personally uncovered a traitor in your court. Senator Aurelius. Not only was his first born placed in rebellion against Rome. But he himself has been sowing seeds of treason in your senate. I bring you his filthy kin as recompense…” He spat at the Emperors. Releasing your mussed hair to throw you to their feet.

They examined you as one would a creature. Nothing of humanity left. Devoid of any feeling. You crawled slowly to your elbows. Tried to claw away sobs. Raising up but not daring to look at them. You weren’t worthy. You feared them.

Geta was the one who rose slowly to his feet. Coming to stand before you. “We are most grateful for your revelation, Macrinus. You will be rewarded for such loyal service.” Though he spoke to him, his eyes never left you.

You father shouted and cried pleas. They go unheard. He snaps to the guards who hold him. “Silence that treacherous snake-“ he barks. They beat him into submission.

You stay cowering on the ground. In amongst the gritty dirt, and the blood like those slaves and gladiators. That’s how they saw you. That’s how much you were worth. Held in the same regard as the dirt on their shoes.

You feel a ring clad hand tip a finger under your chin. Blood dripping down onto that digit as he made you raise your head to look at him until your neck hurt.

“What is your name, pretty little traitor-“ He sneers. Because that is all you are. They’ve tarred and feathered you with the same brush.

You give it to him through tears that run freely. You give this awful golden haired emperor with dark lecherous eyes your name.

“Salacia.” You cry. Voice watery and cloaked in heavy salty sobs. Lips parted. So soft and pliable. Lovely and ripe and waiting for him. A gift from the gods-

He tilts his head down at you. Looking like some sun gold lion. Showing his canines in a cruel white smile.

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

He thinks he may have them bring him your fathers head on a platter. Strangulation seemed too soft. Too forgiving. He had to make an example of you.

He had a particular way in mind for your fate. He watched you get led away crying as he sucked your sweet blood off his thumb.

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people—

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @ceriseheaven @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @roosterisdaddy36 @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @usedtobecooler @peachesandfiends @littlelioncub43 @heyndrix @babybluebex @blueywrites @joejoequinnquinn @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift @chaptersleftunwritten

[in-this-crystal-kingdom]

EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LOOK AT THE TAZ EARRINGS MY BOYFRIEND MADE ME FOR CHRISTMAS

[hyperfixatedonthisnow]

You Belong to Me

*Not my GIF

This is the first thing I’ve written in years but Shadow and Bone (and particularly Nikolai Lantsov!) is my new hyperfixation and I had the urge to write something, so here we are. Based on the prompt: “Mine.” “Say it again.” which I got from tumblr forever ago.

Summary: Reader is in an established relationship with Nikolai and they get jealous seeing someone else flirting with him so they decide to remind him who he belongs to. Turns out the King finds jealous/possessive reader a turn on, who would have guessed?

Word count: 2K

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. A tiny hint of a plot but really it’s just smut, hand job, jealousy/possessiveness, slight praise kink if you squint, reader can be any gender you like, I’ve left it deliberately vague for your reading pleasure :)

The grand ballroom was so full that you could barely move an inch without bumping into a visiting noble, courtier or ambassador of some sort. Musicians were playing at one end of the room and waiters flitted about with trays of champagne.

You scanned the crowd in an effort to locate the King. Your eyes found him finally near of the centre of the room, surrounded by young ladies and you sighed, because of course he was. You had only left Nikolai’s side for a few minutes, but that was all it took for the vultures to descend. You supposed you couldn’t really blame them, he was gorgeous. Intelligent and charming too. Wherever he went, people were drawn to him like moths to the proverbial flame. Your relationship with the King had started many years before, when he was just a wayward second son with little hope of ever inheriting the throne and though his circumstances had now changed, your love for each other remained stronger than ever. Nikolai could be a bit of a flirt, but you trusted him implicitly. You knew without a doubt that anyone trying to tempt him would fail. He would be going home with you, still that didn’t stop the surge of jealousy that burned uncomfortably in your stomach as you made your way across the room to join the group. Nikolai’s eyes lit up as he saw you approach and he reached for you immediately, wrapping his arm around your waist without even the slightest hint of hesitation. You watched with a perverse sense of satisfaction as obvious disappointment flitted over the faces of his companions and several of the ladies politely excused themselves, quickly losing interest now they knew for certain that the King was taken. The last young lady however, was not so easily deterred. She looked you up and down with barely concealed distaste as Nikolai made the formal introductions and then finally she offered you a saccharine smile - entirely for his benefit you assumed, since it was obvious that it pained her to do so. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, smiling brightly. You would be nice if it killed you. It would only cause problems for Nikolai if you went around being rude to his guests, regardless of wether they deserved it or not. The other woman made no response, already turning her attention back to the King as if you hadn’t even spoken. Apparently she didn’t share your concerns about rudeness. Nikolai cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence, “Miss Antonova was just telling me about her home in Kerch.” “Oh yes,” Miss Antonova exclaimed, twirling a lock of her dark hair around her finger, “As I was saying, you must come for a visit, your highness. I know my father would be honored to host you.” “What a generous offer,” Nikolai smiled, “perhaps we may take you up on it someday.” The young woman beamed at him, pleased with his response. “We could make it one of the stops on our honeymoon,” you suggested, just to watch her face fall. “Absolutely not. I should not consider our honeymoon a success if we are to be fit for company at any point,” Nikolai grinned impishly and you shook your head fondly, a blush spreading across your cheeks at the implication. You could feel Miss Antonova glaring daggers at you. “Well, perhaps you could make the trip to Kerch on your own instead, moi tsar,” she simpered, batting her eyelashes at him, “I would be happy to volunteer as your personal guide.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I bet you would,” you muttered quietly under your breath, though not quietly enough if Nikolai’s sudden coughing fit was any indicator. Miss Antinova moved closer to him, her face creased in concern, “Goodness, are you alright?” She asked, laying a hand on his arm. You glared at her, touching the King was in no way appropriate. Nikolai gave you a look, shaking his head minutely - a gesture you knew to mean leave it alone. So you bit your tongue even though you wanted to tell her off. “Yes, I’m quite well,” Nikolai assured her once he had recovered, “My apologies.” Despite his reassurance, and the heat of your still disapproving glare, she did not move away or remove her hand. Instead, she moved further into his personal space, close enough to be considered indecent in your opinion. Her delicate hand curled around his clothed bicep. You struggled to fix a polite smile on your face when in your head you were fantasizing about breaking her fingers one by one. “Oh my, you have very strong arms,” she gushed and this time you did roll your eyes. For Saints sake. Nikolai met your gaze over the top of her head and you saw amusement dancing in his eyes. “I work out from time to time,” he told her with a wink, “It’s important to keep my army training up to date.” Miss Antonova giggled girlishly, as if he had said something ridiculously funny, and you decided that was quite enough. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to excuse us,” you stated bluntly, “the King has an urgent, private matter to attend to immediately.” Rather than wait for a response, you turned and firmly grasping Nikolai’s hand, pulled him away and across the crowded room towards the door. Although he could easily have escaped your hold if he had wanted to, Nikolai followed you without complaint, allowing you to lead him out of the ballroom and through the Palace hallways as though he were a boy rather than the King. Entering his chambers you made sure to lock the door behind you and then you stalked towards him, forcing him backwards until his back hit the wall behind him. “Something wrong, my love?” He asked, an amused little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “The audacity of that woman,” you grumbled, “Mooning and flirting, and touching you! As if I wasn’t standing right there.” “Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, eyes sparkling with affectionate humor, “I thought she was just being friendly.” “Friendly? She was all over you!” you objected. “Maybe a little bit,” he conceded with a slight tilt of his head, his smirk widening. “But you know that I would never accept her advances, or anyone’s for that matter,” he insisted earnestly as he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear, “So what does it matter?” “I didn’t like it, Kolya,” you muttered irritably, yanking at the knot of his cravat in an effort to remove it and almost choking him in the process. “Really?” he chuckled, “I hadn’t noticed.” He batted your hands away so he could loosen the offending item himself, pulling it free of his collar and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt as he went. You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s not funny.” He hummed in agreement as he dipped his head to kiss you, slow and sweet, just a soft brush of his lips over yours, but your were in no mood for romance. You nipped at his bottom lip impatiently, licking hot and demanding into his mouth when he opened up to you. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him hungrily and sucking on his tongue before you surfaced for air. You kissed an open-mouthed line across his jaw and down his throat, pausing to nip and suck at his pulse point. “Ah. Not above the collar,” he reminded you gently. You huffed, pressing yourself tighter against him and wedging a knee between both of his so that your thigh was pressed against his crotch. He was already hard and knowing it was because of you - not her - tempered your jealousy a little. Nosing down into the collar of his shirt to reach the juncture of his shoulder, you sucked a stinging bruise into his skin. His hips bucked in response. You couldn’t help but smile as you admired your handiwork, a surge of possessiveness rolling through you. “Mine,” you murmured as you laved your tongue over the offending mark. Nikolai groaned low in his throat, rutting against you more insistently. “Say it again,” he gasped. His voice was rough with arousal and you lifted your head to regard him, surprised by his reaction. You felt a heady rush of power as you looked him over. His eyes were dark, his pupils dilated with lust. His lips were shiny and kiss–swollen and his face was flushed, a deep blush spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest. You had barely started and he was already wrecked. “You belong to me,” you purred in his ear, nuzzling at his throat as you reached a hand between you to stroke him through his pants. He made an involuntary keening sound, his eyes slipping closed as he pushed himself into your palm. “No one else gets to touch you like this, do they?” He shook his head frantically, hips straining towards you, desperately seeking more friction. You sighed, feigning disappointment. “I can’t hear you,” you chastised, “Use your words Kolya." “No,” he breathed, “only you.” “That’s right,” you agreed, smiling against his skin.

You rewarded him by freeing him from his pants and he moaned as you used the precum that had gathered at the head of his cock to slick your palm. He laid his forehead against yours, opening his eyes so that he could follow the movement of your hand as you jerked him in a firm, fast rhythm until he was panting. When you knew he was near his peak, you lifted your head to meet his eyes. “Mine,” you whispered possessively, a seductive smile on your lips. He shuddered, his head dropping to your shoulder and his hands tightening on your waist as he came with a soft cry, thick stands of cum covering your hand and the front of his shirt. He slumped against the wall, boneless in the aftermath of his orgasm. “Well,” he said breathlessly, “that was..,” “Intense? Incredible? Life changing?” you suggested helpfully, and he snorted a laugh. “I was going to say unexpected, but those work too.”

You brought your clean hand up to his throat, running your thumb over the dark bruises you had left just below the line of his collar. "I'm afraid I've made quite a mess," you said, "I'm sorry." And you were, now that the bitter sting of jealousy had faded and you had returned to your senses.

"Don't be. I don't know if you could tell but I rather liked it," Nikolai grinned, "and besides, I've made a mess of you too, so I'd say we're even."

"I suppose that's true," you agreed, bringing your hand up to your mouth. Your tongue snaked out to gently lap the remains of his release from your fingers and he groaned, scrubbing a shaky hand across his face. “You’re trying to kill me,” he accused and you laughed as you leaned in to kiss him. Nikolai pulled you in closer, deepening the kiss but keeping it sweet and unhurried.

"Give me a moment to recover and I'll repay the favour," he promised.

[lexawoah13]

LISTEN 🫠🫠🫠

I know I just posted a whole story about Bin devouring you whole but like…🙃

COULD HE BE ANY MORE OF A FUCKING PRINCE!? 😍🥹❤️👑💍

Jesus if Disney doesn’t give him his own live action film

IM COMING FOR THEM! 👊

[snarkystarseeker]

✨robot in clothes✨

[skraldehund]

My pretty little princess (a 50 year old man)

[cottoncommitscrime]

I would die for this man and no I’m not taking comments at this time

[presleyluvschris]

Wildest Dreams

pairing(s): jj maybankx fem!pogue!reader

authors note hey lovelies :) im moving away from my boy right now and its been super hard on me, sorry i haven't been posting for you guys. i thought a lil jj fanfic on wildest dreams would take me to comfort beyond levels.

poll from what it looks like- wildest dreams won. I finished the ending of this bizarre rollercoaster for you all..at 1am <3

word count ↱ 1.7k

warnings pure fluff, grammar, and i believe that is truly it. if i missed anything, please let me know.

masterlist

enjoy 🤍

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"hey!" you heard the window open beside the counter. It was your boss. "new table, 10 o'clock."

you were wearing a white dress over your usual waitress uniform. sweat glands were across your forehead, trickling down your face and into your neck. you were working an extra quick shift at the wreck today. it was the last day you would see your beautiful blonde boy before you left for your dads job in an entire new state.

you groan and finish wiping the counter, leaving your wet and white stained rag to fall to the floor.

tucking your notepad and pen back inside your pocket, you head for table 13 as your boss instructed as your last for the day.

you head out of the kitchen and back into open air as the wind brushed past your face, leaving you feeling cool from the hot and humid atmosphere of inside.

the outside was bustling with people everywhere.

despite the busy crowds, you plaster a smile on your face as you approach the table, taking orders left and right.

you write them down and go back into the kitchen to dial the orders and after a while, you go out again to serve the food.

after a while, you we're finally done with your shift.

you look down at your feet, taking your uniform off and wiping the sweat from your face.

"y/n?"

as you hear the familiar voice, you look up to see your favorite blonde standing behind the counter.

your face instantly lights up with a smile as you run over to hug him, almost so tight it makes the two of you twirl.

he puts you down gently

"you ready, pretty girl?"

you grin so wide it makes your cheeks burn a little.

he takes your hand in his as you both walk out of the wreck, heading towards john b's twinkie. you both get in with excitement, as jj starts pulling out of the parking lot and on to the main road

"lets get outta here."

the wind from the un-rolled car window beats upon your face like a fresh new beginning.

its the same feeling you got every time you and jj drove to a new spot, new restaurant, new date.

he said lets get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.

after way too many jams to your favourite marley playlist, the twinkie stops in its tracks.

"we're here. JJ breathes, as he gets out of the van, going up on the other side to open your door for you.

you step out onto the sand and you feel warm inside. JJ takes your hand and leads you out onto the sandy beach.

you giggle as you fall into the base line of water. jj sits down in the sand and watches you laugh and smile. it was his most favorite thing ever.

he gets up from the sand after a while and reaches out his hand for you to grasp as you pull yourself up with a laugh.

he tucks a piece of your hair back behind your ear. you always loved the way he made you feel like a little girl again. you feel your throat and stomach swarm with little butterflies.

he towers over you as you rest the side of your face on his shoulder, barely being able to touch, but you do. something that never failed to make you feel un-deniably safe.

you look up in his eyes in awe of the beautiful water color feature, mixed with tan skin that radiated his blonde hair that felt like home, but excitement all at once.

i thought heaven can't help me now. nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down. he's so tall, and handsome as hell.

"you wanna do something fun?" he graps your hand and rubs it back and forth with his thumb, making you giggle a little more.

"of course." you smile, as a blush appears on your cheeks making your face feel tingly and warm.

he leads you to a little white wooden house across the shore that was filled with life guard equipment.

he takes your hand as helps you step up by the door.

he knocks twice, no answer.

he looks back over his shoulder to see you giggling, concealing your smile with your hand. he throws you a wink and pulls back the door as he steps inside.

you follow him in, carefully shutting the wooden door behind you.

the two of you lock eyes and snicker a little.

you we're already two steps ahead of what he was thinking.

he hands you a board as you try and conceal your grin spreading across your face.

the two of you leave the small shack with your boards after jj smashes the lifeguard's tips in his pockets because he couldn't resist himself.

you laugh and follow him out, sitting in the water watching your blonde boy kick back another wave.

he's so bad but he does it so well. I can see the end, as it begins- my one condition is..

after the two of you have way too much fun in the midst of saltwater, you swim back with your stomach on your board, the warmth of the sun pressing into your scalp.

you make your way back into the sand and toss your board to the side, jj catching up to you and laying his board down next to yours.

he walks with you back to the twinkie away from the water to change out of wet clothes. He shuts the car door closed as you pull on a flowy sundress, lace peaking up from the back of your white bra, stuffing your bikini in your backpack.

jj takes his hand in yours again and rubs your back with a smile as you make your way back over to the damp sand, pressed by gentle waves creeping in.

the sun begins to fade into the horizon as it paints colors of burning yellow and oranges.

the two of you sit down in the sand.

theres a silence in the air for a while, only echoed by the soft sounds of the beach.

"i don't want this night to end", he whispers, looking down into the water.

you look into his eyes as tears begin to block your vision.

"can you promise me something?" you look down again, your words stamping the air.

there was a light silence again as he begins to read your face.

he breathes in.

"of course darling," he caresses your face with his thumb, cupping your cheek in one hand.

"will you remember me when i leave?"

he plays with the strap of your sundress as he takes his hand in yours.

"oh love.." he kisses the top of your forehead gently.

tears fall from your face, that you felt like had held you captive for so long. He wipes them away with his thumb.

"we will see each other again all right? i dont care what it is.." he looks down at the sand and then back into your eyes. They sparkle from the colors that painted the sky above the sea.

you lean over to press your lips against his on your knees.

it was a long, passionate kiss. one that felt like retaining that promise.

he pulls away a little before wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you in for a gentle hug as you rest your face on his shoulder.

"forever and always, darling."

you wipe your eyes and nod, reaching for his pinky as he keeps you retained in the hug.

he locks his finger into yours.

"pinky promise." he whispers, tucking your hair away from your face.

you look into his face as warmth fills into your cheeks, matching the color of your lips.

say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe. red lips, and rosy cheeks. say you'll see me again, even if its just in your wildest dreams.

after many long deep talks and staring into the stars, you both make your way to the twinkie, jj opening up the door for you as you get in.

you hold his hand as he keeps one arm on the steering wheel, driving down the road.

after a while the twinkie stops to the side again.

you breathe out shakily and stare at your front door from the van.

"you ready?"

you feel tears overtake your throat again and nod slowly, staring.

he helps you out of the twinkie, and walks you to the front of your house, following you inside.

you step into your room with him and gently shut the door behind you.

he gets up from your bed and towers over you, taking his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, revealing his toned chest.

you barely even swallow.

you press your mouth into his as you gently make out with each other against the door, the feeling of jj running his fingers through your hair.

I said no one has to know what we do, his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room. And his voice is a familiar sound, nothing lasts forever.

eventually the two of you make your way back over to the doorway.

he puts his hand on the wall, looking at your face.

tears fill your eyes and they drop themselves on the hard wood floor.

he pulls you into one last hug, rubbing your back into small circles.

you choke on your sobs, tears streaming down your face as he steps away from the door frame and into the cold night air.

crickets chirp in the background.

"i love you, princess", he whispers softly before kissing the top of your hand and letting it drop to your side again.

you cover your mouth with your hand as you loose your breath in your chest, tears falling past your cheeks and into the rim of your ears.

the door clicks shut.

[plasterbrain]

"there's definitely no way you'll win if you pick a number over 80. nobody should do that."

chishiya: fuck it, we ball

[punk-in-docs]

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains as she wraps the belt around your waist. Speaking as she does.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

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[emotionallyconstipatedturtle]

Mithrun: the most babygirl of baby girls. I love him, my little disabled vegetable scrap, I shall never waste veggie scraps ever again, for mithrun!

[dread-red-queen]

🚫 Do Not Re-Upload/Edit My Shots/Art Without My Permission🚫

             [Pillowfort][Instagram][Tumblr][AO3][Nexus][Ko-Fi]

[theinsomniacindian]

"Not all men-" You're right, Alyosha Karamazov would never

[markwatneyspacepiratee]

Me, before watching Dungeon Meshi: I don't think I'll like Laios, from the screencaps I see, he seems like the cynical tired mentor type. He's probably holding the other three back on leashes while complaining about how much he hates his existence. That one dog scene was probably his one comic relief moment.

Me after binge watching Dungeon Meshi: Laios, I'm so fucking sorry I judged you like that. You did nothing to deserve it besides having a serious case of anime RBF and I love you and all your interests and info-dumping and genuine zest for life with all my heart