#cannon typical violence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

serenefreakgeekao3 · 5 months ago

Text

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER SEVEN, Execution

Days 30-31, Thursday & Friday

Step Three: Grief serum

"Chuckie, I need your help." You approached the youngest Glader with a lump in your throat, feeling a well of guilt beginning to build at the implication of asking for his help. No one should know the plan but you- but you needed help, just for this. It was Thursday, and you had a job to do tomorrow. You spent all day Tuesday trying to figure out how to get into the Medjack hut- then all of Wednesday hanging out with Thomas yet again, giving you no opportunity to enact your plan, at least without causing suspicion.

"Anything, [Y/N]! What's up?" Chuck bounded over, smiling so brightly that it brought a smile to your own face.

"I'm going to be going into the MedJack hut soon, to rebandage my ankle-" You pause at this, lifting your injured ankle for his inspection, full of dirt across the entirety of it (of course, after you smeared it there yourself), "And after three minutes, I'll need a distraction. Something to get Jeff out of the building." You continued to smile at the boy, lowering your foot back down. You feel able to walk without the cane now, finally, but it still smarts when you lean too much weight on that side. It’ll have to do, though, and having a fresh bandage won’t hurt tomorrow’s chances.

"A distraction? Are you-" Chuck shifted on his feet, his face twisting in a guilty expression, "You're not stealing anything, are you?" You forced a laugh, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his shoulder. It hurts to lie to him, but you push through regardless.

"And bring it where? Of course not, Chuck. I-" You hesitate, the clever excuse you had planned not coming to your head fast enough. "I made a bet with Minho that I could guess the exact number of splints in the MedJack hut, and I am not about to lose to that shuckface." Chuck laughed brightly in response, the tension leaving his shoulders under your hand.

“Well, he would certainly know,” Chuck mumbles as he pushes to a stand, nodding toward you. “Just leave it to me, I’ll get Jeff out of there.” You smile, nodding toward him and patting a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t as young as he was in the books, that was for certain, but you could still feel a protective instinct rising inside of you the more you hung out with him.

As you make your way toward the Medjack hut, your eyes stray over toward Clint. It’s his day off today, fortuitously, and he sits off across the Glade nursing a drink with a few others you don’t really know the names of. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door to the hut, walking inside with a smile.

“Hey, Jeff, just need-” You hesitate, your eyes widening as you adjust to the indoor lighting. Jeff was there, sure, but someone else was as well. A girl is also in the room, smiling gently over at you as she stands near the cabinets. She holds something in her hand, placing it inside an open cabinet next to her before brushing her hands off, turning toward you. Jeff raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer.

“Yeah?”

“Oh,” You blink quickly, bringing yourself back to reality. You hadn’t expected two people to be in here. “I just wanted to get my bandage changed, it’s looking a bit rank.” You shrug your shoulder with a forced smile, your mind running wild with ideas on what to do now, and how to change your plan.

“Oh, yeah that’s fine. Hop on up.” Jeff pats the cot next to him, and you wander over slowly, hopping up just as he’s asked. Your eyes follow the girl as she moves around the wall of cabinets, unsure what she is actually doing. “Hey, Hannah,” Jeff calls out, looking over his shoulder at her, “Can you toss me a fresh bandage? Haven’t had a chance to look around yet.” You’re confused about his wording, but Hannah readily agrees, walking over to a nearby cabinet and pulling out a fresh roll, tossing it over toward him.

Jeff catches it neatly, resuming the removal of your old, purposefully dirtied bandage. It's quiet in the room, but Jeff and Hannah seem comfortable in it. You’re not quite so comfortable, though that’s mainly because your plan wasn’t going exactly how you’d have hoped.

“Ow!” Jeff and Hannah turn simultaneously, looking at the closed door to the Medjack hut. “Ow! Shuck, Jeff! Jeff, I need help!” Jeff and Hannah meet eyes, but he sets down the stuff he was working on with you. He turns to you with a concerned smile, nodding.

“Just a moment, I gotta go see what’s up.”

You watch Jeff’s back as he walks out of the door, then immediately your gaze falls to Hannah. She seems to have been staring at you but drops her gaze the moment you look her way. She was pretty, you had to admit, with maybe a stockier build, but long straight blonde hair and glasses sitting atop her nose. She also seemed pretty gentle, just from the way she was handling the things in the basket she was carrying, placing stuff from the basket up into another new cabinet. She glances over at you again, then smiles softly.

“Hey,” She sets the basket down gently on a nearby table, hesitating before taking a few steps toward you. “I’m Hannah, by the way. You’re [Y/N], right?” You nod slowly, unsure, but she just smiles and takes another few steps toward you. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. A lot of people are curious, you know? About the new Greenie, who immediately got accepted into the Leaders?”

“Oh, I’m not-” You raise your hands, waving them back and forth in denial. She smiles, raising her own hand as if in apology as she interrupts you.

“Oh, we know you’re not a part of them. Probably barely know a thing about the Glade.” She chuckles softly, shrugging as she walks up to your cot, leaning against it next to you. “All I meant is that we’re curious to finally meet you. I understand, really, about wanting to stay close to the friends you made right away. Goodness knows I took my time opening up to everyone, I spent the first few months here just spending all my time with Siggy.” You furrow your brow, not recognizing the name, but she startles and corrects herself. “Sorry, Frypan.”

“Fry?” You feel a small smile light up your face, tilting your head in question.

“Yeah,” She laughs along with you, lowering her gaze bashfully. “Truth be told, I mostly kept to myself because I didn’t quite…” She hesitates, nodding her head from side to side. “I didn’t really feel quite myself, the moment I came up.” She looks up to you, hesitating as if weighing whether she should continue. You duck your head to catch her eyes, curious now. She was definitely one of the ones sent up after Thomas should’ve been out. In the books, they hadn’t even sent girls, unless you’d count Teresa. You didn’t want to count her, all things considered.

“What do you mean?” You question quietly, your mind racing with theories. You were just beginning to think, well, maybe she was like you? Then, she sighs and speaks up.

“Well, I came up like all the other guys.” You furrow your brow at this, wondering what she means before she shrugs, turning sideways to lean her back against the cot. “I had a shaved head, boy clothes, the whole nine yards.” You’re still a bit confused, but she just ploughs through, not quite looking at you. “It took me about a month before I started to realize why I hated the name that I remembered. It took me another month to finally admit it out loud, whispered in secret to Siggy. He agreed to keep it a secret, but he was so supportive.” She takes in a shaky breath, nodding. “The third month, I came out officially. We didn’t have any girl’s clothes back then, so I fashioned my own. Everyone was-” She chuckles at this, and you’re starting to realize what all she’s finally saying. “Everyone was confused at first. But it helped to have Siggy on my side- no one wanted slop for dinner for bothering me about it.”

“You were the first girl?” Your question must’ve caught her off-guard, as she turns to look at you with surprise.

“Well, yeah. After me, I guess the Creators realized it might be fine to have girls in the maze. I guess they hadn’t really expected me to be one. But after I came out, the very next month another Greenie showed up.” She looks over to you, smiling. “Her name was Misty. She was incredibly sweet. And made me feel less alone.”

You nod, then tilt your head toward her as she stares into your eyes, almost as if expecting something from you. You hesitate, unsure of what she wants you to say. “Why did you tell me this?”

“Because,” She places a hand on your knee, her kind smile still written across her face. “I wanted you to know you’re not alone. You have people who will accept you, no matter what. And not just the Leaders- Newt or Thomas or Minho, but everyone else here. I know the- the amount of Gladers out here can be intimidating. But they’re all good people, I promise. I think I would know by now if they weren’t.” She winked at you, and you can’t help but laugh, your own smile matching hers. Then you hear Chuck call out loudly in pain.

“Oh! Oh, it hurts! Jeff!”

“Ok, bud, I’m really trying here. I hate to say it Chuck, but you’re a heavy guy, I can’t carry you by- oh shuck it, Hannah!”

You both were staring at the door when you heard Chuck’s initial call. Your heart had raced, hearing him call out like that. You realized belatedly why he was, and couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude for him. You could feel your chest flush with thanks, turning to look at Hannah, trying your best to smush the hope that lights up in your eyes. She looks back to you, mostly with a confused expression.

“Looks like you’re needed out there?” You murmur to her, and as Chuck yells out again, you both hear a bit of a scuffle outside of the door.

“Shuck- Chuck! Use your good leg! You can stand, you know! You don’t need to be carried-”

“I do! I need help! Hannah!”

“I guess I am,” Hannah mutters, her face the picture of confusion. She pushes herself up from your cot, jogging over to the door. The moment she steps outside before the door even closes, you’re up out of your cot and rushing to the cabinet you’d seen the serums in. There was enough, you could grab a couple just in case. You didn’t want to risk anything.

You swing open the cupboard- and stare at bottles of some clear liquid. The entire shelf smells of alcohol, so that’s likely what it is, but definitely not Grief Serum. “Shuck, shuck,” You mutter under your breath, panicking as you close the cupboard quickly and reach for the one next to it. Nothing. You’re shaking your head, growing terrified. This is your one chance, you won’t get another one, you had to find it-

“Ah! It just hurts so bad!”

“I swear, you’re just as bad as Minho.”

Cabinet after cabinet, throwing open drawers left and right, you were a mess. You had seen them, you know you had, you just had to-

There.

You stare down into the drawer you just opened, a couple of bright blue serums lining the drawer in little wooden slots just big enough to hold them. The syringes lying just below them, gleaming clean and fresh.

The door is opening, and you panic. You fumble, but you grab one vial and one syringe, throwing them into your pocket and slamming the drawer shut. You turn just in time to watch as Jeff stumbles into the room, looking down at his feet with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Then Chuck emerges, a look of pain written across his face that looks so real you begin to worry if he actually did something to himself instead of just pretending. As Hannah is walking in, Chuck’s arm around her shoulder, Chuck finally glances up at you. He drops his pained expression, smiling with a wink toward you before groaning again, readopting his facade. You hold in a chuckle, turning to limp your way back to your cot.

Jeff looks up as you’re halfway across the room, furrowing his brow. “What were you doing up?” He grunts as he struggles to practically carry Chuck to a cot next to you, flopping him down onto the bed.

“Oh, I thought I’d just fix myself up while you guys were busy.” You shrug, as if this meant nothing to you, hoping they believe the lie. Jeff looks at you through his eyelashes, a look of disbelief crossing his face, with a hint of annoyance.

“Oh yeah? Think you’re Medjack material, huh?” You scoff out a laugh, hopping up onto your own cot.

“Absolutely not. I have, however, had this stupid ankle wrapped the same way for a week now, so I figured I could just copy whatever you did.” You gesture toward the wall of cabinets, watching as Hannah begins to take up her basket once more, moving toward her previous position. “But I couldn’t find the bandages. I opened the door I thought they were behind but it was- uh, something else.”

“The splints are there now, yeah,” Hannah agrees, smiling over toward you and lifting the basket into the air for emphasis. “I’m reorganizing. The cabinets were getting kinda messy, hard to find the things we needed.”

“Right,” You mumble, glancing out of the corner of your eye toward Chuck. He smiles, then nods toward you as if in question. You smirk, then nod back, shooting him a wink.

“Ok, what the hell, Chuck?” Jeff remarks suddenly, and you both look to see him bending Chuck’s foot back completely. “I thought your damn ankle was hurting you? You’d be punching me right now if it was.”

“Oh-” Chuck jumps, his eyes widening as he’s caught in his lie. “Uh-”

“I swear, you little slinthead, if you did this just to get out of work-”

“Hey, be easy on the guy,” Hannah calls from the corner, glancing at you with a suspicious smirk. “He works real hard, we all know it. If he wants to chill out in the hut for a bit, out of the sun, then just let him.”

“Well,” Jeff mumbles, throwing Chuck’s foot down and glaring at him. “He didn’t have to be so theatrical about it.”

Step Four: Execution

You were nervous. Of course, you were nervous- terrified, even. You bounced on the heels of your feet, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, and another. Working in the Glade has definitely made you more fit than you were when you arrived, but you were nowhere near Runner fit. But you believed in yourself. You had to, because no one else could. No one else knew, hopefully, which means you were on your own. And if you didn't believe in yourself, then that would set you up for failure. And failure meant death. You couldn't die. Not when you finally found something to live for. You had been aimless for a long time, even from your own reality, but it was as if something had clicked. You knew your purpose, and it was to make sure they survived. They were stuck here, said so themselves. You were worried for Newt, even if he refused to say it you knew he had given up. And you didn't want Thomas to beat himself up over it all anymore. If you could make sure they would get out, then they'd be too busy surviving to worry about all that anymore.

You had thought of staying, of course. Why wouldn't you? Wicked set them up nicely out here, with a constant supply of animals and with their own growing source of food. No extreme heat or sand scratching their faces. Not yet. But they hated it here, you could tell. It was comfortable, it was as safe as it could be, but they were trapped. No one should be trapped like this, here against their will. Your next deep breath settled you more, as you went over the reasons. You reached into your pocket and felt the fraying edges of the paper, the letter you just finished writing, and your resolve firmed even more. The sky was getting darker by the second, and you could see the bonfire lighting up out of the corner of your eye. A few yells made their way to your position, hidden among the trees near the west gate. Cheers of merriment, and some kind of fight. You glanced over to see Gally wrestling some shank onto the ground and pinning his shoulders. You were too far away to see his face, but you could easily imagine the effortless smirk that would be there.

Another deep breath, and a rumble beneath your feet. You look at the doors and see them beginning to close. This was it, the moment of truth. You took your time, jogging over to stand in front of them. You take one last deep breath, gathering your courage and smelling the grass and salt of the glade, then walk past the walls as they continue to move in closer toward you. You stood inside the maze for the first time as the sky got darker.

"[Y/N]!" You turned around quickly at the sound of your name, screamed from the top of his lungs. You recognized the accent, and sure enough, you spied Newt at the far edge of the forest. Too far away, he wouldn't make it in time. You could see he thought so too, the hesitation in his feet before he broke out into a run anyway. You stood just inside the maze, out of the way of the doors, and watched him pound his feet against the dirt. His scream had alerted the other Gladers, and soon enough you noticed Minho appear, and Thomas on his heels. Even Gally and Alby running behind. Their yells hurt, calling you back and calling you a shank for trying.

You took a step back, and another, as the doors were mostly closed now. "[Y/N]! Get out here! Please!" It was Newt again, pain in his higher-pitched voice as he finally stopped just a small ways away. Thomas blew past him, everyone else coming to a stop behind him. It was clear though, even Thomas wouldn't make it (this time).

"I can't lose you!" Thomas yells out, the hurt in his voice mirrors the one in your chest, and you take a steadying breath. They would find out soon enough. Thomas finally made it to the doors, too small as they were, and reached a hand inside toward you before withdrawing and seemingly trying to push them apart, keep them open. You finally spoke, your voice full of too many emotions to count.

"Tommy, just stop trying," Your voice broke as you watched a tear fall from his eyes, his struggle slowing. Just a slit was left of him, and you took a small step toward the doors, "I'm sorry, but I have to." With a resounding bang from the doors, you’ve sealed your fate.

“No…” He trailed off, Thomas staring at the white stone walls directly in front of his face. He was so close he could smell the salt coming off of them onto his hands. He shakes his head again, pounding against the stone, pointlessly. He knew it was pointless. “No!” He yells out, hitting the wall again.

“Tommy,” Newt begins, but the other voices interrupt.

“There’s no point in lingering now. There’s nothing we can do.” Thomas spins around, eyes wide as he stares at Gally. A group lingers near him, surrounding him. Alby, Minho, Frypan, Clint, even Zart.

“Nothing we can do?!” Thomas yells out, and from the corner of his eye he watches Newt wince and reach a hand out to touch his arm. That would usually give him such a sense of comfort, but all he could imagine was you. Your arm touching his, just a few days ago when he showed you the watchtower and forced you to climb to the top so you’d be alone with him.

“Thomas,” Alby steps forward, his hands up as if trying to tame a wild beast, bent slightly at the hips. Thomas realizes how hard he’s breathing, the stance he’s in as if he’s ready to attack. “The doors have closed. You know what that means.”

“No!” Thomas yells, taking a step back and bumping into the walls behind him. He jumps, spinning around to stare at them in horror, with betrayal.

“He’s gonna have a field day, there’s no calming him,” Minho finally speaks up- his voice grave, as it should be. At least he had the proper wherewithal to hold his patronizing tone. “Just leave them be. Let’s go.”

“You really think-”

“Gally,” Minho interrupts him, and Thomas doesn’t have to look to know that he’s pulling his rarely-used serious face. “Let it be.” Thomas turns slowly, facing Newt first and searching his eyes. He finds the same sadness- the same desperation- there and continues his turn to face all of the leaders. All but one, anyway.

“Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid, I would hate to throw you in the slammer for this.” Alby warns, before turning around to follow the already retreating Gally and Minho. The others are soon to follow, looking down at the ground as if already grieving. As if already giving up.

“Tommy,” He’s insistent this time, shaking Thomas’ arm to gain his attention. Thomas swings his head to meet Newt’s eyes once again. He feels the tears brimming in his own, threatening to fall and likely making his eyes shine from the bonfire’s light. How were they all supposed to go on celebrating tonight? “Tommy, listen to me. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Thomas’ voice is rough, full of emotion. He clears his throat, already feeling the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I can hear you Newt.”

“They’ll be okay,” Newt says, sucking in a breath. His eyes change as he stands there, reaffirming his grip on Thomas’ arm. They change from their desperation to a bit of hope and determination. He speaks now no longer as if he’s trying to convince himself, but as if he’s trying to convince Thomas. “They’ll be okay. They will be at the doors when they open in the morning. It’ll be Saturday, so they’ll have their pick, all of the doors will be open.” Newt steps closer, pulling Thomas in by his arm. “You heard them out there, they had to do it. They have a plan, you know them as well as I do.”

“They’ll be okay,” Thomas whispers, searching Newt’s eyes back and forth. He believes it, he really does. He hasn’t seen Newt be so convinced of anything for years. Not since he stopped believing they could escape. He knew that Newt gave up, even if Thomas himself didn’t.

“Yes, they will. And we’ll be waiting right here when these doors open.”

The doors had closed, yet you could still hear the muffled shouts from the other side. They were still struggling, as pointless as it was. You took another deep breath and spun around to face the hall. The books had always said how terrifying the prospect was, of wandering the maze, even just stepping foot inside. But the way your stomach dropped to your feet, your breath speeding, was something you hadn't anticipated. It was cold in here, the biting chill against your skin causing goosebumps to run up your arm. The shouts were dying down, and then a screech filled the air.

You ran. Your feet pounded against the ground, and as you made your first turn you tried to repeat it in your head. As with the next, trying to keep it in order. Your brain was frazzled, your breath coming in short pants, and everything was starting to get confusing. You needed a moving piece of the maze, doors closing or stone stomping on the ground. You had tried to memorize where they could be, but your brain is turning to mush in the face of actual action. Maybe the blades? But they were far off, you knew, and you weren't sure how long you had until one of the Grievers found you. Another screech sounded far off to your left, and an answering one much closer to your right. Your feet, slamming against the stone with every leap, were already starting to hurt and you weren't sure how long you'd been running for. Not long yet, right? Maybe you would have a better chance of hiding for most of the time, then trying your plan toward the end of the night.

With a loud SLAM to your right, you finally stopped and let out a shuddering breath. SLAM, again, and you watched three large slabs of stone come crashing down one by one and slowly rise, clicking back into place. Here. You began glancing around, looking for somewhere to hide amoungst stone walls. You walked further in, looking down the next hall and noticing a tall, thick line of ivy climbing the wall halfway down the hall. You approached, trying to keep your feet quiet, the slams of the next hall continuing on and making you jump each time. You finally made it, pushing the ivy aside and feeling along the stone behind it. Any hope for a crevice you might stand in is suddenly dashed, and your stomach sank, but you kept feeling along. Lower, maybe, and you felt the corner of the wall against the floor and still nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you felt upward- there! Your fingers curled along an edge, and you harshly pulled the ivy aside to spy the hole. It was long, though not very deep. It was horizontal, meaning you would have to lay, if you even fit, and it was a foot above your head where you stood. But maybe? You began to climb, wrapping the ivy around your hands and placing your feet against the wall. You struggled, of course, your upper body strength not very impressive. It was enough, however, as you took a step, and another. You were shaking with exertion by the time your feet met the hole, and you bent your knees, climbing slowly inside. Maneuvering was difficult, but you eventually slid inside sideways, and you had to pull ivy out from under your head and back, pushing it outside the hole. You finally let go, unwrapping the greenery from your hand, and let out a breath. You had fit.

You looked at the ivy covering the wall, reaching your hand out to smooth it into place, hopefully covering yourself. There was little room above you, but enough to move your left hand up against your chest, turning your wrist to see the time. 'The doors close at 8pm, when the sun sets, and open again at 6am, when the sun rises.' Minho's words echo in your head, and you read your watch. 10pm. You had been running for hours? It certainly didn't feel like it, though you were exhausted, but you expected that. What surprised you more was that you hadn't run into a single Griever in that whole time? As if summoned from your thoughts, you heard a shrill shriek ring through the air. You gasped through your nose, then held the breath as you tried to listen. Distantly, you heard a metal-against-stone sound, dragging then pausing, as if a Griever left their bladed arm on the ground as they walked. You slowly let out your breath, hearing the sound get louder, and small chinks like metal footsteps against hard stone soon could also be heard.

The sounds mostly come to a stop, though you still hear a heavy shrill sound of metal against metal as the Griever stands not too far from your hiding spot. You worry for a second, wondering if the Griever was looking for you, or if it’d seen you. You try to peek through the vines without daring to move them, but you covered yourself pretty well. It’s dark through the vines, too hard to make anything out. That is, until the darkness moves, and you realize the Griever had been right there the whole time. The metal sound of it’s blade on the ground sounds again as the Griever begins to slowly move away, and you lightly let out the breath you had been holding. It’ll be fine. You still have hours before the doors open, you can pick a different Griever closer to the time-

A scream pierces through the air.

Your eyes widen, hearing a shriek from the Griever right next to you, almost deafening, and watch as it spins around and charges back the way it came. You don’t think- you can’t think, because who else could possibly be in the maze?- and immediately roll yourself out of your little hiding hole. You grasp the vines at the last second, righting yourself before you finally land on your feet with a wince, your ankle panging with pain. You turn quickly, time moving as if like slow motion as you watch the Griever creepily yet quickly crawl its way opposite of you. Then, as the Griever lifts up it’s body just enough, you see a glance of a large afro of hair- Chuck.

“Hey, you big slimy bastard!” You yell out, watching as the Griever turns just as quickly, swinging it’s ‘head’ over to see you. You pick up a stray rock from the ground, throwing it toward him even though it doesn’t even make it half the distance. “It’s me your after, isn’t it?” You watch as the Griever looks back and forth- it was a risk, of course, because Chuck was now closer to the Griever than you were. If it were truly hungry for blood, it’d go after him. But you had a feeling it was being controlled by Wicked. As well as another strong feeling that they have no idea what to do about you. In the stillness that followed, you breathe heavily, panic suffusing your body. “I’m the one you want! That you’re curious about, right?”

The Griever stills, unnaturally so given it’s usually doing some mock interpretation of breathing that grinds the steel together, and you think you spy a bit of flickering going on in the giant mass of sludge. Then, the Griever lets out a shriek that is followed by four other shrieks of varying distance. It charges for you.

“[Y/N]!”

“Hide here, Chuck, I’ll be back for you!” You turn, hoping he understands what you meant, or perhaps saw you roll out from your hiding spot. You also hope he doesn’t do something stupidly foolish like follow you along, but considering the fact that he’s in the maze probably isn’t a good sign. Your feet are pounding against the concrete, your ankle springing in pain that you manage to ignore through the adrenaline.

You turn left, running and hearing the scraping slide of that thing behind you as it rushes too fast to follow the turn correctly, giving you slightly more breathing room. You huff, turning left again and using the chance to glance behind you. Not nearly as much breathing room as you’d have liked. You face forward once again, panting with exertion. SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, you watch as the ceiling comes crushing down one after another, slowly raising back up once again.

“C’mon, c’mon,” You mumble to yourself as you run, watching to see when it’ll click into place at the top. You have to be fast- be faster. If they slam down before you arrive, you’re trapped at a dead end with the Griever. If they slam down too quickly after you arrive- well, then that’d be the end. You push yourself, barely even feeling the pain in your ankle anymore from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

SLAM

You turn around, breathing heavily and bending at the waist, placing your hands on your knees. You’d made it. Somehow, you made it. You can hear the squeaking sound of stone grinding against stone as the first two rise, waiting for the third that’s just in front of you. You take a deep breath, straightening yourself and readying yourself to run in a circle if you hadn’t timed it right. But you needn’t have worried.

As the stone slowly rises, you see the gooey remains of the Griever, sludge spread across the floor and mucking up the top of the last two squares of ceiling that are raising up. You smile, feeling a swell in your chest. Your plan had worked! You rush forward, searching quickly, glancing up every so often to make sure you’re not going to crush yourself alongside it. Then, you see the small blinking light. You shove your hand inside the corpse to your elbow, then dig in even further to your shoulder. Then, you firmly grasp the metal.

“[Y/N]!”

You glance up, widening your eyes to see Chuck standing half the hall down from you, well out of the way of the crushing stone above you. You glance up, noticing the stone almost reaching the ceiling once again. You pull with all your might, pulling out the stinger and metal casing- the key to leaving the Maze. You run, and just as you pass the threshold the stone slams down. You feel the woosh of air push against you, rattling your clothes with how close you were to getting caught.

“Chuck,” You call out as you jog closer, watching him walk closer to you as well. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”

“Sorry, what am I doing here?” Chuck asks, and you suddenly realize the expression on his face. It’d been hard to place at first, but only because you’ve never actually seen it before. Chuck was mad.

“Chuck-”

“No, [Y/N], no! You don’t get to come up with excuses, you don’t get to-” Chuck scoffs, throwing his hand out toward you. “What are you doing, running in here like that? You couldn’t have wanted to just explore, be curious, because if you had you’d have snuck in during the day! You know how dangerous it is here!”

“Chuck-”

“So that only leaves one possible explanation! You-” Chuck sniffles, and you begin to wonder if you’d read him wrong once again. He wasn’t mad at you. “You wanted to die? Were we not enough for you, [Y/N]? What about Newt, and Thomas? You love them! Anyone with eyes can see, it’s not hopeless between the three of you, you know!”

“Chuckie-”

“And- and what about Gally? You’re super close with him, he’s like your best friend! Which is astonishing, since I’ve never seen Gally actually care about anyone but Ben. And- and what about Hannah? You just met her and seemed to like her-”

“Chuck!” You grab his arms, shaking him as you watch the tears flow down his cheeks. “That’s not the only explanation.”

“What about me?” Chuck whispers, as if he hadn’t heard what you’d just said. He looks terrified, and hurt, and in agony and you hated it. “Was I not enough for you?”

“Chuckie, listen to me.” You bend over slightly, shaking him gently as you look into his eyes. You wait for acknowledgement, some sign that he’s paying attention. His gaze clears of some emotion, and his face settles into a neutral expression. He takes a breath, then nods to you. You nod twice, then continue. “Firstly, you are enough. You all are. Me wanting-” You sigh, shaking your head, “What you thought I wanted. That’s not the only explanation. That’s not what’s going on here.”

Chuck takes a few breaths, but he seems to come to a conclusion faster than you would’ve expected. He nods, his face steeling with determination, and a small smile. “Alright. Alright, then what is it? Let me help.”

“Look, I’m just trying to get us out okay?”

“Out?”

“Out of the maze. Out of the Glade.” You see his eyes widen with amazement, and no hint of suspicion or disbelief. It’s as if he truly believes every word you say. You let out a breath, letting go of his arms finally and taking a step back. You take a deep breath, sharing determined smiles.

It comes from nowhere.

Or, rather, it came from above, considering it fell downward behind Chuck. One second, you were reorganizing your plan to make sure Chuck gets out alive- the next, you see a small metal tip poking from his chest as a Griever stabs him from behind.

“Chuckie!”

#wip: apricity #fanfiction #gender neutral reader #newt x thomas x reader #second person pov #mazerunner #cannon typical violence

18 notes · View notes

rennorthernlights · 1 year ago

Text

The World We Knew

Chapter 1, Chapter 2: Take a Trip Down The Lane, Chapter 3,

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, Zombies, Zombie Death, mentions of family death

August ish, 2023. Time??? Location: outskirts of Navasota, Texas.

“Gaz, you almost got it fixed, yeah?” The voice calls out making Gaz jolt. Too lost in his world to realize that his Captain was peering over his shoulder. Gaz has been working on it since Soap managed to nab it back when they were passing College Station. Soap got a massive earful from Ghost and Price considering he almost become zombie fodder.

“Aye, sir, almost got it.” It’s been driving Gaz mad for the last couple of days. The man has nearly lost his patience on it more times than he can count and that’s saying something considering he has the patience of a mountain… sometimes. “Bugger just won’t—“

A muffled voice that slowly becomes clearer as the radio tunes into the signal. “Oh and you won’t believe what I did today,” Gaz and Price freezes as they hear a woman’s voice on the radio. They share eye contact as they listen in. Hoping that it’s not a hoax or a figment of their imagination. “Managed to nab a blanket for once. Sometimes Texas is warm and other times is— BZZZ”

“No, no, no,” Gaz says as he angles the radio to try and listen to her speak again. Price sighs and claps a hand on Gaz’s shoulder. A firm squeeze as he looks at his Sergeant. “It works, Gaz,” he says as he looks at Gaz frantically trying to get it back. “Gaz, hey,” Price says as he tries to get him to look at him. “Kyle!” He yells and Gaz’s shoulders slump.

“Gaz, you got it to work. We’ve had it for weeks now without a single peep but you got it to work. That’s all that matters.” Cupping the back of Gaz’s head with a light squeeze. “Go help Soap with a perimeter check. Let me see if I can take a crack at it, yeah?” He offers as he knows Gaz needs a break, giving him a tender kiss on the forehead. Gaz’s shoulders relax and he mutters some reluctance before he stands and leaves. Price takes his spot and he rolls his shoulders. The stress of it all weighing just a bit more now that he knows the radio works. It’s gonna plague Gaz for a while and Price needs his head on straight.

“Alright, let’s try it,” Price cracks his knuckles and works on it. Been almost a year since the world went to shit. Last year he was getting Soap and Ghost out of the military base in Las Almas and now he’s somewhere in Texas. They tried to convince Rudy and Ale to get on board with going with them to Fort Sam Houston. The Mexican Colonel was vehemently against leaving Las Almas even Rudy didn’t think it’d be a good idea. Took Soap speaking to them and then finally Ghost putting his two cents in to convince. “Safer in numbers,” He remembers Ghost grunting out only for Ale to argue that he and Rudy are needed with the Los Vaqueros. As he works on the radio, he thinks back on what eventually set them down the path they are in.

————————————————————

“I’m not leaving my men, not after what that cabrón did.” Spitting on the ground as the fire from the tank that Graves was in is still going. It’s been a couple days and there’s already been reports of this disease. At first Price didn’t want to believe it, hell, no one wanted to believe it. Man eating disease? Sounds like something out of a horror novel. “Colonel Vargas, the sooner we get to that Fort the sooner we can bring back whatever cure they have to your men.” Price steps forward, eye level with Vargas, as his arms cross over his chest. Beard crinkling as his lip twitches.

“We need all the help we can get and you and your Sergeant Major would expedite the process of that.” Vargas sighs, his hands on his hips as he turns to Rudy whose been silently listening. They speak fast in Spanish, both have different expressions as they talk it over to each other. Vargas mutter a curse, that one Price can understand, and Rudy then steps forward. “We are needed here. We can’t let Las Almas suffer, this is our home and we will stay. With or without a cure.” Rudy states and Vargas nods in agreement. Price sighs and a faint smile graces his face as Soap clasps a hand on Rudy’s shoulder with a “be safe, hermanos” in his Scottish accent.

Took a days time to gear up and pack the necessary essentials they’d need. The whole world has been put on a pause and no planes go in and out especially when news came around that the President of the United State’s plane had sick people get on board. Secret service is still trying to find the rest of the plane since it nose dived somewhere in Philadelphia. Price only knew about the Fort from Laswell when she gave him a call. She didn’t have much time to speak on the phone before it blacked out with the insistent beep of the call disconnecting. Didn’t matter how many times he tried to call back.

When she last called she sounded out of breath like she’d been running a marathon. Speaking fast with her words, “M’glad you’re safe, John. It’s been hell here.” Shots firing in the background as he can hear screams, “Place is a lil crowded for me right now but listen!” She pants as sends him the information to his phone with shaky hands. “Fort Sam Houston is researching and performing experiments for a cure. Get there and keep the scientist safe. Fuck!” She curses as she now sounds far away. Someone is shooting again. He calls her name urgently but the phone disconnects as he punches the wall with a yell.

That phone call was 2 days ago. Soap still tried to convince Ale and Rudy but they held firm to their decision. The most Colonel Vargas could do was gift them a military vehicle and a decent number of guns, supplies, and preserves. A month. Should just take a week to get up there anyways. Provide protection for the scientists. Once they’ve made a cure then they can head back and then everything will hopefully go back to normal. That should be enough time to get up to the base and back. If everything goes smoothly that is.

Even though Price wanted to believe it even back then he knew that it would take more than a miracle for this to actually work but… He trusted Laswell, trusted her judgment with these things. He just wishes he could hear her speak again. He knows she’s resourceful, she’s probably with her wife right now hunkered down somewhere safe… hopefully.

“Are we ready?” Gaz calls out as Ghost loads up the last bag. Vargas was overseeing the load out to make sure they had everything for their mission, he even triple checked for them. Few sightings of the sick people have been roaming the streets. Mexico City is going dark as they get ready to head out as they speak. The Mexican military is deploying every able-bodied soldier at the moment and yet it isn’t enough. Too many have gone radio silent. Vargas and some of the Los Vaqueros plan on scouting there to see what’s going on as soon as the 141 leave. “Let’s load up!” Vargas yells as he hands Price a couple CD’s for the music player. Vargas may or may not have had that installed when he was tinkering with the vehicle weeks ago…

“Figured you Brit’s—,” a quick Oi from Soap, “AND Scot,” an amused glint in his eyes as he winks, “would prefer if I left some CD’s, si? Gives Soap enough time to work on his Spanish.” A Cheshire grin on the man as he leans an elbow against the door.

“Fine by me, s’long as Ghost ain’t driving and Soap can fix up on his Spanish,” Gaz remarks and Ghost levels him with a glare. “Gonna tell me I’m wrong, Ghost? Soap told me how you drove getting out of Las Almas.”

“My bad, next time I’ll put my blinker on,” Ghost grunts out sarcastically as Soap clasps a hand on Ghost shoulder with a belch of a laugh. Bantering back and forth as Price and Gaz sit in the front. Gaz acting as the map since the wifi has been acting stranger and stranger. A wave goodbye from the Colonel and the Sergeant Major as they drive off. A month. That’s all they’ll need and it’ll go back to normal.

The days quickly turned into months. Barely crossing the border of Mexico into the US it started becoming one shit show after another. Far too many close calls that definitely made Price age more than he already is. The main roads were clogged with people trying to get in and out of of major cities. It was madness, the people were everywhere. Screams and yelling as people tried surviving. Rudy kept talking with the men from where he was in Las Almas. Their radio working pretty well considering the long distance. Rudy and Ale would talk and give regular updates day in and day out until it stopped. Soap tried everything to get the radio working, thinking that the wires were crossed or something but… to no avail. They couldn’t even turn back considering how far they were, all they could do is push forward.

Ghost and Soap went through a rough patch, arguments and spitting curses in left and right. Ghost saying that they shouldn’t go back because “choices have consequences” only for Soap to angrily disagree. It took Gaz stepping in to act as a buffer while Price had to put his foot down on the matter.

“We can’t go back. We gotta keep moving, Johnny.” A sad look on Price as he places a hand on the Scott’s shoulder. He’s knows Johnny will take the blame and guilt himself into thinking it’s his fault for not convincing Ale and Rudy better. Didn’t help that when they stayed at an apartment complex someone stole their vehicle when they got pass Laredo, Texas. At least they had the weapons and supplies that Ale gave them in the apartment they’re hunkering down in, small mercies.

Derailing most of the plan and making tensions so high that Ghost could’ve cut it with one of his knives. It got even worse when Gaz couldn’t contact his mother anymore, barely a month in as the group walked more on foot from place to place. Gaz shut off completely for a week, not even Soap could ease him out of it. Took Ghost sitting next to Gaz on a warm night in an abandoned gas station for Gaz to finally cry it out. Ghost, never being one for soft words, held Gaz close to him, not saying a word but just being a comforting embrace for Gaz to fall into.

When they finally got a car it went a little smoother, Price scouted it at a JoeVs. He won’t talk about how he knows how to hotwire a car much to everyone’s annoyance and amusement. Soap was able to get a few phone calls from his family until it just stopped coming altogether. Phone calls making a “We’re sorry, the person you have dialed is not able to come to the…” Soap could only hear it so many times before he threw his phone against the wall causing it to crack and break.

Soap leaned more on Gaz for help since he understands more about it. A silent comfort that they had each other to work through it. Ghost took on more of the load since he knew that Price couldn’t carry all the weight. Especially since their Sergeants were going through it emotionally. Ghost’s only family was the men in the car so he didn’t have much to worry or cry about. Price was an only kid and with parents already in the grave. They really only had each other to lean into, all of them did.

The team went through a list of names to call the sick during the quiet nights they had. It all came down to a vote for “Z-Fuckers” since it was funnier hearing Soap call’em that in his Scottish accent.

“Z-Fuckers!” Soap said it experimentally and Gaz has to cover his mouth as he nearly choked on some beans. Ghost having to aggressively pat his back as even he started laughing. Price tried to be stern about being quiet but even he gave into it when Soap kept saying it. A lil calm in their storm, for once the night feels normal.

“It’s like that Romero movie, m’serious Gaz.” Soap grins as they sit next to each other in an office building they’re hiding in. The other in different spots of the room as they chatter back and forth like it’s a normal 141 mission. The Z-fuckers, as Soap so lovingly calls them, are outside on the streets. Moaning and groaning as they search for something breathing and living to sink their nasty teeth into. As they were looking for a place to stay earlier, Ghost narrowly got bit when he pulled Price back from the exit only for Price to punch the shit out of the dead woman making her stumble. Gaz was quicker with stabbing her in the head and then the zombie went limp.

When they finally settled for the night Soap spoke up again to Gaz and then to the rest of the group. “It’s the brains. I dinnae think it’d be but it is.” Soap says outloud and Ghost agreed to it, “Aim for the head.” Become the motto of the group.

Took 5 months in total, a few near misses, a couple of shit shows after the other, and finally they’ve made it to Fort Sam Houston.

“Jesus Christ.” Gaz whistles out as he looks on the binoculars. “Sore sight that’s for damn sure.” Soap makes a grabby hand motion and Gaz obliges him. Blue eyes widening as he looks to Price.

“You’re out ya damn mind if ya think anyones livin.” It’s definitely not a pretty sight. Too many deads, blood smeared on the outside walls of the building. Body parts on the ground. “Pretty sure that’s guts on a car…” Like a horror show from the looks of it. Especially with the broken glass and some of the cars in the parking lot being overturned.

Arms crossed and jacket pulled tight as Price levels him with a look. “We’ve a mission, Sunshine. Don��t tell me you’re nervous.” Soap snorts and keeps looking through the binoculars. “Ghost, you see anything?” Turning to look up as Ghost is laying on a rundown car. His rifle in hand as he looks through the scope. His eyes flickering as he searches and looks for movement.

Price tilts his head expectantly, and finally Ghost speaks, “I see lot of z-fuckers roamin. There’s movement in the building, too fast for a Z so it’s possible but I can’t get a clear view.” The older man nods and rolls his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s gear up.” A circle movement of the arm as he’s as satisfied as he can be with that answer. Not like they have a choice anyways.

They, thankfully, still have their comms and good enough gear on hand. It’s not the best and Price would’ve definitely lectured all of them if they were on a mission, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Soap and I will take the first. You two will take second. Comm for assistance.” His voice naturally moving into the tone that’s been honed over the years as Captain. “Don’t get hurt and don’t get killed.” He pats on Gaz’s chest since he’s the closest. “Don’t become a meal either.” Simple enough as is. Get in, find the scientists, and get out. Pretty clear cut. What could go wrong?

“Price you’re gonna have to think of something! Gaz and I are about to get cornered!” Ghost yells into the comm as he quickly tries to find a room to try and hide him and Gaz in.

Ghost slams against the door and throws Gaz inside. Shutting it quickly as the screech of a dead alerts more to where they are. “Fuck,” Ghost curses as he grabs whatever is heavy enough and barricades the door. The wood of the door being slammed against by the mindless drone of the zombies. He pants hard as presses a hand on the back of his head. His fingers flexing against his mask. His mind working overtime to think of a way out for the both of them.

His eyes searching for an exit as he spots a closet and windows. “Can’t break it. Might be more out there..” muttering as he taps once and then twice on his comms but it’s no use. He slammed too hard against the door, it probably messed with his comms somehow. At least they’re on the first floor. Far too many zombies on second that they had to turn back. Tapping the back of his head with his fist as he thinks of a strategy.

He pauses as he hears anxious muttering. Turning his head a lil he notices his Sergeant gripping his head. He takes a step closer, worried when he finally hears what Gaz is saying,” We’re not gonna make it.” Gaz repeats it again and again.

“Gaz” he says softly, trying to get his attention.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He’s spiraling as he tries to breath. Tries to keep calm, he’s been trained for torture, trained to handle the extreme but this is different. It’s a hopeless feeling being trapped in a room with no way out. He lost his gun when he tripped down the stairs. Ghost probably only has a clip left. It’s hopeless.

“Garrick listen to m-“

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to John or Johnny.” His hands shake as he tries and tries to breath. To calm down but he can’t focus. His ankle hurts, it’s definitely sprained from when he fell down the stairs. He didn’t mean to fall but a crippled zombie reached its hand through the bars of the rail and grabbed him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ghost so… scared when he called his name out as he killed the zombie when it crawled on him.

“Kyle!”

His name being yelled is what pulls Kyle out of his spiral. The shuffling of fabric is heard as Kyle breaths in and out. The throb of his ankle momentarily fading as he turns and looks at Ghost. His eyes widen as Ghost isn’t wearing his mask anymore. It’s clenched in his gloved hand as he comes to Kyle.

“You’re not gonna die. Its not gonna happen.” Ghost says it so sternly, so assuredly that Kyle stammers a response back.

“There’s too many outside the door. They’re clawing to get in, Gh-“

“Simon.”

“W-what?”

“Want you to call me, Simon.” The bigger man says as he steps closer. His gloved hand reaching out and cupping his face as Kyle looks dumbfounded and confused. His breath hitching as he stares into Gho- no Simon’s eyes. Lost in thought as he looks at every crease, every little scar that Simon has. Has he always had such pretty brown eyes? “You’re gonna hide in the closet and I’ll give’em something to chew on.” He murmurs softly.

Something to chew on? What does that mean? Wait… he can’t possibly be meaning what he thinks he’s meaning. That makes him tense as he shakes his head. “No, no-“

“Kyle,” he starts but he gets cut off fast.

“No! I’m not… I can’t just… no!” He steps back but Simons hand grips him a bit harder. Months ago he wouldn’t even think about yelling back to him but he doesn’t care. He’s not going to let Simon die. Not because of him. A battle of wills while the zombies growl outside the door.

“I love you.”

Kyles shoulders slack, his mouth parted slightly as his heart pounds from adrenaline and fear. Eyes glassing over as he says, “y-you what?”

“I know it’s taking me a while to say it. I’m sorry but I do. I love you” Simon looks down as he says it, like it’s a secret that wasn’t supposed to be said but also a yearning to be spoken about. “I’ve lost a lot. I’ve buried too many.” He laughs sadly, “Maybe Johnny was right that I’d need to be put in these types of situations to say it.”

“But Johnny, you love Johnny.”

“I do. Figured it out in Las Almas. Doesn’t mean that I don’t feel for you or… John.” Slowly pressing his forehead to Gaz. Ignoring the pounding hands of the dead on the door that could break at any minute if it wasn’t for the desks in front of it. Simon looks at Gaz like he’s the only thing here. The only important thing in this room right here and now. “The dead outside this door isn’t gonna stop me from protecting what’s mine.”

“We can both hide. We can…” he tries to offer, tries to think through the emotions bubbling up in his chest.

“Kyle, you’ve a brilliant mind. Best on par with John but you know as well as I that the dead won’t stop till they have something to sink their teeth into.”

“No, no you can’t just confess. You can’t just tell me you love me and then die!” He yells and something fierce is in Gaz’s eyes. “You don’t get to leave.” Hands reaching out and grips the collar of Simon’s shirt. The one that Johnny got for him when they were running through a Walmart. A determined look in his eyes and something even more as he glares at his Lieutenant, his Simon, his.

Planting his feet as he ignores the pain in his sprain. “You don’t get to die on me Simon Riley. Not now. Not ever.” Leaning up and kissing him as Simon’s eyes widen. Shaken up as he clearly wasn’t expecting Kyle to kiss him or even reciprocate it. Maybe he also needed to be put in this situation to realize it as well that he loves Simon too.

“Dead’s be damned,” he breathes out as he knocks his forehead to Simon’s. “Our guys will get us. You know they will, don’t try and die on me.” Nose brushing against each other. The cracking of the wooden door pulls them out of the moment. Simon stepping in front of Gaz fast as he widens his stance and grabs his gun. The barricade in front of the door won’t last long. Simon eyes the closet door and then behind him to Gaz.

“I have a clip left. I ca-“ a loud sound outside makes the building shake and he can think of only one person that would make such a loud noise. Just as he’s about to laugh about the odds of who it is. A buzzing noise on Gaz’s comm comes to life as Johnny is speaking hurriedly, like he’s running. Telling them that he and Price are making noise on the east side of the building and to head towards the exit.

“Come on, Kyle,” He places his mask in his pocket, moving the barricade from the door away. Quickly surveying the hallway before he moves and hauls Gaz’s arm over his shoulder. “Our guys got us after all, huh?” His other hand gripping his gun as he keeps a constant watch. Determined to not let anything harm the two of them.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Kyle grunts out when some of his weight is on his sprained ankle. Ghost noticing as he nearly lifts him off the floor as his hand grips at his waist. Shouldering the weight of Gaz as they get out.

“Maybe a lil,” he grins and Kyle finds that he likes the way Simon grins. All teeth in it as he helps him out. Price is already providing cover fire as soon as they both make it to the exit. Soap coming around and helping Gaz so they can get away faster. The building becomes a distant dot and blur of a memory months later, maybe even a laugh at the odds and luck that Gaz has.

————————————————————

Back to the present day as Price smiles softly while working on the radio. From that point on everyone’s been closer, nearly losing Gaz and Ghost was a wakeup call that they all desperately needed. They’ve had near misses but never like that. Never to the point where it felt like the end. Now no one goes anywhere without letting the group know and they have to have a buddy with them at all times. It’s typically; Price and Gaz. Ghost and Soap. Sometimes they’ll switch up but they’re always communicating. Hell, there communicating better than when they did when they were on mission.

Bzzzz… Crchhhh “-nally saw a deer again. That was nice. Last one I saw had bite marks on it. Really, really, hope it was a dog and not a dead fucker.” The mystery woman chuckles, and Price can’t believe his luck. He calls hurriedly to the other men to come over as the woman keeps speaking. “Would kill for a burger from Whataburger, you think they’ll have the ingredients there? Man o man-“

“The radios working?“ Ghost says, stunned that it’s actually working. The radio keeps going as the woman keeps talking unaware of her listeners. “Gaz and you finally got it to work. Guess I can stop railing on Soap for grabbing it.”

“Knew it’d work, ya just dinnae believe me, Si.” Elbowing the big man as Soap steps closer, “Sounds like pretty lil ‘o bird. Gonna speak back, Captain?” Soap inquired as Price holds his finger over the button to speak. For once Price feels… nervous. The first human voice in nearly a year and he’s unsure about it. The number of pros and cons already playing out in his head.

“It might scare her off.” He moves his finger away as they listen to her speak about something that sounds mundane but is everything to the men in the room. It feels normal. “Let’s wait it out a bit. See where this goes. Don’t speak on the radio unless necessary, got it?” Price orders and they all agree. As much as Price wants to speak to the lady… he also wants to protect his men and keep them safe. Who knows who she is or if she’s even alone? The risks outweighs the benefits of a potential alliance for now.

Listening to her on the radio has slowly become a part of their routine. Sometimes in the morning or afternoon she’ll speak. Talk about her day, what she had to eat, commenting on her place of choice for the night, etc. The men would huddle around the radio so they could hear her and her “Talkshows” as they’d call it. Some of them wonder what she’d look like, what she’d sound like in person, how old she was, Soap even placing a bet that she wore glasses while Gaz placed a bet that she didn’t. It became part of their routine to check the radio everyday for her voice until one day…. She went silent.

She didn’t say anything in the morning and then the afternoon rolled by and no response. “We need to reach out and talk to’er.” Gaz said almost insistently when the second day rolled around and still no voice from her. The feeling that she could be a dead becoming ever present on their minds. Price holds the radio in hand, a crease of his brows as he thinks it over.

“Lemme speak to’er, doubt she’ll be spooked if she hears a ‘funny’ accent, yeah? Might make’er talk a bit since I sound like Shrek.” Soap says and holds his hand out. Price takes a second before handing it to him. An encouraging nod from him as Soap breaths in and says, “This is Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Taskforce 141 operative. I’m trying to get in touch with the woman that regularly speaks on this line.” different murmurs from the men as they hope and beg that their lady is around to hear them.

Bzzzz… crchhhhh… He tries again, a worried feeling creeping up in his chest. His words more insistent. “This is Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacT-“

“H-Hello?” She says softly. A nervousness in her voice and the men all sigh in relief.

“You had us worried, Bonnie.” Soap says as he breaths out a low sigh. His hand unclenching since he had it balled from how nervous he was feeling.

“Us?”

Their eyes widen as they hear the fear in her voice. A curse from Ghost as Soap scrambles to speak, “Me and some of my group have been listening to your talks. We… We just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The silence on the other radio is deafening and they all suck in a breath. Soap tries to coax some words out of her but to no avail.

She didn’t speak on the line anymore, but they held out hope. Johnny and Kyle started taking turns speaking on the line, talking about their day as the 141 sat around waiting for her to say something back. They were about to give up since a couple weeks go by with no response. And then finally, the static on the other side comes to life.

“… Hi,” the radio crinkles and buzzes with a soft noise, “I’m not going to give you my name or location but I..” the radio shorts out and the men wait on bated breath for her to speak again. “But I want to talk. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to speak to you.”

“We’re here, Sunshine,” Gaz says softly as he takes the radio, “This is Kyle, do you remember me? I’d’ve spoken more to you whenever, Johnny,” glaring lightheartedly at the Scot, “would stop hogging the radio.” He chuckles softly. “We’re glad that you’ve decided to speak again. We want to talk to you as well, if you’ll let us.”

“I want to talk but… don’t tell me your name anymore, please.”

“…Alright,” he murmurs softly, “we won’t say our names anymore.” The men in the room all look confused about her request but they don’t say anything else about it to keep her talking. “Call me whatever you’d like, Sunshine.”

———

TAGLIST TWWK: @wrathofcats

#the world we knew #TWWK #simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #john price #poly 141 #poly141 x reader #cannon typical violence #zombie #minor deaths #Simon was definitely gonna knock Kyle out and forcibly put him in the closet #guns #blood #call of duty #zombie au #Simon took off his mask because he wanted to die as Simon not Ghost #a slight bit of angst #a slight bit of happy sappy stuff

59 notes · View notes

fated2bydesign · 1 day ago

Link

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Death Series: Part 1 of Missing Gears AU Summary:

One morning FazCo Sends you an offer that you can't refuse. However, upon taking the job you quickly find out, that you may have bitten off more than you can chew with this one. With an understanding of AI's and Robotics, you thought you had expected the worst, but that sadly was only the best-case scenario, as you are quick to find out from the "beloved" daycare attendant.

Something horrible is happening, and it is up to you and a few helpless animatronics to figure out how to stop it before things get any worse.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf au #fnaf dca #dca fandom #dca au #fnaf security breach #fanfic #moon fnaf #sun fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #Missing Gears AU #Fated2 writing #Horror aspects #cannon typical violence #dca moon #dca sun #i don't know what else to tag #Im excited to post the next chapter next week!#Chapter 13

7 notes · View notes

somefanficrecomendations · 1 year ago

Text

Robins are an Invasive Species

Author: Havendance Fandom: Batman (comics), Huntress

Summary: Team up with a teen vigilante once and you'll never get rid of him again. Helena didn't sign up for any of this. Writing the fic I want to read, one Huntress and Robin team up at a time.

Readers Notes: This series sat in my TBR pile for months before I decided to pick it up in the hopes of reducing the size of the stack. It has 3 parts, Robins Don’t Make Great Roommates, Brothers Have the Worst Timing and, Batman for Dummies. Batman for Dummies is the longest work in the series and spans the No Man’s Land arc. I hadn’t read anything with Helena in it before this fic but after reading this I’ve gained a new appreciation for her as a character, and I love her and Tim as Batman and Robin! I love Tim, and Tim as Robin isn’t something I get to read very often. He’s difficult to write correctly, balancing the bat-competency and pragmatic realism with the optimism of a young Robin!Tim. Havendance has done a spectacular job with these characters. If you’ve never read Huntress, this is a great place to start.

Rating: Teen Warning: None Apply. Words: 42,848k Characters: Helena Bertinelli, Tim Drake, Barbra Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Additional tags: Helena Bertinelli & Tim Drake, No Man’s Land, Batman: Knightfall, Helena Bertinelli is Batman, POV Helena Bertinelli, AU-Canon Divergence, Helena Bertinelli-Centric, Canon Typical Violence

28 notes · View notes

jedi-lothwolf · 11 months ago

Text

Whump: The Musical Day 7: The Last Five Years (I will not lose because you can not win.")

Fandom: The Batch Batch

Warning: Cannon typical violence

Summary: When Hemlock invades Pabu, the batch has to fight for their lives as well as the lives of the citizens of the peaceful Island.

Ao3 link

Today was supposed to be an ordinary day. When Hunter had woken up, he was dragged down to the beach by Omega and Deke. They wanted to show him that they had learned how to surf. Even if he wouldn't admit it, Hunter was proud of the clones for learning how to be children.

Wrecker had forced Crosshair down to the beach as well. The warm sand and pleasant smell should help him to relax the man thought. So the three brothers sat on a red towel and started to talk. It wasn't much, but it was somewhere to start.

Mox and Stak joined them shortly and started to work on a sand castle. Some clouds covered the sunny sky. But when Hunter looked up, they weren't clouds. Imperial vessels blocked the sun.

This couldn't be happening. Pabu was supposed to be safe. It wasn't meant for invasions. So many of the people spent too long running just to have to up their whole lives again. Hunter looked back down.

Looking at Crosshair, he spoke. "Get Omega and the boys to the ship. Be ready to leave. Call Echo and tell him we need help, immediately."

In truth, Hunter knew why he chose Crosshair. With his hand, even if he hadn't told them yet, he knew that he'd be the one whose help they need the least. Now if he could still hit any mark, that could have been a different story.

But there was more to that. Wrecker had a history with Pabu. He would protect it fiercely. The island was his home, the people were his family.

As Deke rode a wave in, Hunter stood. The father ran out to two of his youngest that were in the water. "Go over to Crosshair" he told them. They nodded before Hunter went to Mox and Stak and pulled them up from the sand.

"What's going on?" Mox asked. Nervousness was written all over his face.

"The empire-"

"We could tell" Stak interrupted.

"Go with your siblings." It was the first time he had outright called their siblings to their faces. If it had been any other time, Hunter would have said more. For now, it would have to wait."

As Hunter walked the other two over with the rest of the group, Omega started to talk. "We can help!"

"I know, but it's you they want and the boys haven't finished their training. It's safer this way."

"And someone needs to watch Cross." Wrecker tried to add some humor to the situation.

Phee joined them on the beach, knowing that it was Clone Force 99 who had unfortunately brought the Empire to Pabu. Hunter walked over to her before she met the rest of the group. "Make sure Omega gets out of here. They want her and we wouldn't let her get taken again."

"Okay." She looked past the Sargent, "come on kids, let's get you to safety!"

Sighing, Crosshair grabbed Omega and picked her up. "Come on."

"Put me down!" Omega fought Crosshair all the way up the beach.

"Now what?" Wrecker asked.

"We fight."

At the Mauradur, Crosshair was quick to make the decision to leave. Batcher awoke from her nap and laid with Omega to help keep her calm. The boys mostly sat with her or talked to Crosshair as they left the atmosphere and headed to Coruscant to meet with Echo.

As the days passed, the battle of Pabu seemed to be more and more helpless. Civilians were dying, some who had fought and some who had not.

When the bad batch had settled on Pabu, they taught Shep how to shoot. The mayor had agreed to ease their minds, never thinking he would need to use this new skill. Unfortunately it was only a matter of time. Lyana stayed near her father when she could. Mostly she was hidden with other children.

When the invasion began, Hunter had suddenly become a Sargent again. It had been a long time since he played that role. Civilians who had fought in wars, civil or intergalactical, had taken up their old military rank. It was strange.

The invasion had lasted days. Hemlock wouldn't give up until he found Omega, unaware she had been taken off world. Pabu was being torn apart, lives crumbled to the ground and while some knew why the empire had attacked, most didn't. For the people who did, they couldn't and wouldn't be mad at Clone Force 99 for trying to live peaceful lives and for trying to protect their daughter and little girl.

It had been four days into the fighting when Hemlock showed his face. When Hunter met Hemlock for the second time, injured and tired, he knew meeting the scientist twice was three times too many.

"Hello CT-9901, or should I say Hunter?" Hemlock spoke.

Startled and out of breath, Hunter didn't answer. It had been so long since he heard his CT number, he had almost forgotten it. Still, he knew the malice behind it.

"This can all end, just give me the girl."

"Never." Hunter moved behind a counter. He sank to the floor for a moment.

"I figured as much. I truly am impressed that you are capable of forming such a bond with her. A parental role appears to come so easily to you."

The words made Hunter's skin crawl. Why would he be unable to form a bond with her? Omega was his daughter, nothing could change that. Was it because he was a clone? Was that why he was deemed unable to love a child, to have children he felt were his own?

"The safest option for your men and the civilians of this island, is to stop the fighting. You cannot win this battle, Sargent."

"I will not lose because you can not win."

Silents filled the room. They stood in a ruined kitchen. The checkered floors were stained with blood and glass. The cabinets had been torn open by both the empire and the citizens of Pabu. They needed food and they needed wood. The empire hadn't taken their time to bring out flame throwers to scorch the island and its people.

"You, won't win this." Hunter reinforced the idea. "You can't. I won't let you. " Pulling his knife from its sheath, he tried to find a clear shot at Hemlock.

The scientist couldn't win. In the end, he would round up every single citizen and kill them off. With Wrecker taking part in the fight, he needed his to be okay. With everything Tech had sacrificed to save them, they couldn't die here. Crosshair and his kids would be alone. It hurt knowing that Omega would blame herself for the slaughter of the people of Pabu. Echo would wish he arrived earlier and would blame himself for not being there to save them.

They needed saving. They couldn't do it alone. The Sargent only had one shot at killing Hemlock. Blood pooled under Hunter from his injuries. With broken ribs, multiple deep lacerations on his legs as well as his arms and one close to his neck, a few broken toes, and a large amount of bruising, the man was unsure how he had stayed alive this long. He could feel blood on the side of his face but he wasn't sure if it came from his left ear (since he couldn't hear from it) or from his head.

The vibro-knife shook in his hand. It almost felt foreign. Standing slowly, yet staying out of view, Hunter grabbed a piece of glass from behind the mahogany counter. Looking at it for a moment, he sighed. They couldn't afford to lose. Not anymore. Losing meant dying and for the first time in so long, Hunter had something to live for. His brothers and children and family he had made on Padu and his pets (Gonky included) all meant the world to him. No one else needed to die.

However, If he had to give all of that up to save them, to win the battle of Pabu, the battle for his family, he would.

Throwing the glass, Hunter hoped that it would distract Hemlock and his guards. When it did, the man stood fully and threw his knife. As soon as he saw it plunge deep into his skull, he felt a weight be lifted off of his chest. The weight was replaced with a bullet.

The tile cracked when he fell. There wasn't much Hunter could think about. The sound of ships overhead relieved Hunter. It had to be Echo. If not, the empire would take the island in a matter of hours.

Hunter's entire body hurt. The warm feeling of blood tangled with his hair. The glass had cut any exposed skin. The guards grabbed Hemlock's body and went to leave. Hunter listened to the footsteps as they faded. His mind was so foggy that evening and nothing made his sense. But Hemlock was dead. If that was Echo, which it had to be, Pabu would rebuild. The coppery smell of blood filled Hunter's nose.

Dying, Hunter tried to reach for his comm. Hitting it, the world started to fade. His hand rested on the communication device long enough for Echo to notice the soft noise of fire and gunshots that played over his headset. Then his hand slipped off the button and the comm channel went silent.

The man had never expected to wake up again. But when he saw a white roof, he knew something was different. Everything hurt too damn much for him to be dead. There was a steady, high pitched beeping that hurt his ears; or at least the one he could still hear out of.

Had they won? Was everyone safe? Where was his family, his kids?

"Hunter!" Omega yelled, answering one of his questions. "He's awake" she shook Echo awake.

"Hunter?" Echo grounded as he sat up. Then he pinched himself.

"You actually woke up." Crosshair stood up. "It's been a week."

"Leave him alone. He needed his beauty rest" Wrecker joked. The boys and Batcher sat in the corner of the room, still half asleep.

"Is everyone, okay?" Hunter finally said, struggling to speak.

"We're okay."

"Pa-Pabu."

"In shambles. We were about to leave to help with the rebuilding and attend a few funerals. We'll send you regards. They people were rooting for you." Echo told him.

"We're lucky you came in when you did. You saved us." Nudging Echo, Wrecker walked over to wake up the boys.

"Where-"

"Alderaan. Rex has some allies here. We couldn't help you on our own, the damage done to you, it was too extensive." Walking beside Hunter, Echo stood next to him.

"Dad!" Deke yelled, excited. He ran over to him and just about toppled Echo.

"You're actually alive" Stak added.

"Hey." Mox was the last to stand as he was trying to not disturb Batcher.

Hemlock's words about his parental instincts ran through Hunter's head. However, that didn't matter. He was their father. Just because he was a clone didn't mean he didn't form bonds with people he cared dearly for.

"We can stay for a little but Hunter needs to rest, we need to get back to Pabu." Walking to the door, Echo went to tell the nurses that Hunter had woken up.

Omega clung to Hunter's arm, determined to never let go. Crosshair and Wrecker sat at the end of the bed. Wrecker looked rough but that was to be expected.

"Tell me everything later" the Sargent whispered.

"We will." After a few hours, Echo decided it was time to go. Omega and Batcher stayed with Hunter while the rest left for Pabu. Knowing that Hemlock couldn't hurt her, made breathing just a little bit easier. So did knowing that most everyone he cared about was safe; though by now someone would have told him if Phee, Shep, or Lyana had died.

Everything would be okay. It had to be. Now that Hemlock was out of the way, maybe the batch could live a peaceful life. Even if Hunter knew they would end up in the fight, it was a nice thought. But the clone knew his place was fighting for peace. After all, if he wanted Omega and his boys to be safe, he needed to make a safer galaxy. And that was okay with him. If he needed to fight he would. For his children.

@whumpthemusical

16 notes · View notes

legends-of-time · 1 year ago

Text

Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander Story) - Masterlist

Timelines:

19th and 20th Centuries

17th and 18th Centuries

Fraser Descendants (family tree)

Warnings:

Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Racism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, unhealthy relationships

Summary:

May 1744

He wriggles his toes, feeling his environment. He quickly realises how much his surroundings are constricted, his legs are tightly bound and he is being cradled in someone’s arms. He opens his eyes and sees a woman leaning over him and realises she must be the one holding them. She’s humming softly with a warm and happy smile. He can see that her skin is clammy and there are bruises under her eyes, the eyes that are amber, golden-brown as well as smoky topaz, but that doesn’t dim her smile as she gazes upon the person in her arms. She’s white and her brown hair surrounds her face in messy curls.

——

What if Claire and Jamie’s first baby survived and what if it had been a boy. How will the story change?

Chapters:

Chapter 1: Birth

Chapter 2: First Months

Chapter 3: Peaceful Family Life Disrupted

Chapter 4: Goodbyes

Chapter 5: New Beginnings

Chapter 6: A Fish Out of Water

Chapter 7: Conflict

Chapter 8: Sister

Chapter 9: Returning

Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter 11: The Loss of Hope

Chapter 12: Coping with Change

Chapter 13: Finding Him

Chapter 14: Moving to the Past

Chapter 15: Loss

Chapter 16: Lost Family

Chapter 17: A New but Old World

Chapter 18: Reunited at Last

Chapter 19: Big Brother

Chapter 20: Coming Together

Chapter 21: Fathers

Chapter 22: Dreams

Chapter 23: Fathers and Their Archaic Ways

Chapter 24: River Run

Chapter 25: A New but Old Face

Chapter 26: Caught in the Act

Chapter 27: Family Time

Chapter 28: New Beginnings

Chapter 29: Waiting

Chapter 30: Old Dreams

Chapter 31: Inferiority Complex

Chapter 32: Community Swelling

Chapter 33: Purpose

Chapter 34: First Sight

Chapter 35: Is it Happily Ever After?

Chapter 36: Gifts and Awkward Conversations

Chapter 37: Unravels

Chapter 38: Lay Up Trouble For Yourself

Chapter 39: War Wins Land, Peace Wins People

Chapter 40: Life Goes On But The Threat Looms

Chapter 41: Building Arsenal

Chapter 42: Romeo and Juliet

Chapter 43: Baggage Weighs You Down

Chapter 44: Misunderstandings

Chapter 45: Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

Chapter 46: Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ

Chapter 47: Best Not To Tell

Chapter 48: Putting a Reluctant Ring on it

Chapter 49: Unrequited

Chapter 50: Death and Rebirth

Chapter 51: Caught With Your Pants Down

Chapter 52: A Confession, a Warning and a Truce

Chapter 53: Snuffing Out the Messenger Bird

Chapter 54: Fighting to Survive

Chapter 55: We Have Always Had Each Other

Chapter 56: Waking in a Nightmare

Chapter 57: The Sounds Of Silence

Chapter 58: Saying Goodbye

Chapter 59: Buying Forgiveness

Wattpad access

fanfiction.net access

Ao3 access

10 notes · View notes

sapphicslaylist · 21 days ago

Text

Loved and Loathed. Wonderful and Wretched. As the newfound comforts or home begin to settle in, a venomous creature begins to untether those roots.

Yet again posting a wonderful piece commissioned for On Borrowed Paths; this time by my good pal @justanumber! This covers a cute scene in the fifth chapter which covers the origins of Witch’s mithridatic nature.

(Both Witch & Damsel are teens in this AU! Just keep that in mind.)

116 notes · View notes

yes-im-gushing · 17 days ago

Text

Competance

Din Djarin x reader

Rated: T for dirty talk

Din gets turned on when you help cover him in a shoot out.

No smut

----

There was still smoke in the air. Carbon stinging your nose. The skirmish had been fast and explosive. Narrowing down the enemies location and practically pounding down the front door.

The mandalorians had been marginally more stealthy than that but not by much. Something about having so many of them in the same place made them bolder. Din's usually careful demeanor thrown aside for the gunslinger you knew was hidden under his skin far sooner than expected.

They brought something out in each other. A kind of energy that reverberated across this isolated little battlefield. The ghost of what the mandalorians used to be.

Even between just Boba, Din and the Night owls. A group that held little kinship with each other, it was still magnetic.

You were lost in it. The movement of their bodies.

The enemies fell from windows and rooftops and from their feet to puddles of their own blood. Fell under fist and boot.

You couldn't help being pulled into it. Sitting back with your bow, pulling it back until your hand brushed your cheek, catching sight of an enemy raising a blaster towards Din and Boba and loosing an arrow between the two men. The spark of the plasma bolt shining purple as it streaked over Din's armor, throwing your target to the dirt beside another Din had dispatched only a minute before.

His arm raised again to point his blaster up to the ledge above and your eye followed as your arm pulled back in rhythm with his sighting the man kneeled there, ducking to avoid Din's aim. But from your position you had a clear sight and you released another bolt not bothering to wait and watch the body fall.

Eyes back on Din. You Watched the angle of his shoulders, trying to guess which way he'd swing his aim next. Watching the space over his head, the path in front of him. Another enemy appeared, they could have been anyone, they were tucked behind a pillar, unseen. Din was still dealing with the enemy in front of him and you didn't have the time to wait for the enemy to pop their head out. You aimed for the light glinting off their blaster and blew their hand right off.

Din's sight flew to the explosion moving to get the wounded enemy in his sights and blasting a hole through them, a spray or blue blood from the other side the only confirmation you'd needed.

It was over before you knew it, climbing down from your perch to join the others as they cleared the structure. The Nightowls crawling over the brick like sand beetles.

You hold your bow low but don't holster it. Not until the rest of the mandalorians are regrouping and discussing the next move. Din appears at your side a hand unexpectedly firm around your wrist.

There are still bodies and blood on the ground as he leads you away, the whole place reeking of a fight. You struggle not to pinch your nose closed against the smell, unsure why he's even acting like this.

"Din?" you question as you turn down an empty alley between the building and the garage.

You catch sight of his shoulders again, tense even under the armor. His stride faster than it was before.

"Where are we-?" You're cut off as he turns on you so suddenly, gripping your bow where it's strung over your shoulder and using it to drag you to him.

"You told me you could shoot a bow." his voice is accusatory, dark and heavy. "You didn't tell me you could shoot a man's hand off at thirty yards."

You try to laugh it off, the sound of it uncomfortable even to your own ears. "I don't make it a habit of bragging about my marksman skills to Mandalorians, Din be serious."

He is serious, you know it. The line of his shoulders, the ones you'd been observing so carefully before is curved into you now. All of his attention focused only on you.

"What will it take to make you brag?" he demands.

"I don't- understand the question." Where exactly is he going with this?"

"What will it take to make you brag? Taking my kill? Covering my ass? Disarming a man from a sniper's perch?" He shudders, a full bodied thing that runs from his body into yours.

Is this some kind of post battle killing fetish? Would you be a bad person if you decided you could be into that? Would you be a bad partner if you decided you weren't?

"Din, what are you trying to say?"

His hand gripped your bow harder worrying it as he kept you close. "You have skill you used to kill my enemies and avenge my people. If I had armed you sooner-"

Your brows furrow. "Hey, it's ok, plasma bows aren't easy to find. There's only like three systems in the galaxy that even make them, and on of them is Dathomiir. It took some time to find one."

He shakes his head, a breath crackling from the modulator in what sounds like a annoyed grunt. "If I had armed you sooner, I would have known, when we were alone, that you were so competent."

The way he says compentant sounds like an insult. He said it the way you'd heard men say slut. You have to not grimace. He sounds so serious, really digging for his words here. "I'm sorry? did you think I wasn't- uh- competent?"

Done with struggling for his words Din uses his grip on your bow to turn you around, suddenly your back was pressed to his chest, his armor and your bow between in you in a way that wasn't at all comfortable.

Still he crowds around you until your leaning against the wall. "If I had known, I could have fucked you somewhere that wasn't full of bodies and nosey mandalrians with heat vision."

His hands are on your hips now pulling you in until your ass was pressed to one of the few parts of his body that wasn't covered in armor, but it was hard all the same.

"I could pull your fucking pants down and fuck you right here. Make you cum on my cock. Reward you for every clean shot." There's another shudder that goes through both of your bodies.

"Want to smack my cock against that spot on your cheek where you pull your bow back."

It's filthy. Insidious in a way that you know is going to invade your thoughts every time you feel your hand brush against your cheek.

His hands tighten once more around your hips, not grinding you back against him, just holding you there. The pressure no doubt crushing his cock.

"Damn it." He hisses, fingers manually loosening one at a time. He pulls back from your body like your covered in a thick layer of glue, like its a physical struggle.

You could cry. "I- don't. Aren't we-?"

Din's breath crackles hard. "I'm not going to fuck you in a puddle of a strange blood." He hisses. More pissed with himself but it doesn't change the way it makes you shrink.

"But-"

"Come on. I want to finish this."

He won't walk away from you. Won't take more than three steps in any direction your not heading in. He'd glued to your side. Hard in every line of his body. Like he's turned to metal all over.

It's the gunslinger, you realize, watching the line of his arm stay pointed at your hip, always poised to grab, to drag you into him. A permanent target for him to orbit.

#fanfiction #din x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #clan of three #x reader #Din djarin has a competency kink #the mandalorian #mando x reader #din dijarin x reader #no smut #just dirty talk #competency kink #blood and gore #cannon typical violence

42 notes · View notes

goggledboi · 5 months ago

Text

Heya, you ever miss those old creepypasta slendermansion vibes? Me too, thus why I made this ask blog!

I'm a Tobias/Toby fictkin and I thought it'd be fun to make a ask rp blog of him.

I will do my best to be in my version of the character. (Which isn't too different from how people majority portray him)

Rules and extra information under the cut.

Check frequently, I may change these randomly.

Also check bottom of post for annon claims so theirs no confusion, thank you!

Rules:

No NSFW/NSFT. I'm uncomfortable with it

No shipping involving Toby (Same reason as above)

Be kind, I don't accept hate

Remember this is my version of the character, not 100% the original cannon character

You are also allowed to ask questions in character from these fandoms: Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, and EveryManHybrid

You're allowed occasionally to ask questions to mod/out of character

Toby:

While he's still 80% the original version, I did change minor personality things. In this he's going to be 19 (because I'm 19). He still has his disorders (except Bipolar, I'm swapping that with Borderline personality disorder since I suffer from that as well as ADHD and can portray how I handle them) , I might portray him as paranoid depending on asks. I will have the slendermansion be mentioned, if you don't like it DNI I'll block and ignore hate. He is a proxy of slenderman, but in this AU Hoodie(Hoody) and Masky aren't in the mansion, but know Toby and he knows them. I changed my mind and just decided they don't live in the mansion but live in a abandoned cabin close to the mansion.

Ben (In this version he's 18), Jeff, Slenderman, Sally, ext... Are in the mansion though. You can ask about any of them, but it will be Toby answering about them, not the other characters.

⚠There is times where I may mention bullying, blood, violence, mental illness, and other things typical to the cannon violence of the fandom. Just a warning for all of that, read at your own risk. ⚠

Asks will be responded like this:

No, I actually don't love waffles. I am a fan of them though! They just aren't my favorite.

Oh and try to read tags, sometimes I put funny things or lil blurbs. Well, that's a I can think of right now. I may add to this if needed, but for now have fun! -🌲🦊

Can't wait to talk to you!

(Annon claims/ones that have been used so far:

-Jack👁

-💜anon/💜annon

– 👁👓

- ✖️🔥)

20 notes · View notes

trashideas · 2 years ago

Text

No spoilers

When the novel Kim Dokja had read all his life had become a reality- he was... Happy- ecstatic even.

Well... As happy as one could be when your life dangled on a string of entertainment.

But alas, Kim Dokja was completely and utterly alone in this apocalypse. Because apparently, despite everything in the novel coming true, it did not mean that the characters would also come to life.

In retrospect, Kim Dokja should have expected this. To remain alone, cursed by his namesake.

The first Scenario was... Rough.

Unlike most of his coworkers, he was staying later to finish a few more documents. He sat in the break room, a coffee in front of him and his phone in his hand. He was diligently reading the last- the *final* chapter of a story that had been with him all his life.

It was sad to see it end.

As he read the last words, the time turned to 7:00pm. He smiled bitterly at the reminder of the very first chapter. A part of him wanted to open it to reread it- just for the nostalgia.

[ERROR]

The screen said when he typed in the URL to the main page of Ways of Survival. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion and he typed it in again.

[ERROR]

“What the...” he mumbled.

“Kim Dokja!” the grating voice of his manager yells.

Dokja stands up smoothly, sliding his phone in his pocket as if it were never out. He grabs his coffee to distract his boss’s eyes to this motion rather than his phone.

“Just grabbing a coffee before I got back to work,” he answers calmly.

His boss gave him a harsh glare, “I expect more from a contract employee like you. Don't you want to keep your job?”

“Yessir,” he says, expertly hiding the bitterness in his tone.

Before his boss could get another word out, a blue window appears.

[Proof of Value!

Main Scenario #1

Kill one or more living creatures!]

Dokja glances at the screen before avoiding it completely. He shouldn't be having hallucinations yet. He hasn't even been awake for that long. He got a healthy 8 hours of sleep last night! Nevermind the nights before. But for an entire ass screen to appear right in front of him? That was reaching a new level of crazy he didn't think he'd ever manage.

A fluffy white creature pops into view.

Anyways, his manager tries to murder him and Dokja has to grapple with him for an advantage. He ended up using his coffee to throw in his eyes and then stabs him with a pen. Dokja manages to run away but his boss chases him with fury and this turns into a game of hide and seek with the man having a blind spot because dokja stabbed him in the eye.

Dokja wasn't even going to finish the man off. He was going to just wait out the Scenario to die. But plans change when Dokja is being grabbed by the neck and hoisted up to stand.

Dokja was of course hiding in his boss’ office to look for something sharp. The window was opened, which dokia makes a quick note of it. The man struggles to make Dokia back up but eventually Dokja is leaning out of the 13th-story window.

With the stapler Dokja makes a note that was useless, he hits the man over the head and when he staggers, Dokja twists their positions and throws the other out the window.

Dokja stares into the man’s eye as he falls.

Satisfaction pools in his gut.

Dokja feels sick.

When the man splats, Dokja finally looks away to see the Scenario window pop up again.

[Proof of Value Completed!]

[You achieved first kill!]

[you have received 100 coins for completing the Scenario]

[Your kill was a life or death struggle and many Constellations found you entertaining!]

[Some Constellations wonder if this should count as a kill since Incarnation Kim Dokja did not deal the final blow]

[Coins have been redacted in support that you have not completed the main scenario]

[A few Constellations are upset at this change]

[Many Constellations are in agreement for this change!]

Dokja blinks at the barrage of notifications. The only word that comes to mind to describe his situations is, “Bullshit,” he grumbles, “That was a fair kill.”

Nothing responds to him except the timer that jingles and turns red as it reaches [1:00 remaining!]

Dokja racks his brain for something. Killing a person was off the table. It would take too long and even if he did manage to survive, he wouldn't be without wounds.

The fish on the first floor. Using the elevator would take too long. But how could he get down the stairs fast enough?

“Dear Constellations!” Kim Dokja shouts as he grabs one of the walls that make up the desk dividers. They're cheap, easy to lift and can handle being bent to a degree. But most of all- they're felt. Paired with concrete stairs... “All I need is 500 coins for you to witness something that you have never seen before. With less than a minute left I shall complete this Scenario!” despite his reluctance, his voice is confident. He reaches the stairwell. It's not a straight shot down, but he only needed to get half-way.

[Many Constellations are offended by your greediness]

[Many Constellations dislike you]

[Some Constellations are curious]

[No Constellation is willing to pay you]

[Constellation Secretive Plotter wishes to see what you will do]

[500 coins have been sponsored]

A wicked grin crosses Dokja’s face. He drops the board on the steps and hops on as it starts sliding down. As it picks up speed, Dokja adds all the coins to strength. Just as the stats calculate into his resistance, the board slams against the wall. Dokja’s face hits the concrete, but he doesn't allow this to slow him down. He just needs to get down one more case before he can jump down the rest.

He he shakes off the nausea- which is the *wrong thing* to do- and resets the board in record time and is slidding down the stairs again. He glances at the timer [0:12s remaining]

A cold rush goes through him. He isn't going to make it.

He hits the next wall and is flung off the board again. He doesn't even want to try anymore. He has lost. But-

[You have completed the #1 Main Scenario!]

Dokja stares at the notification.

What?

He gingerly sits up. Even with his coin boosts, he is still just a 28-year-old man that threw himself down 6 floors of stairs and hit a wall twice.

His back and nose is killing him. He wipes at an itch on his nose. The slide across is smooth and Dokja sighs as he is now able to smell the copper.

He tilts his head forward and watches his blood pool onto the floor, splashing onto his pants.

“Well color me impressed,” the familiar voice of the Dokkabei says with a sarcastic tone, “I didn't expect you to survive. What did you even kill?”

Dokja doesn't answer.

“Oh?” it mocks, “Perhaps it's a System error if not even you know what you killed. If you do not find what you killed in the next 30 seconds, then I will render you as a failure.”

[Constellation Secretive Plotter finds this to be a misuse of power!]

[Many Constellations agree with the Dokkabei]

Dokja grimaces. He pinches his nose closed as he looks up to the stairs. He sees no blood or residue of a bug. He stands up on shaky legs and sees below him-

An ant.

He points to the crushed insect with a sly grin. He beat the Dokkabei’s stupid game.

“What is it?” the Dokkabei asks.

“An ant,” Dokja spits back.

The Dokkabei sighs dramatically, “Fine! Okay! The one human from this channel can go on!”

One human? It's just Dokja?

“This is going to be the most boring channel ever,” the Dokkabei whines, “You better be prepared human, you'll wish you died!” it says ominously as it pops out of existence.

#i wrote this just to throw dokja down the stairs ngl #orv kim dokja #kim dokja #plotter will be making a bigger appearance if I ever get to writing more #will eventually have his identity spoiler #orv au #snippysnippet #violence #blood #all very cannon typical ways to incapacitate someone

13 notes · View notes

writtingsofgod · 4 months ago

Text

I love this

Nikolai Comic :))

commission for @/nikkigogol on twt

#cannon nikolai #Nikolai typical violence #like cannibalism #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanart #bungo stray dogs fanart #bsd nikolai #fanart #nikolai gogol #cannon nikolai beheivour

414 notes · View notes

serenefreakgeekao3 · 2 months ago

Text

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER EIGHT, Disorientation

Day 32, Saturday (Day 29, Wednesday)

Adrenaline is pretty handy when you need to get over pain in a life-or-death situation. However, some pain doesn't go away so easily. Like the pain of watching Chuck, poor young Chuckie, get stabbed through the chest by a heaving and terrifying monster creature? Yeah, that wasn't going away so soon.

Adrenaline did help with the pain from your ankle, though. Or, rather, it would explain the lack thereof. You could feel the impact of your feet hitting the hard and uncompromising stone beneath you as you ran and ran, jolting up your legs and shaking your body. You should've been in pain, and if you could've focused on your ankle you were sure you would've been, however, your mind is focused only on one thing right now. And it was repeating over and over in your head.

That damned Griever was going to die for doing that to Chuck.

You weren't sure how long you'd been running, but there were plenty of close calls. A metal blade zipping past your cheek; tripping on a stray rock yet somehow managing to duck down enough to slide under the body of the Griever as it flew by overhead; even a trap you hadn't even known would be in the maze, a netted rope made to hold a body down. You had gotten caught, tangled in the webbing, and had only gotten out by using the rope against the Griever until it cut a hole large enough for you to slip out of.

You were approaching the edges of the maze, where the exits were and the cliffs fell harsh and deep. Glancing over the side as you turn to run alongside the edge of it, you couldn't even see the bottom. You weren't sure what to do, every plan was exhausted in your mind, your body even physically exhausted by this point.

A turn, another turn and clanking noises and the piercing sound of metal-on-metal clued you in to the closeness of your adversary. Another turn and it's a dead end. Mostly. The walls stretched high to either side of you, and behind you was blocked by the oncoming pursuer. Straight ahead was another cliff, coming up quickly. There was nothing else you could do.

You stop at the edge, turning around quickly and stumbling slightly, moving forward enough that your feet don't hang off of the edge. Grievers are horribly ugly, you've decided suddenly, full of black sludge without the rainbow sheen of oil. Metal stuck out in random places like someone stuck a bunch of nails into some melted Play-Doh, and its face and teeth looked like someone made a metal casing of a small dinosaur’s head- it all honestly looked like an enlarged nightmare version of some children's toy.

These were the incomprehensible thoughts flittering through your mind as the Griever closed the distance between the two of you, lifting up both of its arm-blades as if ready to slash downward onto you. Without hesitation, you slide under its ‘elbow,’ taking a chance to shove at the thing with your shoulder before backing up a few steps, watching it as you breathe heavily with exertion.

The Griever flailed, its limbs scratching and clawing anywhere it could reach, only to release loud screeching sounds as the metal glances off of the stone, not digging in. It was almost slow-motion, how the Griever was falling sideways and backwards, trying to save itself from its own momentum, trying desperately to grab a hold of something. Its stinger swings around suddenly, popping out from the inside of its gelatinous body to stab inside of you.

And you're so shocked for a moment, you don't even register what happens. Then your feet begin to get dragged with the Griever as it continues its descent faster, unable to stop itself with the only thing it was able to grab a hold of. You look down at the large metal cylinder pressed against your abdomen, your mouth hanging open as you try to reconcile what just happened. Belatedly, you grab the cylinder and then pull it out.

The stinger comes free, and as you let go of the metal the Griever finally falls away, disappearing into the distance below you. At some point, you can't see it anymore, although you were never really looking at its descent in the first place.

You were stung.

You feel the spot on your abdomen where you're bleeding, pulling your hand back to see just a smidge of that black sludge. The stuff that's in the stinger, that infects people with Wicked’s version of the virus.

Well, fuck.

You turn around, taking in a large gulp of breath in substitute of courage, and begin your journey back. You weren’t sure where you were or how you had even gotten here, but you knew you had to make it back. A few times throughout you had to stop your trek, hiding behind a nearby wall, your back pressed against the cold and unforgiving stone as you try to breathe quickly but quietly. You resume your run as soon as you’re able, but it’s getting too much. You’re slowing down, your ankle is flaring with more pain than when you injured it the first time, and your chest is spiking with pain and lack of breath. Your vision is beginning to blur, and you have to rub your eyes harshly to read your wristwatch.

3AM.

3AM?! You’d been running nonstop for hours on end, and you haven’t even made it back to the original Griever you killed. To where you dropped the stinger you came here so desperately for. Where you left Chuck behind.

You suck in a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain that grows ever larger in your chest and you push forward once again. You’re only jogging now, but it’s all you’re able to do. You take your time, scanning the too-similar walls and trying to distinguish where you are. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

There.

You recognize that pattern of the wall, somehow, impossibly. You lessen your jog, approaching the intersection and taking a look around for anything else you might recognize.

SLAM, SLAM, SLAM.

You turn and jog toward the sound, your heart pounding with something other than fright for once tonight. You turn, and you see a lump on the ground. You can’t control yourself as you cry out with relief, rushing quickly up toward where Chuck’s body lay on the ground- pulling your backpack off of your back and around to the front as you land on your knees next to him. Digging into your bag, your eyes are blurry and filled with tears, but after rubbing uselessly at them you find what you’re looking for. You jam the blue vial into the injector, looking down at Chuck finally.

Black was just starting to seep into his veins, but his eyes weren’t open. He hadn’t moved from this spot, so it wasn’t likely that he’s woken up yet. You let your hand touch his cheek, feeling his clammy and feverish skin as you trace the black veins as if trying to rub them away. You line the injector up with his thigh, then shoot the medicine into him. There’s a loud clunk and hiss, and you watch as the blue slowly drains away from the vial, leaving it empty and useless. You toss the remnants into your bag, rubbing Chuck’s thigh to hopefully spread the medicine quicker.

Beep, beep, beep

The incessant beeping finally draws your attention, and you glance up to see your prize. The metal cylinder, a little red light on the outside facing you blinks on and off with the little sound of a beep each time. You crawl over to Chuck’s other side, reaching until you grab ahold of the key.

You lean your back against the wall, letting the coolness of the stone seep through your shirt and hopefully cool you off while you take a small rest. You pull Chuck closer to the wall, just wanting him nearby, then begin to study the key in your hands. It’s still covered in the slime of a Griever, and no matter how many times you try to wipe it off it only seems to spread around more. You finally notice a number as you inspect it. Number 7.

Once you’ve finally caught your breath and kept yourself from falling asleep numerous times, you finally admit to yourself that you’re stalling. You can’t sleep here in the maze, it's not a guarantee that anyone would find you both if Wicked really is interested in capturing you and learning more about you. You stand with a grimace, jamming the stinger into your bag and slinging the whole thing onto your back. Then, you set yourself on getting Chuck up enough to carry him back.

It took a long time, a lot of effort, and frequent breaks. Your ankle still killed you, your body was exhausted, and- sorry, Chuck- but the dead weight you carried around made things infinitely harder. Thankfully, you haven’t had to try to hide the both of you from Grievers. In fact, you hadn’t even heard a call from one in a while. Limping along slowly, Chuck in tow, you struggle to lift your wrist and clear your eyes enough to study the numbers on it. They were all beginning to spin around, jumble together in your vision and head and memory and you thought it might’ve been sometime after 5AM but you weren’t completely sure?

You stumbled? You didn’t even realize you had until you took another three steps. You look behind you as if the cause of your misstep would be obvious, but it's all smooth stone around you. Everywhere is just smooth stone. You’re surrounded by massive walls of stone everywhere, on all sides, even below you. You were weighed down and heavy and even walking felt extraneous- and what were you doing? Why were you even doing all this? You were so tired…

You dropped what you were carrying. You must’ve since you felt as light as a feather now. You took a step, and another step, and it felt like you flew a great distance although the stone swirling around you told you that you only moved a few inches. When did the stone start talking to you?

The sky was awfully bright.

“I’m just bored, Tommy,” You whine, stretching your arms across the dining table as you lay your front half onto it, exaggerating your boredness by groaning loudly. You weren’t worried about bothering anybody, everyone else was hard at work as the object of your exclamation was seated next to you. Well- seated isn’t quite the right word when he’s sitting on the top of the table, using the bench as a footrest. Really, why does Thomas love to sit on top of tables?

“How can you be bored?” Thomas sounded playfully affronted, shoving at your shoulder though barely moving your frame, and you try to peak your eyes upward to see his face but it strains your eyes so you just close them instead. “On our one day off? We finally get to relax and do nothing!”

“Speak for yourself,” You whine mulishly, kicking your injured leg under the table as if he could see it. “I’ve had this thing wrapped up for half a week and haven’t been allowed to do any work. I’ve done all the relaxing I need!” You decide to gracefully ignore Thomas’ cackling, mostly because you don’t have the energy to feel offended right now.

“Well, then,” Thomas shakes the table as he jumps down from his perch, “Let’s go do something to dispel that boredom, then!” You huff, sitting up and turning around to face him, leaning your back against the hard line of the table as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Like what? I’ve been trying to do that for days.”

“Well,” Thomas drags the word out, kicking a stray rock as his eyes scan around the Glade. “How about we go bother Newt?” You furrow your eyebrows at this, pursing your lips. It’s tempting, but…

“But he’s working right now? Shouldn’t we leave him be?” Thomas laughs, reaching for your hand and pulling you to stand, quick with grabbing your cane and presenting it to you.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that. Zart is used to me coming by and bugging him on my day off.” You chuckle, leaning against the cane and moving to follow Thomas. You can tell he’s slowed down his gait for you, and you appreciate it.

“And he’s just okay with that?”

“I said he’s used to it, not that he’s okay with it.” You snort out a laugh, shaking your head as you glance over at him. The sun played across his tanned cheeks, lighting them with a healthy glow and causing his eyes to glimmer. He really was quite attractive. Was there any hope in what Minho told you? That he liked you as much as Newt?

You shook your head, facing forward as you walked. No, you couldn’t let yourself go down that road, not so soon to your plan. You don’t even want to be thinking of your plan right now, just wanting to enjoy what time you have with Thomas.

Thomas ducks down behind a row of trellises, waving for you to follow. You smother a giggle as you crouch down near him, listening intently to the plan he hatches, as if from thin air. Though, knowing Thomas, he probably did just come up with it as he said it. You nod along, moving around slowly to make sure you’re in the right place. Once crouching near where Newt was working, you waited for the opportunity. Soon enough, the farmer who had been working next to Newt wanders off, and he’s set upon by Thomas. Thomas startles Newt, who jumps and shouts something at him that you can’t quite make out aside from his name. You grin, beginning your stealthy manoeuvre over.

Thomas is nodding with a pseudo-sympathetic look, trying his best not to look over Newt’s shoulder and give your position away. You grin, reaching out with both hands and tickling Newt’s sides. He yelps out again- much louder for you, now that you’re closer- and turns around with a look of outrage that bleeds into slight annoyance and amusement.

“Shuck it, [Y/N], you startled the klunk outta’ me!” You can’t answer through your laughter, bending at the side from the heft of it. You can hear Thomas’ laughter as well, and when neither of you stops anytime soon you hear Newt’s voice again, louder, as if trying to talk over your incessant laughing. “Oh sure, sure. Laugh it up. You won’t be laughing later when I get you back!”

He ends the sentence by pouncing toward you, raising his long spindly fingers to dig at your sides, causing you to erupt in even more uncontrollable laughter, eventually falling to the ground as he tickles you, shaking your head and begging him to stop. It finally stops, but as you open your eyes and wipe a tear away you find out why. Thomas had picked Newt up from off of you, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there, tickling his sides nonstop as well. It’s a dangerous idea, what comes to mind, but you feel drunk with laughter and love. You sit up, sneaking up behind Thomas, and reach for his sides this time.

He turns around, a gasp of affront awarded to you as he notices who tickled him.

“Oh, it’s on!”

It’s sometime later, after the tickle war and a gentle not-so-admishment from Zart to Newt about his slacking off, but Newt is given the rest of the day as a gesture of goodwill. You’re not too sure you believe that fully, knowing his second-in-command duties never take a day off, but you’re glad to spend what time you can with both of them. Thomas shows you both his favourite game to play with Minho; Newt ends up showing you how to weave a basket, but this activity doesn’t last long as Thomas is antsy to get up and start moving again; eventually, the three of you can be found lounging in the dining area, asking each other as many unnecessary questions that you can think of.

“What about you, [Y/N]? If you could as the Creators for one thing, what would it be?” You hum in thought, pursing your lips. You couldn’t say what first came to mind, which would be ‘a copy of The Mazerunner so I know exactly how to get us out of here,’ so you take your time to pick something slightly ridiculous.

“Dice,” You finally decide on, shrugging. There’s silence for a moment before you look over. It seemed like both boys had been staring at you with incredulity, but Newt had turned away with pursed lips like he was considering it as Thomas leaned even closer.

“Dice? But why?”

“I can see the merit,” Newt shrugs, causing Thomas to turn on him.

“See the merit?”

“Well, you can get a lot of different games out of dice. And considering [Y/N] has been injured, I think they’re pretty bored of doing nothing by now.”

“Very bored,” You agree, making an exaggerated huff of displeasure that doesn’t garner you any sympathy. Thomas scoffs, throwing his arm out.

“What about something useful, though?”

“Oh yeah, smart boy?” You tease, narrowing your eyes playfully at him. “What would you ask for then?”

“A map out of here!” Newt laughs, shoving Thomas playfully, but a chill shoots through you at his words. “What, I’m right! You know I’m right!” They laugh as they begin a shoving match, and you’re able to compose yourself and regain your smile before they notice it had left.

“So, Newt, what’s your favourite vegetable?”

Thomas hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he gasped awake, jumping with a start and throwing his arms out to either side. One hand flew through nothing, but the other quickly hit something soft, and he glanced over to see Newt’s grim and tired expression, his hands slowly wrapping around the hand that had smacked into his stomach. Newt meets his eyes, the bags under his own making it obvious he hadn’t slept last night.

“It’s okay, you’re just here with me,” Newt whispers, blinking slowly and reaching up to rub his eyes. Thomas left his hand in the grip of both of Newt’s- though his grip left something to be desired- and leaned forward toward the man. He raises his other hand, rubbing against Newt’s cheeks gently. They were both sitting upright away from everyone else, their backs against the wall next to the western gate. They hadn’t moved since the night before.

“Newt? You haven’t slept?”

“Like you could talk,” Newt murmurs with a yawn, raising a hand to cover his mouth before replacing it back on Thomas’ own hand. “You tried to stay up all night too.” Thomas glances outward, scanning the horizon. A few people were up already, making their way to their early morning routines, and the sun wasn’t out yet but the colours had begun to light up the sky. Thomas turns back to Newt, his fingers gentle as they trace the bags under his eye, then down his cheek.

“Well, it’s my turn to be up now. Try to get some sleep.” Newt’s already shaking his head, raising one hand to grab ahold of the one on his cheek, pulling his hand away.

“No, no, the doors will open soon.”

“And I’ll wake you when they do,” Thomas reassures, smiling down at the sleepy, but cute, Newt. “Just get what rest you can-”

He’s interrupted by the groaning of the maze, a shifting of stone. They’re so close to the maze, sitting on the ground and leaning their backs against the wall, that it’s like they can feel the shaking in their cores. They meet each other’s eyes, and Thomas watches as Newt wakes up fully in under a second. They both scramble to get up, jogging over to the doors as they begin to open. Thomas glances around, noticing a few people walking over to meet them at the entrance. The doors are slightly open, but it's too small and too dark to see anything inside yet. Minho is approaching, along with Gally and Alby. They’re whispering something, something that Thomas can’t quite make out yet. He faces the doors, scanning for any sight of you as soon as he can see into the hallway, but keeping an ear out for their words. Then what they’re saying hits him.

“I looked everywhere, Alby,” Minho’s voice is grave, even more so than last night, if Thomas had to guess. “He’s not here.”

“It’s just not like him.”

“Unless…”

“You think he saw them run into the maze and ran out there with them?”

Thomas turned suddenly, concern etched across his face. “Wait, what? What’s happening?”

Alby turns a hesitant and grave look toward Thomas. He sighs, taking a step forward. “We can’t find Chuck.”

“What?”

“Thomas-” Newt tries to interrupt, but he doesn’t hear him, his head ringing.

“Minho said he’s checked everywhere, but is there some extra place he might be hiding? Somewhere only you know about?”

“What?” Thomas repeats, shaking his head slowly.

“Thomas!” He’s jerked out of his reverie by Newt, blinking and looking directly into his eyes, realizing Newt has his hands gripping Thomas’ arms. Newt also has a slightly manic expression on his face, like disbelief and joy felt all at once. “They’re there!”

Everyone whirls around at once. The doors have just stopped opening, the silence settling around their little group as they stare into the hallway of the maze. There, they could see you and Chuck, both lying on the ground. It looked like you had made it a few steps farther than him before collapsing.

“Are they alive?” Alby asks, his voice full of incredulity. A body brushes past Thomas in his stupor, but the sight of Minho running full force into the maze shocks him into the present. He takes off just after Minho, running into the maze behind him, his heart racing fast with hope and fear in equal amounts. As Minho gets to the bodies, he hesitates as he looks between the two on the ground, then glances behind him. He locks eyes with Thomas, then nods with a stern expression, rushing over to kneel next to Chuck. Thomas throws himself down next to you.

“He has a pulse!” Minho yells out, and Thomas can see him trying to pull Chuck into his arms to drag him out of the maze. Thomas is hesitating, hands hovering above your body as it feels like his heart tries to burst out of his chest. Then he reaches for your face, placing his hands on your cheeks to hold your cold and clammy cheeks. One hand slides down, trying for a pulse.

He feels his heart race faster, if that is even possible, when he can’t find one. The longer he stares the more he sees- your pale skin, the edges of black creeping up from your clothes, the injury on your stomach that seems to not be bleeding heavily but also looks like it might be infected. It hits him out of nowhere. You were stung. His breaths come out like sobs as he reaches for a wrist, raising your right arm up toward him as he tries once again for a pulse.

It’s there, but faint. He sobs with relief, lowering down to scoop you up, looking up to meet Newt’s eyes. Newt, who has stepped inside the maze to make sure you were okay.

“They have a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.” The relief that flooded Newt’s eyes matched his own, and they both rushed out of the maze, shivering from the cold and trying to bring you somewhere that could help.

He’d never seen the group of Medjacks look so focused and no-nonsense before. And he could understand it, this wasn’t just what they’d been training this whole time for- this was also their friends. Alby helped Minho carry Chuck inside ahead of Thomas and Newt carrying you, effortlessly lifting his body and laying it down on a nearby cot. You were laid gently in a cot next to him, somehow looking even worse now than you had in the light outside. Thomas is forced back by someone’s hand, and he watches as Jeff tears into Chuck’s clothes, Hannah moving over to begin inspecting you, Clint standing next to Hannah as if sensing that you’re the more desperate case.

“He’s been stung,” Jeff says, and everyone in the room raises their heads, a small gasp emanating from Hannah.

“What?” Clint calls out angrily, skirting around the beds and looking down at Chuck’s body.

“I don’t know, it just-”

“What is it?” Alby asks, and Thomas finally realizes it’s Alby holding him back as the words bounce around his skull from such a close distance.

“No, he’s right,” Clint mutters, fully focused on inspecting Chuck. “But this doesn’t make sense. It’s stabbed all the way through and there are no black marks so the obvious conclusion is the bladed arms, but the puncture wound doesn’t support that. It pinches in, like this-” Jeff interrupts, raising a grim expression toward them.

“It looks like he’s been stung, but he’s not showing any signs of changing.”

“How is that possible?” Alby asks, and Thomas takes a step back just to get a little distance from him, wandering close to Newt and taking his hand.

“Here,” Minho calls out suddenly, digging some contraption from a bag. “[Y/N] was carrying this on their back- is this familiar at all?” He tosses it onto the bed next to Chuck, and Clint snatches it quickly, lifting it to the light. It looked like some kind of-

“The blue serum,” Clint mutters, and Jeff furrows his brow, although it’s Hannah’s voice behind Clint that speaks up.

“I thought you guys didn’t know what the blue stuff did?”

“We don’t.” Clint answers, at the same time Jeff insists,

“We didn’t.” The two Medjacks lock eyes, and then Jeff begins inspecting Chuck closer as Clint rushes toward the cabinets on the wall.

“Guys, I think we have a problem,” Hannah calls out, gently touching your stomach.

“What?” Thomas calls out, moving to step forward but being held back by Newt’s hand in his. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Hannah glances toward Thomas with pity but turns to look in Jeff’s eyes, as Clint is distracted.

“I think [Y/N] was stung too.” Jeff nods but doesn’t look surprised. Clint grunts out in annoyance, slamming a cupboard shut.

“I found it, Clint!” Jeff exclaims suddenly, excitedly, as he looks down at Chuck’s thigh. Minho draws closer, trying to inspect whatever Jeff found.

“Damn it, Hannah! Where is the damn blue serum?” She rushes over, pulling open a drawer to the side. Thomas is too far away to see what’s inside, but he watches as Clint reaches inside and pulls out a contraption that looks identical to the one he had held not too long ago. Then he fits a blue vial into it.

“What are you gonna-” Hannah begins to ask, but before anyone can react Clint has travelled back across the hut and has stabbed the injector into your thigh. Everyone reacts at the same time, except for Jeff, jumping forward with their hands out as if they could stop Clint from whatever act he felt he needed to perform. The blue in the vial slowly sinks away, and Clint pulls the injector out of their leg, huffing as if he’s out of breath.

“What the klunk was that?” Thomas yells out, his breathing starting to pick up. He can feel himself panicking, but the slow drag of Newt’s hand against his back keeps him from rushing Clint and throwing him across the room like his instincts demand. Clint turns, meeting Thomas’ eyes with determination.

“I was saving their life.” Minho turns his attention away from Chuck over to you, touching your stomach as Clint keeps his stare focused on Thomas. “At least, I hope so. I’m running off of context clues, but honestly? I’ve been curious about this damned blue serum since we started getting it.” He huffs, walking away and tossing both injectors into the bin. “We better hope it works, otherwise nothing will.”

“Hey, guys, there’s something-” Minho murmurs, pulling wads of paper out from your pocket. Thomas finally feels the resistance that had been holding him back drop away as both Newt and he walks up toward your cot. Minho is smoothing one paper out, his brows furrowing as he studies the markings on it. Newt reaches for the other, taking his hand away from Thomas to smooth out the paper as well. “This looks like-” He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “This is a copy of the map.” Thomas looks up, meeting his eyes.

“The map?”

“Of course, the map, what other map is there Thomas?” Minho looks upset, reasonably so, as he studies the paper. Thomas drops his attention down toward Newt.

“What’s yours?” Newt sighs, shaking his head.

“A letter.”

#apricity #newt x thomas x reader #wip: apricity #second person pov #switching pov #cannon typical violence

13 notes · View notes

anyarose011 · 2 months ago

Text

Et tu, Brute?

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius

Summary: You went by many different names: "Rome's Delight", "The Woman with the Golden Mouth", "Geta's Favorite Whore", and "Julia". None of these were your true name; all used just to dehumanize you as nothing more than a slave. When the General Acacius returns from conquering Numidia, and you meet one of the slaves that was brought from the bloodshed, you hope to reclaim not just your freedom...but power along with it.

Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Depictions of rape and SA [not shown], slavery, cannon typical violence, minor Stockholm Syndrome, major character deaths, historical inacuracy [but I tried my best to make it somewhat accurate] and Spoilers for Gladiator II

I saw this movie once, watched Game of Thrones at the same time, and cranked out a story where you, the reader, know how to play "The Game" (but also not because let's keep it kinda realistic) I'm gonna be honest, this might be a hot mess, and I used a script I found online (but Idk how accurate it is). Also, this first part is just mainly story based with the events of the film the SECOND part will focus on reader and Lucius' relationship (including smut, you sluts {I am also slut, don't worry}.

I do want to say though that the depictions of SA are in no attempt to romanticize them. I also decided not to write out the specific scenes because I myself am a survivor, and wanted to focus more on the protagonist's growth. The trauma still affects her story, but I do not want to write rape scenes merely for shock purposes.

Also, if you name is actually "Julia"...no it's not :)

Word Count: 16.1k

youtube

It was your own fault, that was what they tried to make you believe.

How dare you not wish to participate in the public baths, how dare you desire to bathe in the place you felt most safe.

Foolish, foolish girl. You were not even safe on your own porch in the house you grew up in.

Your father hadn’t been the wealthiest of merchants, but before he passed into the Elysian Fields after his death that year, he had made a fortune; so much as to buy a bathtub for your house.

If anything, you had bathed at night when you believed no one could see you not for your own modesty, but to prevent anyone from stealing it.

Yet, one particular night, a man had spotted you.

The Emperor Geta of Rome had watched your naked form glisten in the moonlight as you washed the most intimate areas of your body; sighing at the feeling of being clean after the day, only for your soul to feel tainted once morning broken.

Guards had nearly broken the hinges off the front door to your house, and dragged you to the palace. You had lived in that house for your entire life, the same neighbors beside you, yet as you kicked and screamed…none helped.

You had grown tired once in the palace, and the eldest of the twin emperors stood before you. He cupped your chin.

“What is your name, girl?”

You answered him, attempting to speak with venom, but the quaking of your voice betrayed anxiety.

He hummed, repeating your name. “Why are you all alone?”

You huffed. “My mother died in the battle that is childbirth, and my father was lost to an ailment in his loins.”

“You have no brothers?” Geta questioned, his eyes running down your form. “No husband?”

“They called my father strange for leaving me his possessions.”

“He mustn’t have passed on so long ago.”

“Why does the death of my father concern you if you only seek my body?” You questioned.

A smile twisted upon his lips. “Perhaps I like to know my fruit before I devour it.”

And he kissed you.

You had been kissed before, but this was the first time you hadn’t wanted to be. You hadn't expected him to be serious about devouring you. His teeth sank into your chin, then your cheeks, until they were finally upon your lips.

It was the first time, in all your life, you felt your body grow cold and freeze despite his hands wandering over you, pulling at the thin fabric of clothing that covered you.

You fell to the floor, clinging to it desperately as he tried to lead you to his chambers. You had expected him to order one of his men to kill you, or have them carry you…

Instead, he took you right there. He simply lifted his own robes then yours and stole what wasn’t his to take.

All you remembered of that was counting how many pillars were in the room.

You were one of his several concubines. Yet, despite being the newest, you were his favorite.

“Julia,” he whispered to you in the night a month after he had made you his. A month after he had decided to call you by his mother’s name instead of your own. “are you awake?”

You mewled, sitting up. “I am now, my love. What is it?”

Geta smiled, holding out a stack of parchment. “Look at what some of the men found in Carthago.”

You rubbed your eyes as the lamps in his room brightened before looking down at the crudely written words. Geta looked at you in earnest.

“Can you read them?”

A few days prior at him and his brother Caracalla’s birthday festivities, it was revealed that you spoke five languages: Latin, Phoenician, Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek. Your father had taught you every single one of them to fend for yourself amongst all kind of people.

Now, it was nothing more than a shameless trick Geta used to his amusement.

“Rome’s Cleopatra,” he deemed you in front of the crowd. “the Woman with a Golden Mouth”.

Everyone in that room and all of Rome knew that your ability to speak so many dialects was not the only reason he gave you that title.

Still, as you lay in his bed with crumbling parchment in hands, you forced a tender smile. “Yes, I know what it says. Would you like to know?”

He laid his head in your lap without another word.

Months passed, and he had grown kinder…only when it was night, and even so, that was only when the moon was full.

There wasn’t a day where your body hadn’t ached from the turmoil he put you through. It was hard to discern when he would want you to be small and subservient to him, or confident and commanding in matters of the bed.

The handmaids that were blessed to not be in bed with him would bathe and coddle you as best as they could, for even through your suffering, you tried your best to treat them with kindness.

You didn’t even know who you were after the fourth month of being Geta’s slave.

Gone was the girl who had a peaceful life; there was now the Emperor’s Pet.

General Marcus Acacius returned to Rome after overtaking the kingdom Numidia in the emperors’ names, and it was the first time you were in his presence. It was certainly a surprise that Geta would string you alongside him on personal matters that had nothing to do with sex.

The general would glance at you every so often, and his look of pity felt more violating that any of the times Geta, or his brother, or anyone else in all of Rome had looked at you.

Upon the general’s return, a series of games at the Colosseum were to be hosted, among parties that would last for the remaining week.

The first was at Senator Thraex's home.

“My little Julia,” Geta caressed your cheek as you sat upon his lap in the makeshift throne. “might you fetch me another cup of wine?”

You nodded, taking his cup and kissing his hair. “I shall, my love.”

He ran his fingers down your neck as you got off of him and made your way to the barrels. Yet, as you passed an open door, something caught your eye. Peeking around the somewhat crack in the door, you saw a few men sat in the room, chains around their ankles and their wrists.

One of them, more muscular than the others with brown curls, held his head low. His skin wasn’t as dark as other men from Africa Propria, but not as pale as the Germanic lands.

When his eyes met yours, you saw a pale blueness only seen in the sky on a summer’s day.

Gasping, you hid behind the door for only a moment before looking again. His gaze was still on you. Deciding to end the strangeness of the situation, you spoke.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

He said nothing; you tried again.

“I’m sorry.” You said in Greek.

The look in his eyes changed to confusion, but he said nothing.

“Hebrew?” You questioned. “Aramaic? Phoenician?”

“You speak Phoenician?” He asked as if he hadn’t heard it in forever.

You nodded. “I speak five languages.”

“Ah,” he answered in your native tongue to your surprise. “Rome’s Cleopatra.”

Your nose scrunched as if you smelt something rotten. “You understood me the first time?”

“I did.”

“So why not say anything?”

“What am I to say to your pity?”

You hummed. “I do not pity you, I was showing respect.”

He scoffed. “Respect? Am I a man that looks as if I deserve respect?”

“I believe every man deserves respect so as long he is kind.” You glared at him.

The man shook his head, sighing. “You are a foolish child if you believe that men can be kind.”

“I haven’t for quite a while.” you stated. “I pray that it is the hope that kills me.”

He questioned. “And not one of the emperors?”

“What is your name, slave?” You crossed your arms.

He huffed, drawing his eyes away from you and clenching his fists before relaxing them. “Hanno.”

You nodded. “They call me ‘Julia’.”

“But that is not your name.”

It was blistering hot that particular day, but you felt your body run cold; the same cold you felt when Geta…when he first…

“Who says it is not my name?” You challenged.

“You are merely a concubine,” he said. “you are not a part of his lineage, and therefore, your name is not ‘Julia’.”

You do not know why you seethed with so much rage from his words. You did not even spit on him; you merely stomped away from that door, filled up the emperor’s cup, and went back to Geta.

“It took you nearly a millennium to come back, my sweet.” He scoffed yet kissed your bare shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

You shook your head, leaning against him as you sat on the arm of the throne. “You mustn’t over me, my love.”

“You seem distressed.” Caracalla teased beside you. “This is a festivity; you should be merry!”

All you did was smile and nod. It was a pleasant change from the parties you were forced to attend in the past; you weren’t the center of attention, and this was the first time Geta dressed you in the bright colors everyone else wore instead of white.

You could pretend you were royalty for a day.

Not so long after you came back, both Thraex and Macrinus, a stable master who traveled far and wide for new gladiators, approached with their own champions to fight.

You were not even at the Colosseum, and yet, violence still had to be played for everyone’s amusement.

Hanno entered from the door you had previously been at, and another man entered from the opposite side of the room. Both were given swords.

“Brother,” Hanno began. “let us not kill each other for their amusement-.”

The other man struck him without hesitation. You had seen fights before, but none like this. It was ruthless, quick yet drawn out. Hanno lost his sword in the middle of it all, leading to him smashing a flowerpot over his opponent’s head.

The fight was still not done, he rose up on his feet and took his sword from the ground, raising it high above him. Hanno, against all odds, knocked him back onto the ground and took the sword just as they both sood, stabbing his opponent in the chest.

A chorus of cheers and groans echoed in the room. Geta arose from his seat, laughing and applauding as you sat there, eyes as wide as they could be at the bloodied sight before you.

“Remarkable! Gladiator, which part of the Empire do you hail from?” He questioned Hanno. Hanno stood stoically, glaring at the emperors before him. Geta tutted, turning to you. “Julia, open your golden mouth and-.”

“-The gates of hell are open night and day.” Hanno interrupted in the common language. “Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”

Geta smiled. “Ah…a poet!”

The rest of the world fell away as you could not tear your gaze away from the man laying on the floor. If he hadn’t died from his wounds, he would’ve from choking on his own blood.

“-You understand, don’t you?” Geta asked.

You sat in your own personal chambers that night for the first time in a while. You were never overjoyed to be in his bed, but being sent to your own perplexed you.

Then, he simply told you that you were to be General Acacius’ for the night.

“He’s sacrificed so much, my little Julia.” Geta combed his fingers through your hair to soothe you. “I refused him once already; I cannot do so again. Do you understand?”

The emperor had never shared you with anyone. He wasn’t delicate with you, but at least you knew what to expect.

He clenched your jaw. “I do not care to ask you a third time, girl.”

“Yes,” you squeaked. “I understand, Geta.”

Nodding, he softened his hold, leaning his head against yours. “You are still mine alone; I promise, it will only be us after tonight.”

You swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

“There she is.” He kissed your lips before pulling away and standing. “He will be in right away. Do not fret, I told him to be gentle with you.”

Geta left through your chamber doors without another word. There you were, sitting on your bed, draped in silks you should have known were given to you out of lust and not out of kindness. Your eyes trailed to the empty vase on a table beside your bed.

You didn’t know what possessed you that night, but you yanked it off the table, and smashed it on your bed. The handle of the door began to rattle. Quickly pushing the shattered pieces under your bed, you hid a shard behind your back and sat at the head of the bed.

In came General Marcus Acacius, wearing only a thin overshirt that went down to his knees. You’d done this game of seduction many times with Geta, how different could it be for him? Grabbing the bottom of your night dress, you raised it until it bunched up your thighs, revealing your bare center to him.

He took a hitched breath. “My lady-.”

“-What troubles you, general?” You asked then smiled with gritted teeth. You felt your hand begin to ache as you squeezed the vase shard.

Marcus furrowed his brow, and as if he already knew, he said. “Cover yourself and show me what is behind your back.”

Your eyes dropped along with your heart. Still, as his face turned into a scowl, you cooperated. Handing him the shard and quickly pulling your dress back down, you spoke with intensity.

“If you will not stab me before you rape my corpse, then I shall throw myself from the nearest window and allow the people of Rome to defile me. I will not lie on my back and take it anymore.”

He took a deep breath, holding the sorry excuse for a weapon in his hand. “It is unwise to tell the enemy your plans.”

…What?

“It would serve you greatly to control the faces you make before harming a man as well. Yet, above all,” He held the shard out to you. “your enemy is not afraid to kill you; you should feel the same.”

“Why do you tell me this?” You asked, still not believing it.

Marcus sat up. “I believe we can help each other, my little dove.”

“How?”

He lowered his voice. “You have heard of the gladiator Maximus, his dream of a free Rome, yes?”

“Yes.”

“A dream that cannot be obtained from the rule of two emperors.” He lamented. “My wife and I, along with several others, plan…to fulfill our shared dream.”

They were going to overthrow Geta and Caracalla.

“What gives you reason to believe I won’t say a word of this to them?” You asked.

He smiled for the first time since you’d seen him. “That freedom belongs to you.”

“I…I’m still lost. How will I be of any use?”

“Emperor Geta favors you considerably. He is a man, and not a cunning one at that. There are ways to wear foolish men down.”

You nodded, beginning to understand. “There’s always a woman.”

“There’s always a woman.” He solidified. “Gain the trust of the public; make them love you, and they will not see the emperor’s whore but a woman of the people.”

“And how will that dethrone them?

He smiled. “My wife and I will meet with the counsel tomorrow night. I will send for you.”

You scoffed. “Geta said that after tonight I am just his alone.”

“Then I’ll refuse to give him Persia and India.”

“He’ll have your head.” You berated. “Besides, I don’t think he’d believe my cunt would be worth two countries.”

Marcus shrugged. “Considering he only wants you to himself, I have no doubt that it is worth that much. But I am unable to confirm it.”

You sighed. “Even if he’ll allow it, he’ll send a guard with me.”

“I am not one to invite a third into the bedroom.”

“Then where shall-?”

“-Little dove,” he interrupted. “the city was not built in a day, therefore it cannot be emancipated in one.”

Gods help and forgive you for being impatient on wanting to be free. Still, you composed yourself. “Alright.”

He nodded, standing up. “I will be seeing you on the morrow, one way or another.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“For what, child?”

You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze. “Not forcing yourself upon me.”

Marcus’ face softened, and he lowered himself to your height as you sat on the bed. He took your face into his hands, and you immediately tensed when his face drew closer to yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “it’s not that kind of a kiss.”

With a tenderness that reminded you of your father, he placed his lips on your forehead and pulled away. Giving you one last knowing nod, he promptly left your chambers.

You wanted to do nothing more than shed tears of happiness, yet for no reason at all, you could not cry.

Your father had only taken you to the Colosseum to watch mock animal hunting. Even when your friends invited you to watch gladiator fights or other public executions, he had found ways of making you stay far away from them.

There was a strange humor in sitting in the best chair for your very first gladiator duel. That being in the front as Emperor Geta ran his hand up and down your back.

In utter honestly, you tried to stray your attention away from the fights, speaking more with Caracalla of all people. He was more erratic than Geta by far, and it was more difficult to tell when he would be kind one moment, then out for blood the next.

Yet at least he was open about being cruel, unlike his brother.

When you would watch the fights…a familiar face seemed to catch both you and the general’s wife’s, Lucilla, eye.

The man with light skin yet hailed from Numidia…Hanno.

You hadn’t recognized him at first, for it wasn’t his mere presence that drew you to finally look at the event before you. No, it was the way he fought.

Most men previously had attacked with brute force; just stabbing the beast and hoping it would die. Hanno fought with wit. Simply using the sand beneath his feet as an advantage, blinding and tricking the rhinoceros to run directly into the wall.

He was cunning…he commanded the men beside him as if it weren’t the first time he’d done so in his life.

Then, when it came to deciding his fate when all seemed lost…Geta turned to you.

“My love,” he played with a strand of your hair. “shall I show the poet mercy, or bloodshed for your entertainment?”

Even if it weren’t Hanno, your answer would have been the same. “Mercy.”

As a hush fell over the crow, Geta rose his thumb up, sparing him. As cheers erupted, Hanno shook his head.

“No, no mercy.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses-.”

“-I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy!”

Thus, the fight continued. An act of defiance…Peculiar…Quite peculiar.

Both you and Marcus were correct about the night; Geta did indeed allow you to go to the general’s house, but only if you were escorted by a trusted guard. When you arrived, Marcus immediately draped you in a cloak, practically covering your face and had excused as not wanting the staff to tell his wife of who he was bringing into their house.

Marcus led you into his chambers, and there you saw two people. Apparently, they weren’t even apart of the counsel; simply paid to pretend to be both you and the general as the guard would listen outside, assume it was the two of you fucking.

He had certainly thought through every little detail.

Marcus pushed on a stone in his chambers, revealing a hidden door. You had only heard of these within stories, and as he led you down the darkened passage with only a torch in one hand, and the other holding yours, you had never felt more alive since your past life had been stolen.

You were welcomed to a room filled with dozens of the senate you had passed by in the palace. How strange it was to see them all huddled into a dimly lit room, plotting the demise of the men they initially swore to serve.

An arm looped through yours, and it was Lucilla. She whispered into your ear.

“Whatever you have to say, speak it to me, and I shall speak to them.”

You turned. “Why must I not speak for myself?”

“I only allowed you to be here if Marcus agreed to not let your voice be heard.”

“What?”

“I will explain more to you soon after, I vow it.”

Thus the meeting began. In all truthfulness, you were only able to understand the bare minimum: In a few days’ time, Marcus would lead five-thousand men into Rome to overtake the thrones of the empire, and thus destroy them, restoring the Roman Republic.

When the conversation turned to you, you were merely referred to as an informant who had the closest relationship to the emperor.

It still perplexed you as to why you needed to remain anonymous; there was an excellent chance they would know you as ‘Geta’s Favorite Whore’.

Yet, you did your best to inform the counsel of a plan you had simply created on the spot (they did not need to know the latter part of it).

You would gain more favor from the public, while at the same time, putting Geta’s worries to rest about any uprising or dislike from the majority of the empire.

How you would do that…it was fortunate that they didn’t ask you to give specifics.

Once the meeting ended, you were taken back up from the secret passage, yet instead of going back to the chambers, you felt Lucilla take your hand and lead you down another path.

You couldn’t even get a sound out before she said. “It is alright; he knows I want to speak with you in private. We will not take long.”

She led you up into the bath area of the house. It was quite beautiful; the tub wasn’t made of porphyry, but that did not make it any less exquisite. There was something about it being lesser of the baths you’ve had in the palace. It wasn’t entirely reminiscent of the one you had at home…

But you felt safer.

Lucilla had been gentle in pulling off your robes, and never once did it feel wrong. You were a woman and so was she. She never pulled or scratched your skin, and you knew that she only felt sorrow when she gazed upon the bruises and wounds you had received from Geta.

“How long have you been at the palace?” She questioned as she carded herbs through your hair.

You glanced at her, sighing. “I’ve stopped counting…months, I know.”

“Were you forced to leave any family? Brothers, sisters, children?”

“No. My mother died birthing me, and my father was taken half a year ago to an ailment emperor Caracalla also suffers from.”

She hummed. “Have you ever been in love?”

You laughed the most genuine laugh ever since you became a slave. “Why on earth would you ask that?!”

“I am merely curious!” She teased. “You are truly beautiful, and there is no doubt that men would throw themselves off cliffs for you; but it matters most of who you would choose.”

Her question scraped your mind. There had been times you were fond of, even lusted over, men both your age and older…but love? The only one you experienced would be storge; perhaps philia…but eros? Agape?

“I don’t think I have been.” You answered. “Have you?”

She nodded, a forlorn look in her eyes, but smile upon her mouth. “Twice.”

“Twice?” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left your throat. “It can happen twice?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“And who have you willingly fell captive to?”

“Marcus is the most recent, though there are days I do not understand what he sees in me. Then…the father of my child.”

Lucilla poured water upon your head to wash out the soap in your hair, and a silence fell over both of you. One that was broken when you spoke a name.

“Lucius…”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He-he had gone missing all those years ago, hadn’t he?”

“He had.” She ran the bar of soap over the top half of your body. “I believe he must’ve been around your age when he ran away.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of him since?”

“No.” She answered right away.

You curled into yourself. “I apologize if I upset you my lady-.”

“-No. I…I love talking about him.”

You managed a gentle smile to soothe her. “What was he like?”

“Headstrong.” She chuckled. “Wanted to become a gladiator more than anything in the world. Yet, he was gentle, and kind as well. He…I believe he would’ve adored you.”

You shook your head. “Maybe when we were children, but I don’t think so now.”

“It’s hard to judge.”

Whilst the air between you turned into more intimate topics, the question that had weighed on your mind was brought to light. “Why did you not allow me to speak or show my face tonight?”

Lucilla stopped her ministrations. You looked up at her, and the look she wore bore an exhaustion that you had felt recently.

“I know too well the cruelties of men.” She began softly. “My brother had done everything to keep me from ever resisting him…he had done everything. I had only wished for someone to be there with me at every moment when I faced his abuse.”

Words; simple words that meant everything to you was what made you weep.

There was no warning at all. Once she was finished, tears sprang to your eyes, and you felt your sinus clog up. Even as you tried to tear yourself away from her comfort, she merely wrapped her arms around you in an embrace from a mother you had never felt.

“I don’t want to go back.” You begged. “Please don’t let me.”

She kissed your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“No!” You sobbed. “I-I don’t want to! Please, please, you can’t make me. I-I-I-!”

Lucilla shushed you, rocking you back and forth. “Do not weep. You will be free beside all of Rome, and the past months of your life will be nothing more than a distant, horrible dream.”

You pulled away just enough to look at her. “You-you must promise me something.”

“My child-.”

“-Promise me and I shall help you overthrow them until my last dying breath!”

She stared for a moment before nodding. “Yes. What is it?”

Your lip quivered. “When I die, you must bind my legs with chains or ropes when you bury me. I have,” you whimpered. “I have been told of men who dig up the bodies of girls and…”

Lucilla kissed your forehead before holding you once more. “I vow I will honor your wishes.”

All you could do was believe her.

There were more times than not the Emperor Geta would talk about filling you with his seed as he bedded you. You never were able to discern if he was serious about wanting to give you a child (they would be his, not yours).

It all became too real when you didn’t bleed that month.

Yet, you also did not feel sick in the morning, and your breasts hadn’t swelled. You still had urinated on wheat seeds for several weeks, but they had not sprouted.

You weren’t with child…yet there was nothing stopping you from convincing Rome you were. It would certainly be a risk; for there was no telling how Geta would react. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

Once a week, you were allowed to go outside the palace during the day, and you had chosen then to venture out into the numerous markets. It was nice to speak with the merchants you knew from your childhood. Some were elders who would watch over you when your father was busy, others were friends who had grown up with you.

“Now what would a little empress want with commoner’s food?” A man’s low timbre voice asked behind you.

Turning your head, you saw Macrinus standing before you with a curious grin. You mirrored it. “That’s not an appropriate title for me.”

“Ah, you are correct.” He nodded. “My apologies, ‘Lady with The Golden Mouth’. Or do you prefer ‘Rome’s Delight?’.”

“You may call me whatever you wish if you’d like.” You forced a laugh and turned back to the merchant you had known since you were a babe. “I’ll take a sack of wheat and small bag of garlic, Gaius.”

“Of course, lady Julia.”

Not even a childhood friend could say your real name. A tight smile formed upon your lips when he turned to sack the wheat before you. Macrinus spoke again.

“You still didn’t answer me about why you’re exactly here.”

“I am not an empress.” You turned to him. “I am not a queen from another realm, I am not even a lady. I am a lowly whore that was fortunate enough to be chosen by the emperor. I like to keep my own schedule from before, so I am aloud to bake my own bread.”

He hummed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Gaius handed you the sack of wheat and garlic, and you held out three silver coins. He shook his head. “No, just a copper-.”

“-Please.” Was all you said.

He hesitated, then took them from you, smiling. “May Fortuna rain a thousand blessings upon your head.”

“And unto you as well.” You curtsied and turned on your heel to leave.

Macrinus walked beside you. “How generous you are.”

“I try to be.” You decided to change the topic. “You are in charge of Hanno, are you not?”

“I certainly am, why do you ask?”

“Just out of interest.” You shrugged. “There is talk of him being similar to the one Maximus from years ago. Many admire him already and it has only been a day.”

Macrinus laughed. “It is my duty to entertain the people. I noticed though that you are more prudish of the games.”

“I must admit, I am not used to the violence.”

“A sheltered girl?”

“Ashamedly so.”

“There is no shame at all. So, it is the Numidian that has captured your affection?” He teased. “How scandalous for the young empress to fall for a slave.”

You chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, I just find him amusing.”

“Oh, I am more than happy to let you see him alone if you ever so desire. You don’t need to wander upon him at another party.”

Your carefree air fell once he asked that. “I don’t know what you-.”

“-It’s alright.” He interrupted. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, I am only concerned for your own safety.”

You stood taller, a shy smile upon your lips. “I am capable of taking care of myself, sir.”

“Of course my lady, why else would you be out here in the streets of commoners without a chaperone?”

Purposefully, you turned onto one of the crowded piazzas where the music and laughter was the loudest. You grinned from ear to ear.

“Oh please, don’t tell me you volunteered yourself to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “No, just wanted to say hello.”

You didn’t have time to respond, as one of the performers had recognized you. Ah, a girl that lived in the house across from yours when you were children! You still remembered her name, and after you passed your belongings to Macrinus, she pulled you into the circle of performers, dancing with you.

You laughed the most you had that year; in fact, you swore your bruised your ribs just from the sheer joy you felt. You don’t know how long you danced and sang with those who were your neighbors and friends, but just as you felt your feet begin to give out, Macrinus put his hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you should go back to the palace and rest.”

Nodding, you said farewell to your companions and took the bag of wheat and garlic back from him. “You are right, thank you so much.”

He grinned. “Let me escort you back.”

“No,” you walked ahead of him. “I wish not to bother you anymore. Good day, Macrinus!”

You lost yourself in the crowd, purposefully making it harder for him to follow. Once you were in the palace, you rushed into the kitchen, holding the sack of wheat behind your back, you greeted the cooks and snuck into the small pantry. You set the sack down on a shelf and pocketed two single reeds, along with an onion.

That night, Geta had called you into his chambers. Before going, you had cut the onion and brought it to hover around your eyes. You were crying by the time you were at his door. Immediately, he took notice of your reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, only crying more. It was less because of the onion now, and just everything coming down crashing onto your shoulders once more. Geta pulled you into his chambers by your shoulders, sitting you on the bed.

“Tell me now what is bothering you.” He commanded.

You shook your head. “I-I can’t-.”

“-Now, Julia!”

Taking a deep breath, you reached into the pocket of your breast, taking out the two reeds and setting it in his hand. He furrowed his brows.

“I do not understand.”

You took a deep breath. “The handmaids have given me wheat and barley seeds ever since I have arrived. If they grow, then that means…that means I am with child.”

The look on his face spoke it all. You were certain you were dead.

“I-I didn’t know how you would feel, and-and so I-.”

He crushed you in an embrace, attaching his lips to your jaw. “Jupiter has blessed me.”

It was the first time you felt happiness in his presence. Of course, not because of him, but still joy. You returned his embrace, sighing in relief. “You are happy?”

“Happy?” He pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “There is nothing in this world that could sadden me right now. I will have an heir.”

As long as it was a boy (if it were real at all).

You feigned your smile and leaned into his touch. “I am fortunate to give you one.”

“And I am most fortunate to have you.” He laid down and brought you with him.

Perhaps, in another life, he was kind to you and didn’t only value you until you gave him a child. Perhaps you would be in love with him, and he would make you empress

But you weren’t fortunate to be born into that fantasy.

You wished nothing more than to sit with Marcus and Lucilla as you made your way into the emperor’s booth of the Colosseum. The three of you had managed to speak to one another, but only about meaningless things. Still, you just enjoyed their company.

It would be more exciting that day. A naval battle, the Naumachia. The arena was filled with water and sea creatures you could never even possibly imagine. It was a wonder in and of itself how all the ships managed to fit themselves in the arena.

“Caracalla,” you said to the brother beside you as you were about to take your seat. He looked up upon hearing his name. You handed him the bag filled with garlic. “I finally found some for you.”

He grinned from ear to ear. “And you say that if I mix this with myrrh, I shall be cured?”

“It should treat the lesions on your skin.” You corrected. “This is what I did for my father.”

He died of the same ailment, but Caracalla didn’t ask; simply smiled. “Thank you, dear sister.”

You nodded, sitting down on the arm of Geta’s throne that would have put you in the middle of him and his brother. He wrapped his arm around you.

“You’ve been far kinder these days.” Geta pointed out.

“Perhaps that means I’ll be the most agreeable mother.” You jested, kissing his cheek.

He smirked, and as the man on the far end of the Colosseum began to announce the games, Geta stood up and rose his grail.

“I would like to propose a toast!” He yelled. The crowd fell silent, and you felt your skin crawl away from you. Geta continued. “To the health of wives and to mothers. Especially to my lover, Julia, who carries my son the moment as we speak!"

An eruption of applause and cheers filled the stadium. You blushed upon the praise, and genuinely wanted to hide yourself from the gaze of everyone; especially the ones closest to you. You could feel both Marcus and Lucilla’s eyes on you, attempting to hide their shock and perhaps horror. The worst was that of Macrinus.

He knew. Just from the look of him (or perhaps it was your own paranoia), but he had to have known from the moment you bought the wheat.

Still, they all applauded, and ones the excitement of your supposed pregnancy died down, the enthusiasm for the battle was born.

It was perhaps the one event you could stomach. While you could still clearly see men dying, it wasn’t as horribly bloody as the prior. Were you becoming numb to the cruelty of these games because you were pretending…or were you letting the game invade your head?

As several ships collided within the growing chaos, men would either die from their fellow man or would simply fall into the water and be devoured by beasts you had never seen until then. Your eyes had been following Hanno the whole time, whether purposefully or not.

Words could not describe the terror that had been brought upon you as you saw him aim his crossbow at the booth you sat in.

You did not think the arrow would pierce you, but it did. It longed into your right shoulder, and a cry you had no idea you were capable of making tore through your throat.

Tears blinded your vision, but the screams from the whole arena deafened your ears you could not even hear what Geta was saying to you.

You could barely make out Marcus’ in front of you as he snapped the body of the arrow and then hoisted you into his arms. You’d never been carried like this as a woman; only as a child by your father.

The heat of Rome felt hotter that day as the pain in your shoulder only grew tighter and tighter as if your skin was going to stretch away from you. The next thing you knew, you were laid upon a cold, solid surface, and sound returned to your ears.

“It’s alright, you’re alright.” Geta shushed, brushing your hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Someone stuck their fingers into your wounded shoulder, and you could only scream. A tender hand laid itself on your cheek, and just from touch alone, you knew it was Lucilla.

“Do not touch her!” Geta hissed, swatting her away.

“No, no!” You whined, reaching out and holding onto her.

Lucilla dropped to her knees, kissing every part of skin that was available, mumbling. “I know, I know. This too shall pass, you are stronger than you believe, my dear.”

Then, just like that, you felt the arrowhead leave your body. The pain was still excruciating beyond belief, but all that was left was for your arm to be wrapped in cloth, and to rest.

One of the guards in charge of the gladiators approached you when you were finally able to sit up.

“My lady,” he began. “did you happen to get a look at the man who shot you?”

“She’s only starting to recover!” Geta snapped. “How dare you. She carries my child, and-!”

“-It’s alright, Geta.” You soothed.

You could’ve done it. Told him with full confidence that it was Hanno. There would have been your chance of power; to kill the man who had nearly killed you.

Yet…you were vindictive and wanted to do it yourself.

“I have no memory.” You told him. “It happened so fast.”

How horrible it is that Geta would stop forcing you to pleasure him only when you were supposedly with his child and injured. You assumed that if you were suffering from only one of those ailments, than he still would’ve held you down and used you.

You thought nothing else would happen that night. You would simply speak to one another, pretending to be completely enamored by his existence, and then lie down to sleep.

Of course, that would be too peaceful.

You were awoken gently, to your surprise, by Geta shaking you. Humming, you rubbed your eyes. “What is it?”

“The general and his whore wife.” He gritted his teeth. “They planned to kill us.”

You shot right up, forgetting about your injured shoulder, and let out a cry. Geta helped you stand, and that was when you saw Caracalla standing before you, his monkey companion Dundus perching upon his shoulder.

“How-how do we know?” You stammered, not having to feign your terror.

Neither of them answered, and the three of you were led out into the throne room. There before you in their night clothes just as you were, Lucilla and Marcus.

Geta approached them first, seething. “The honor, the dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you. All this you have forfeited by your treachery. Thanks to the civic virtue of men like Macrinus and Thraex your insurrection has been revealed-.”

“-Torture me if you want,” Marcus shook his head. “but please, don’t lecture me.”

Geta’s face turned almost as red as his hair. “Your name and deeds will be forgotten, lost to history! You are damned to oblivion!”

“You damn me?” He laughed. “I don’t care. Everything is forgotten in time. Empires fall… and so do Emperors.”

Caracalla rose from his seat, reaching for his brother’s sword. “Why wait? I'll gut him right now!”

Geta grabbed onto him. “Brother! Brother! His death must be public.”

“Public, yes. Hang his entrails from the city gates!” He pointed at Lucilla. “Crucify her!”

“No!”

All eyes fell on you after your outburst. Even you froze in place, feeling bile begin to rise up within you. Geta let go of Caracalla. “‘No?’ You say? What would you have me do then?”

Swallowing thickly, it was hard to speak as tears began to fall. You held your stomach. “Crucifixion is…it’s…”

His face dropped into a scowl. “You aren’t saying I should let them live, are you?”

“No-!”

“-Then which is it?!”

Your voice fell silent as your chest constricted, and you could barely breathe. Your mouth would move, but nothing came out; not even strangled noises of desperation.

“If I may, your grace,” Macrinus stepped forward. “I believe she means to bring equal punishments to the crimes committed.”

Geta furrowed his brow. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Please, let the rest of them out of the room so I might explain more clearly.’

He considered his words, then turned to his guards. “The criminals to the dungeons, my brother to his chambers, and my love-.”

“-I wish to be alone tonight.” You stated.

The emperor scoffed. “What?”

“The babe.” You began. “I-I have helped many women deliver their children, and what has always caused an early birth is stress. I-I cannot take any-anymore of it, or I fear…”

Finally, he took in the sight of your fearful face. Sighing heavily, he said. “Put my lady in her chambers for tonight.”

“Thank you.” You kissed his hand.

You were led into your own chambers, and once the door was shut, you threw yourself onto your bed and wept. You wept until you were wailing into the night, you wept until your eyes were as red as the sun in the morning, you wept until it hurt to continue to do so…

It was unknown how long you had cried, but the opening of your bedroom door is what alarmed you. Snapping your head over in the direction, you were shocked to see Macrinus.

“The general and his wife’s fate has been decided.” He stated.

You held a pillow to your chest, rubbing your reddened nose. “And what is it?”

“The emperor has chosen to let the gods decide, and Acacius will fight against Hanno tomorrow in the arena.”

“You mean you convinced him to.” You glared.

Macrinus approached you. “May I try some of the bread you have baked, my lady?”

You held no confusion when he asked you that. Surprise, yes; but you knew what he asked. You took a deep breath. “I believe I don’t understand.”

“The wheat you bought only days ago.” He reminded. “You said you would bake your own bread. Surely, you didn’t use it as false proof of you carrying the emperor’s heir?”

You didn’t dare look at him. Even when he laid his hand on our back, rubbing circles over your nightdress. “I wish to help you, my child. You must be willing to help me first.”

That was why he also didn’t alert Geta of your betrayal…unless, he had no idea of your alliance with Marcus and Lucilla.

“What is it that you want?” You asked.

“All in time.” He soothed. “I wish to give you the privilege to speak to someone.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes wide. “General Acacius?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I am unable to escort you to the dungeons below the palace. Yet, I can take you to the pit of gladiators.”

“It is easier for you to take me out of the palace than below it?”

“Take you to the man who nearly overthrew the emperors?” He chuckled bitterly. “Not possible. I cannot grant you the gift to say goodbye, but I can allow you to bargain for his life.”

You blinked. “Hanno?”

“Correct.”

“How can I leave the palace at this hour, after what has just happened?”

“You underestimate the silence men will take when it is weighed in gold.” He tutted. “I can only give you ten minutes with him. Will you go or not?”

You were forced to decide quickly…This could be your chance. He had nearly took your life the other day, and the pain in your shoulder was just a growing reminder of that. If he were dead…there was no way you could overtake him.

Yet, you learned that, in a world of men, you didn’t have to be stronger than them: Only smarter, and faster.

“I will go.”

You had hidden a kitchen knife under your bed the moment you had your own chambers. Geta had gifted you several colorful ribbons he loved to see you wear in your hair. He perhaps did not expect you to tie one around your waist under your gown, securing the knife.

Macrinus led you swiftly from the palace to the gladiator pit, which was thankfully not a long walk. You ignored the stares and intrigued calls from the other men as you treaded the halls. You were stopped by a door. Macrinus didn’t even warn Hanno who stood shirtless in his cell, only opened the door and let you enter.

“I’ll rattle the door when it’s time.” That was all he said and left.

Hanno didn’t even seem alarmed. “And what is Rome’s Delight doing here?”

Your blood boiled upon seeing him, yet you remained calm. “I have come to make a bargain; a plea.”

That was when the puzzlement appeared on his face. “And what is that?”

“The man you will fight tomorrow, you must spare him.”

“Why should I?”

Your grief and despair had made itself known to everyone around you for the past few days; yet, in that cell, only with Hanno as your witness, did he see your rage.

“He is the one who saved my life when you meant to steal it!”

The only change you saw in him was his jaw clenching. Other than that, nothing. “The general?”

You only nodded.

He sighed, brushing past you and shaking the door. “Macrinus!”

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“I will not have you waste your breath on that man.”

“I will give you anything you desire.”

Hanno faced you. “Then you can deliver his head on a platter for me.”

You gawked as he walked away. “What have I ever done to you?”

“What?”

“Do you truly hate me that much?!” You turned back to him, getting closer. “Kill the man that is the reason I am still here?”

The last thing you thought you would hear left his lips: A laugh. No, not a genuine one. One that you yourself have released on multiple occasions when you have been in disbelief.

“You truly believe everything that happens is because of you?” He taunted. “Has the emperor been filling your mind with so many delusions of grandeur, you can no longer conceive a world where you are not the center of it?”

“Is it so difficult for you to answer my question because you are a fool, or because you wish to not admit it?” You hardened your tone.

“What is your question, my empress?”

“Why did you shoot me?!”

“The arrow was not meant for you!”

You felt your shoulders drop upon the confession. Your aggression ceased only because of your bewilderment.

“Then who?” You asked.

He backed away. “The general you so wish to defend.”

“Whatever it is that he has done, it can be solved with-.”

“-He murdered my wife.”

Hanno said it so easily. No pain, no rage, nothing. It was a fact, and that was what he wanted you to know.

And how stupid you had been. No one in all of Rome was pure of heart; including Marcus. He was a war general; how could you think he wouldn’t have committed sins against the innocent?

“Why so silent, my lady?” He asked. “Are you in disbelief that he has enemies?”

“I didn’t know that.” You admitted.

“That the general is too a monster, or that he killed the only thing in my life worth living for?”

“And that is your desire?” You prodded. “Take his life so that he may die knowing his wife will be ravaged by wolves?”

When he charged at you, you barely had enough time to reach in your dress and unsheathe your knife. Hanno stopped himself just in time for the tip to kiss his chest. Nothing to cause any more harm than a scratch.

Even though you were not the one hurt, you breathed as if you were. He stared down at you as you shrunk under his gaze, and the two of you remained frozen. That is, until he grabbed both your wrists, and rose them above your head.

“I am only merciful because the general still breathes.” He spoke so only you could hear. “If your bastard of a lover had put him to the sword this night you chose to visit me, you would be dead before you could scream.”

Your nose was an inch from his, that was how close he stood to you. His breath caressed your skin, and you turned away in disgust. He let go of your empty wrist, yet still held the one with the dagger.

“Did you believe you could kill me tonight?” He asked, yet you said nothing. Hanno then brought the dagger to his breastbone, angling it upward. “Do not stab head on; stab up.”

Silence and an iron gaze was your reply.

He then hovered it to the pulse point of his neck. “If you want a quick death, right here; with a thinner blade, preferably.”

Then, he placed the tip just above his brow. “If you need information out of a rat, and you have the stomach to do so, drag it across. It will make the mightiest of men cry like a child in the night.”

“You are clever and a skilled warrior,” you finally said. “what is it you want me to tell you?”

“That you will leave it up to the gods and to me if your general lives or not.”

“But I cannot.” You dared to dig the blade just a little into his skin, and his breath hitched. “My desire for him to live is stronger than for you to die.”

Hanno finally let go of your wrist, and you immediately retracted the knife from his brow. “So do you wish to try again to kill me?”

“I wish for you to show mercy.”

“Mercy?” He questioned. “Mercy upon the man who pillaged my home and killed my wife? Mercy for the one who has made me a slave?”

“I too am a slave and-.”

“-And?!” He cried. “And there is nothing! You are draped in silks whilst I in chains and are bathed in clear waters while I in blood, yet you say we are the same?!”

You swallowed your anger, knowing it would bring you nowhere. “You entertain the horrid creatures of Rome; I am forced to pleasure the emperor. We perform differently, but we are still slaves.”

“You are with child.” He stated. “Will that child also be a slave though the emperor is quick to claim it is his heir?”

The crackling of the torches in the room only added to the fire th in your soul. If not contained correctly, you would surely burn and take him with you.

“A child…yes.” You relaxed, folding your hands. “A child that I could command to be Geta’s. Perhaps, if I wanted to have the brothers slaughter one another, I could say it belongs to Caracalla. Or, if I despised you anymore than I do at this moment…I could say that it is yours.”

Hanno’s eyes dropped in recognition, saying softly. “You carry an empty womb.”

You nodded. “It is the same as your honor.”

Moments later, the door behind you rattled, and Macrinus spoke even when you didn’t. “The time is up, my little empress.”

You bowed your head to Hanno, curtsying. “Sleep well.”

He said nothing in reply, and you turned on our heel, leaving the cell. You pulled your hood back over your head as Macrinus led you through the darkened streets of the city.

“Did you get what you came for?” He asked.

“No.” Was your immediate reply. “And I do not know truly what I wanted.”

The day was as blistering hot as the others, yet the stare Lucilla gave you as she was being led into the emperor’s viewing box made your blood turn to ice. There was not a hint of wrath upon her face; there was nothing at all.

She already looked as if her soul had been stolen.

“How does your shoulder fair, dear sister?” Caracalla brushed his fingers over your arm.

A watery smile was upon your lips like second nature. “It still aches, but it heals, thank the gods. And your overall health?”

He sighed. “I do not know how much longer I have upon this earth.”

“Do not say such things.” You squeeze his hands. “If the gods will it, you shall live for another hundred years.”

He kissed your hands that held his. “I hope so, my love.”

Your grin fell upon the title, and Geta immediately sat you down on the chair behind him that was beside Lucilla’s. He gave an apologetic look.

“He only grows more confused by the day.” He caressed your cheek. “You are well?”

You were far from it, but you could not say that. “Your son feels better now.”

Geta smiled, lowering his head down to kiss your womb. “He will need all his strength.”

The announcer on the other side of the arena yelled to gain everyone’s attention. “From the vanquished city of Numidia, the victor of three contests in the Colosseum, the barbarian Hanno!”

You watched as he ran up from the pit, sword in hand. On the other side, you watched at they brought in Marcus. You could barely look at his already beaten figure. The announcer continued. “Will challenge General Marcus Acacius for his treason against the lives of the Emperors and the enemy of the State!”

The two approached one another on the sandy field. Even from where you sat, so close to them, you could barely make out the look in their eyes. You assumed their was hatred, but your own eyes must have deceived you, because you swore you saw a hint of regret within Marcus’ own gaze.

You blinked and the battle between the two had begun. It was a different level of insanity at how they fought. Marcus was decades older than Hanno, and yet, there were moments where the Numidian had to keep up with him.

Than, the roles would be reversed.

Blood stained the floor of the Colosseum as they fought. Then, when all feel silent between them, and Marcus could barely stand, his lips moved as he spoke to Hanno, then raised his hand.

He yielded.

The patrons of the arena began to mumble amongst themselves, growing louder and louder. Geta rose to his feet. “Romans! What say you?”

In an instant, choruses begging him to be spared overpowered the few that wanted him to be killed. Geta shut his eyes, raising his hand, and they were silenced.

“The gods have rendered their judgement.”

His thumb pointed downward, and the crowd erupted in dissent. Your heart was forcing itself to beat out of your chest as you could only stare at the sight of Hanno glaring down at the general before him.

He tossed his sword to the side.

You hadn’t even noticed Caracalla stood until you heard him yell. “Kill him, kill him!” Like an angered child.

“Is this how Rome treats its heroes?!” Hanno shouted, staring at the audience all around him and pointing his sword. “If his life has no value, what are yours worth?”

Geta stepped up onto the barrier, balancing between the viewing box and a fifteen-foot drop into the arena. He held his arms out to his side, his sleeves dropping to the ground, and his pale face was red. “The gods have spoken! Kill him!”

From all sides of the stadium, hundreds of archers aimed their bows at the center of the battleground. Yet, none fired. Caracalla jeered.

“In the name of Jupiter, kill him!”

The arrows were released, and they screamed like none other as they fired into the center. As they pierced Marcus’ body, you did not know you had been wailing in fright until Geta had slapped you.

“You mewling cunt!” He cursed. “You wish to weep over the man who nearly had you killed?”

Blood fell upon your tongue from your bruised lip, and you did not dare to look at him nor Lucilla.

“Death will be too good for you!” She cried with all of her heart.

The noise from the crowd died as if the people themselves had done so. Then, just like the confused murmurs when Marcus yielded, the same began to grow and grow into a call of rebellion.

It was all in your ears. Lucilla’s weeping, the curses from the crowd, the panic of the emperors…but you stood absolutely still.

With hooded eyes, they drifted up to see that Geta stood just on the edge of the barrier, his back turned to you. Your gaze fell to the ground below you, and it was only then you realized how high up you truly were.

You do not know who or what willed you to, but you then looked at Hanno still the center, covered in blood. As if he knew what you would do, he shook his head.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Macrinus grabbed your arm roughly when you took one step towards Geta.

The emperors turned to him upon his appearance, and Macrinus loosened his grip on you before saying. “For our safety’s sake, we should leave.”

“Yes.” Geta stepped down, wrapping his arms around you. “We should.”

You never knew there was a safe house in Rome until you were forced into it. Perhaps that was the reason for it being a safe house, so that no one knew of it. Yet, apparently, almost all of the roman citizens found it that night. Or, they were simply rioting wherever a free patch of land was.

The cries played in your ears despite them being behind heavy walls of the safe house, and you dared not to peek out the windows as the several fires would temporarily blind you. In the house was you, Macrinus, Dondus (Caracalla’s pet monkey, although he’d call him his other half), and the twin emperors.

“How is the babe?” Geta asked as you sat with your head hanging low.

Of course he would ask that. You didn’t look at him. “He is in fear for his life.”

“I understand,” he sighed. “but there-.”

“-But what?” You finally looked at him, hissing. “Chaos has fallen upon the city because of your actions.”

“There was nothing else to do.” Geta glared at you. “He and his bitch were plotting to kill us! If I’d let him live-.”

“-Don’t you hear them?” Caracalla cried out from his seat, holding Dondus. “They’re calling for our heads! She is right, you brought this upon us!”

Geta placed his hands on him. “Calm yourself, brother. The Praetorians will put down this crowd like they have others-.” The money upon Caracalla’s shoulder chirped out in anxiousness from the people outside. “Keep the ape still!”

“Beware of how you speak to Dondus!” His brother berated.

“Perhaps,” Macrinus finally intervened. “you should take Dondus and Julia elsewhere. The noise outside is too much for them; you should comfort one another someplace quieter.”

Caracalla nodded, gathering up Dondus and moving to help you stand, but Macrinus reached his hand out first. You took it, and as you stood, he said into your ear.

“I will find you on the right side of the hall.”

This was not the time nor place for riddles, but you could not react in any sort of way. You looped our arm through Caracalla’s and walked out of the room, hoping to find somewhere quieter.

“I’m afraid,” you confided in him, truthfully.

“I am as well.” Was all he could say.

You stopped in the middle of the hall once he found an open door. “I…I need time with my own thoughts. Please.”

He nodded, cradling Dondus closer to his chest before entering the room, shutting the door tightly. Within the minute, you watched as Macrinus approached you from the other side of the hall.

You spat. “What do you want?”

“I know I stole your moment of vengeance, and for that, I apologize.” He stood before you. “But let me make it up to you.”

“How could you possibly?”

From his cloak, he brandished a knife, holding the handle out to you. You took it without hesitation, yet question was still upon your face. “I do it myself?”

“You could,” he shrugged. “or, you could have his own brother do so.”

“Caracalla? He is senile.”

“Then I have a proposition for you.” Macrinus pointed to the door Caracalla was behind. “Convince him that Geta will destroy all of you if he is not disposed of. Convince him that, as the new emperor of Rome, he will need more trusting subjects. I shall be his second in command, and you shall be free.”

You furrowed your brow. “Who shall be first?”

“The monkey.” He smirked. “Do you believe he would put me above him?”

It sounded so simple; too simple. Yet, as the crowd began to die down, and you could no longer hear their protests from outside, the quietness brought to you what you had always known: You would never be your own person again so long as Geta breathed.

You held the dagger to your heart, saluting him. “I shall do my duty.”

He nodded. “May the gods be with you when you do, Brutus.”

An insult to most, and while it shocked you, you took it in stride as you stood outside the door. You made yourself look smaller, more afraid, and hid the dagger within your cloak as you entered the room.

There, sitting upon the floor, was Caracalla and Dondus. Like a scared child, he held the monkey close to him, grooming one another as if it was the only thing to bring comfort.

“Caracalla?” You whispered.

He stared up at you, and you noticed he had been crying. Immediately, you sat before him, bringing him into your arms.

“Nothing was ever mine.” He cried, embracing you. “Everything was ‘ours’, always. Even in the womb, he gripped the umbilicus in his tiny fist to deprive me of air.”

“He did?”

“Certainly, one cannot forget.”

You pulled away only to hold his face tenderly in your hands. “You must listen to me, for what I tell you is dire. Your brother wishes to blame you before the Senate; for what happened, for the chaos in the streets-.”

“-That is a lie!” He tore himself from you. “I didn’t do it!”

“I know that, but they don’t. No testimony is more damning than that of a brother against another.”

“He lies! He always lies!” He sobbed.

“He’s very persuasive.”

“What will they do to me?”

“I don’t dare imagine, but…gods above, I don’t wish to know what they will do to Dondus.”

His jaw quivered with the rest of his body. “What-what shall we do?"

You sighed. “I…I have a proposition, but it is most outrageous and-.”

“-Julia,” he begged, grabbing your hands. “dear, sweet sister, please tell me.”

Breath shuttering, you reached into your cloak and held the blade out to him. “Slay your brother tonight. You shall be crowned the sole emperor of Rome when morning comes, and Dondus, the child I carry, and I will be safe.'

He took it, yet still had that look of terror. “This…It has always been he who led everything. I do not know who to trust or-or who to command.”

“Then let me-.” You stopped yourself, eyeing the monkey that lay at his legs. You held your hand out to him, and Dondus climbed into your arms. “Let us help you. Claim Dondus as your first in command, and I your second.”

You wished the same as Lucilla and Marcus; to have Rome be a free empire. Yet, you would have to free Lucilla yourself before that happened.

Caracalla nodded yet said. “You-you are with child. You will become delirious as time progresses.”

And he was the epitome of having a clear mind.

“I will need a third.” He settled.

You shook your head. “That has never been done before-.”

“-I will be emperor!” He screamed. “If it is to be done, it shall be done!”

Raising your hands in surrender, you pleaded. “It shall, it shall! For a third…Macrinus. He has been loyal and informed us of the general’s betrayal.”

“Yes, yes Macrinus will do.” He grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. It didn’t even truly feel like a kiss, yet it shocked you nonetheless. “You are the wisest woman I have ever met, dear sister.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. With that, he stood on his feet and left the room. IT would have been easy to stay in there and wait for his return…

Yet, you wanted to be the last thing Emperor Geta saw.

No fear toiled within your body as you approached the throne room, not even when you hear the cries that you knew belonged to Geta. You walked through the doors, watching as Geta held his hands up in fear, begging his brother to spare his life as he was forced onto his knees, trying to stop the knife in Caracalla’s hand.

“I love you!” Geta squealed, staring up at him through tears “You are my brother, I love you!”

You moved to stand behind the younger twin, glaring at the man before you. Geta’s eyes dropped in relief.

“My love, my love, please help me!”

There was nothing uncertain about how you grabbed Caracalla’s hand that held the dagger. With eyes unblinking, you guided the blade into Geta’s throat, pushing it further and further as blood drained from his mouth.

The emperor was dead, and you would sleep like a child once more that night.

There was something inside of you when you awoke that morning. Not the child you had lied to all of Rome about; it felt like a parasite. You threw up an hour after you woke up, but when you checked with the healers, they said that there was nothing ailing you.

Was it…guilt? No, no it could not be.

Was it possible to feel guilt for the act of killing someone, but not feeling it for who was killed?

You had no time to debate these issues as if you were a philosopher.

Dressed in your finest silks, you made way into the room where the hundreds of senators met, carrying a hefty sack beside you. You sat in a chair next to Macrinus.

“You have done well.” He said softly.

You smiled. “Only because of you.”

Your gaze turned to Caracalla, who sat in one of the two thrones that were there for him and Geta. He looked like the worst you had ever seen him be. A blood rag had been placed at his feet.

“Now I am the only one.” He began, voice low. “I was the true us, and he was the false me. We were always ‘we,’ all our lives, but now I am only I, me, alone.”

The senators look at one another in silent terror. The only ones to not feel fear were you and Macrinus.

Caracalla continued. “My hand held the blade, but my father’s hand guided mine. I was the puppet, dancing on his string. As Emperor, I have convened the Senate to appoint my First Consul and bestow upon him the power to administer the military and civic functions of the Empire.”

He tossed his hand to the second thrown, revealing his fury companion. “I name Citizen Dondus!”

Where the senators were beyond terrified, they were now confused. Macrinus was the first to rise, applauding. “Hail Dondus!”

You repeated his sentiment, clapping with vigor. Caracalla and the rest of the mortified senators applauded all repeating ‘Hail Dondus!’.

Once the excitement died down, Caracalla resumed. “As is custom, I am naming a Second Consul to advise the First and to assure his integrity. Though you will find that Dondus is incorruptible! As Second Consul, I name…”

Macrinus took one step forward.

“The mother of the future heir to the throne, Julia!”

All eyes fell upon you, standing taller than you ever had done in your life. How strange it was though, that the same reaction to a monkey being assigned first in command, was to you, a woman.

Utter silence, until Caracalla applauded enthusiastically. Like sheep, the senators followed; all but Macrinus.

“Yet, as mother to the heir,” the emperor said after finishing. “it is apparent she shall be incompetent for majority of her advising. So, for the first time in the history of Rome, I name Citizen Macrinus as my third!”

Even with this third twist in a counsel, the senators seemed more so relieved at the decision. Macrinus did not smile or even acknowledge the honor, simply stared ahead. Caracalla gathered Dondus in his arms.

“There will be a triumphal parade to celebrate. There will be games and mass executions! Long live the Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!” You and the senators all yelled.

The Emperor Caracalla carried the First Consul Dondus sweepingly out of the hall, to the Senate’s terrified silence. You picked up the sack that had been beside you this whole time, then making your way to the center of the room.

You opened the sack, and out fell Geta’s decapitated head. The Senate gasped and gagged at the sight of the former emperor’s head. You almost felt sorry for the horror they felt that whole time. Yet, there horror is what would bring you fortune.

“This is what befell your emperor.” You pointed to the head at your feet. “He was slaughtered by the one who shared a womb with him. Tell me, senators, is this who we must trust to maintain the greatness of the Roman Empire?”

They did not glance at one another in uncertainty; no, no they were listening to you.

You continued, your heart stammering. “I am not the one who will stand with you for the rest of my days, it is the son I carry within me. And if it is my son who will become emperor, then there must still be an empire for him once he is born. Hysteria has poisoned the streets for decades now, it is time to put an end to it!”

Murmurs and nods of approval began to echo amongst the counsel.

“Every single one of Rome’s children matters; from the beggars to the emperor himself. If one falls, so shall the rest of the Empire. I have walked beside the lay people of the city, and they feel betrayed by the former emperor for the murder of their beloved general. To right this wrong, I call for the release of Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.”

Not one of the hundreds of senators made a sound. Deep within you, you knew that there wouldn’t be much rejoicing over Lucilla’s freedom, but you still had to try.

“The people adored her for far longer than they adored the general!” You pleaded. “If we kill her only for the amusement of the elites, then the children of Rome-!”

“-Shall live.”

You turned to Macrinus, who finally stepped all the way forward.

“Forgive me,” He bowed mockingly. “my lady, but for a woman complimented to have a golden mouth, you have no idea what you are saying.”

A few of the senators chuckled.

“You wish to free the woman who mean to have you, and the emperors killed?” He questioned.

You refuted. “I wish to show the world that Rome is capable of forgiveness.”

“A desire so foolish, only the emperor’s favorite whore could have it.”

“Another word of slander out of your mouth, and I will have your tongue removed!” You stood toe-to-toe with him.

He grinned like the devil, and just from your outburst alone, no matter how warranted it had been, he had you. Macrinus stepped away, looking around at the senators.

“Me thinks the little girl believes she is Marcus Aurelius himself born again.” He straightened his tone. “What say you, senators? All in favor of releasing a traitor to the Empire, speak.”

Not one of them said ‘aye’. If you weren’t under a sheer amount of duress, you would’ve seen perhaps a few faces of inner turmoil, debating on calling for Lucilla’s release.

Yet, no one said a word because they shared the one thing that will contribute to the death of humanity: Cowardice.

Macrinus tutted. “Now, dear Julia and I happen to have, through good fortune and not a little skill, the remaining emperor’s ear. We can speak reason in it and tame the madness in the street. Yet, I will leave the domestic work of calming the emperor to his second in command. As for myself, to restore order to Rome, I will need power over the affairs of the state. Including command of the Praetorian Guard. The decision is in your hands. Ballot or hand?”

One hand rose immediately. Another followed, then ten, then thirty, and then, all of them. He provided no evidence for his cause…yet there was a unanimous decision.

Macrinus held his hand out to you, and you could only stare up at him in question.

“I believe we shall take the seats that are rightfully ours.” He said lowly.

Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, and he led you up the stairs to sit upon the chair that belonged to Geta, while he took Caracalla’s.

This would be the first and the last time a woman ever sat upon the emperor’s throne.

After being embarrassed that morning, you paced around your chambers. Perhaps you could have found Caracalla and gave him the same reasonings the senate did not listen to. Perhaps he could somehow see to the logic that would be in setting Lucilla free.

No, of course he wouldn’t. Even if his mind was sound, he still knew she was apart of the coup to try and have him dethroned; killed in his mind’s eye.

As your mind grew heavy with existential possibilities towards the future, the door to your chambers opened. Stopping where you stood, you watched as Macrinus entered.

“Now, try to make me understand this," he shook his head. "I let you have your vengeance on the man who used you as a slave, I promised you freedom, and yet you wasted it.”

You clenched your jaw. "How dare you-."

“-How dare I?” He tensed his voice. “How dare I keep silent about your lie? How dare I give you the privilege to take your revenge? I have saved you more than you believe I have harmed you, lady Julia."

The name had always bothered you, but with one emperor dead and the other incapacitated, you assumed it would stop.

Now, it only enraged you more; or perhaps that was just because it was Macrinus saying it.

You glared. “It was your own mistake to believe you were the only one who desired power.”

He took a deep breath, then moving to sit on your bed. “Sit beside me, Rome’s Delight; I have a story to tell you.”

“I am not a child, you may tell me in short.”

“You are not the only slave wishing to be free.” He pulled back the collar of his clothing, revealing a branded ‘M.A’ “You are lucky enough to not carry your master’s mark, but were a slave nonetheless. Marcus Aurelius spoke of peace while still using violence against those who served him.”

Swallowing your pride thickly, you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You have learned now, that is all that matters.”

“But Lucilla will still be dead.” You tried to keep your voice steady. “She wanted the emperors to be gone as much as you, but she will-."

“-Her father enslaved me.”

“Her father is dead; and if taking his empire wasn’t enough, than killing his last child will satisfy you?"

Macrinus clutched your arm, fingers tightening with every word. “I would be careful with how you speak to me. I wish to offer you one last ounce of kindness before I regret it. Now tell me, Brutus, will you accept me as Rome’s new emperor?”

You had all the right to say it was Caracalla, but you thought better of it. So, with the softening of your entire person, you nodded. “I accept you.”

He dropped your arm. “I’ll let you say goodbye this time.”

Macrinus led you down into the dungeons of the palace, and he was right; somehow it was more heavily guarded than the gladiator pit. Even when the worst of the worst prisoners sneered or jeered at you, your sorrow and anger could not stir your fear.

The door to one of the cells was open, and you ran in just as Lucilla turned to see you.

“Five minutes.” Was all Macrinus said before locking the door and leaving.

You embraced one another when he left. Neither of you said anything, just clung to each other as if the world itself would tear you apart.

“Forgive me, mother Lucilla.” You choked up.

Lucilla pulled away, taking your face into her hands. “Sweet child, there is nothing to forgive.”

“I failed you.” The tears finally came. “I was right there in the senate’s room, I-I told them the chaos that would befell Rome if-.”

“-You were in the senate’s room?” She sounded as if her breath had been stolen.

You nodded. “Yes, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“My dear girl,” she smiled. “if you were able to even get half a sentence in, than they listened! My father but sixteen years ago said that it was a shame I had been born a women, for I would have been a magnificent emperor. Yet, here you stand; you who had been once a slave, rose above into having a sear in the senate council.”

Still, no matter how much pride she held, your own shame outweighed it. “I still have failed you.”

“I have already accepted my fate.” She whispered. “I must take care of those who matter to me before I leave this earth.”

“Do not say such things!” You cried. “I’ll still find a way to save you.”

“Hanno is my son.”

You expected her to deny your attempts at rescuing her, you even expected her to coddle you, curse you…but this?

“What?” You uttered.

“He is Lucius Verus Aurulius,” she said gently. “second of his name, but the first son of Maximus Decimus Meridius.”

“The-the gladiator?” Was somehow the first question you asked.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Lucius didn’t run away, I sent him. With him as heir to the empire, I know many would not rest until he was dead. How was he to fight for a claim he knew nothing about? Now, he is here; and I am no longer frightened of dying.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to!”

She shushed you, combing her fingers through your hair. “I can speak to you until the earth is burnt by the sun of how I have made peace, but I know that will not work. So, I have two final requests for you.”

“Anything.”

Lucilla walked to the small desk she had in her cell, then picking up a scroll loosely wrapped in twine. She handed it to you. “My first is to give this to my son before tomorrow. It…explains a great deal of things I do not have the time to say to him.”

You took it, holding it to your heart. “And the second?”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around you and kissing the side of your head. “To take care of him as I intend him to take care of you.”

It was not the first time that day your eyes had grown. “He despises me.”

“If the gods are merciful, then I truly believe you will both come to see eye to eye as the only two who remain.”

“I nearly killed him.” You admitted. “The night before his duel with Acacius, I brought a knife with me and stabbed him; well…not enough to harm him.”

Lucilla shook her head, giggling. “He will need someone who disagrees with him.”

You found yourself laughing along with her, even through your sobs. She pulled away from you, wiping your tears. “He is a good man. He may deny it but believe me when I tell you.”

“I trust you.” You nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I will be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“I…I know.”

“Now go before I beg you to stay.”

You forced yourself away from her before you could change your mind. You could not even look at her as you left her cell and went up the hall. Just in time, you remembered to hide the scroll as Macrinus approached you.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Sighing, you said. “She’s…inconsolable. I couldn’t bear another moment with her.”

Macrinus nodded. “You should rest for the remainder of the day. It has been quite exhausting.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “it certainly has.”

It was the first time that night you were forced to sneak out of the palace on your own. Fortunately, you remembered the route you took to the Gladiator pit and managed to dodge any of the guards on patrol that night.

The pit proved to be more difficult as the overseers of it had less space to watch over, yet you still somehow managed to maneuver them.

Perhaps the gods were on your side.

“Hanno.” You whispered once you found his cell.

The man turned over his shoulder once he heard your voice and approached with a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

You wasted no time, holding out the scroll. “Your mother told me to give you this.”

He paused for only half a beat. “My mother died when-.”

“-Your mother is Lucilla, daughter of Marcus Aurelias.” You whispered fiercely. “And you are Lucius, the lost son.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he reached down to the latch of the door, and cracked it opened. “Get inside.”

Though you wished to, you didn’t question how he had unlocked it and only walked in. He shut the door tightly, then took the scroll from you. You stood there as he unraveled it to read. His face changed every few seconds, ranging from distress to downright confusion. When he was finished, he looked at you.

“She gave this to you?” You nodded. “Why?”

“I was allowed to say goodbye to her.”

“From Macrinus?” He tested. “Was this before or after you attempted to steal his power?”

“I was cruel to you.” You admitted. “Even after discovering Acacius had pillaged your home and murdered your wife, I expected you to show mercy. I am astounded you did, but as I look back, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. My desire for the general to live extends to your mother; if not more. She did not give up my name at any moment despite the fact I too was apart of the coup to try and overthrow the emperors. I cannot simply let her die.”

Lucius stared at you, his gaze intimidating yet at ease. He approached you. “You wish to save her life?”

“More than anything.”

“It is a rumor that Macrinus was the one to puppeteer Caracalla in slaying his brother. But…it wasn’t him, was it?”

Breathing deeply, you looked at the floor. “It was I.”

“Look at me.” He commanded softly, and you did. “Would you kill again if it meant protecting her?”

Your mind said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, but your heart only sunk into your stomach at the thought. It must have been apparent on your face, for he said.

“There is no shame if you are unable to.”

“I will be with him in the emperor’s box.” You said, determination in your eyes. “I will simply need you to buy me time in the arena. It shall be done.”

Lucius nodded, and released along breath before saying. "I treated you harshly. I...I don't believe I would have survived what you have been put through."

You picked at your fingers. "I think you would have."

"No." He solidified. "I wouldn't."

A silence fell between the two of you. There wasn't a hint of discomfort; as if, for the first time, you felt seen.

“You never told me your name.” Lucius uttered.

You pressed your lips together, shrugging. “It was never important.”

“It has been,” he said. “and it is now. You know my true name, if I am to understand you as how my mother wishes I do, then I must know yours.”

Your mouth parted to speak the first syllable, but even that had felt foreign. You instead lied. “I do not remember it.”

As he looked at you, the steely gaze you always knew began to disappear. “You must remember how it sounded from your mother’s mouth.”

“She died before she could hold me.”

“Then your father.” He walked closer to you, yet you felt no fear. “It does not matter if he was wretched or kind, he spoke your name and your name alone. What did it sound like?”

Like he loved you. Even when he was cross, he never raised his voice. You hated more than ever how tears started to build within your eyes.

“Geta had beaten me until I could no longer use it.” you confessed. “It will feel like poison upon my lips.”

“Then whisper it to me so you will scarcely have to move them.”

You had been lain down on a bed and had every bit of a man touch and invade your body. Even before the emperor, you had lain with people in the past of your choosing…

But none of that amounted to the intimacy you felt in that cell as Lucius stood nearly chest-to-chest with you, hovering his ear over your mouth as you finally (finally) spoke your name aloud.

If the heat of his body lingering over yours did not set your entire being aflame, it was the breath he released once he said.

“It’s a kind name.”

It was all too much for you, so you pulled away from him, drying your eyes. “I…I will pray for your safety.”

He outheld his hand to you. “Strength and honor.”

A saying you had overheard people use as they entered the stadium. You shook his hand. “Strength and honor.”

You didn’t expect to be in the parade Caracalla raved about the day prior. Yet, there you were, draped in the finest and most colorful silks with jewelry in your hair. Inside your sleeve, you’d hidden the same kitchen knife you attempted to stab Lucius with.

You were sat beside Caracalla, who had Dundus upon his shoulder, and who had only grown more delusional since the day prior.

“Where is my brother?” He pulled on your sleeve like a child as you were escorted from the float and into the Colosseum.

A watery smiled pulled upon your lips, and you soothed him. “He feels most unwell today.”

“He should be here.” He sulked as you walked. “He would be happy for me.”

“And he is.” You lied. “You will see him again shortly.”

That managed to ease him, and you both were seated in the emperor’s box with Macrinus. It didn’t escape your vision how hundreds of Praetorians also circled the entire arena. As the time to the match grew closer, you did your best to calm your own nerves. This would be for the good of Rome. Once it was done, you would be able to rest easily again.

It was then you watched as, on one side of the Colosseum, a wagon was rolled out into the center of it. Tied to a pole, dressed up as if she were Venus herself, was Lucilla. All that attempt at soothing yourself was gone once you saw her eyes.

“Must we kill Lucilla?” Caracalla questioned.

You couldn’t even snidely repeat his question to Macrinus you were in such a state of anxiety. Macrinus responded.

“Until she is dead, you will never know peace.”

Thus, the event commenced. The announcer himself even sounded guilt-ridden as he spoke of the crimes Lucilla was being charged with. Treason, betrayal, all of it only anguished the spectators even more to see her being prepared for execution.

“Let it not be said that the Emperor is not merciful!” He yelled. “The queen will be granted a champion to defend her!”

Out from the other side of the arena came Lucius. Half of the Praetorians held their weapons to the man, while the other half faced the civilians as if expecting them to riot. Once again, at the sight of the scene before them, it would not surprise you.

You had been taught one a many myths by your father, mainly belonging to the Greeks. You were Cassandra; blessed by Apollo to speak of prophecies but cursed to not be believed.

When it seemed that hope was gone…Lucius rose his sword, and hundreds of gladiators sprinted from all sides.

The crowd and Caracalla were in an uproar at the excitement. Pandemonium ensued as the gladiators began to climb the barriers and civilians were attempting to enter the arena. The sound of arrows screaming entered your ears; so much so you could not hear what Macrinus was saying to another man, and why Caracalla was screaming.

You simply blinked, and once your eyes were open, you watched as Macrinus dove a needle into the side of Caracalla’s neck, killing him.

Only a gasp tore through your throat, having no ability to scream. Your body soon found reason to move, and you rose to your feet, remembering your duty. Macrinus had acquired a crossbow, aiming it towards Lucilla and Lucius now at the center of the arena.

You rose the knife from your sleeve, charging towards the man. The arrow was fired, and you leapt upon his shoulders.

He moved wildly, trying to force you off of him. You made attempt to slash his throat, but it made contact with his eye instead.

Still…he overpowered you. Flipping you over him, you dropped down into the arena, your head colliding with the ground.

The sky was orange above you when you opened your eyes. Your head had never felt so awful before, and you were surprised you could even sit up. All around you, bodies littered the Colosseum floor. If there was not blood laid before you, there were swords and shields.

Your eyes drifted to the center, and now sunken to the floor, was Lucilla on her wagon. You forced yourself to stand and walk towards her.

When you could see the arrow sticking in her chest, you began to run.

Climbing atop the wagon, you untied the ropes around her hurriedly.

“Mother,” you begged. “mother, can you hear me?”

“I am still here, sweet child.” She whispered weakly.

“Save your energy now.” You managed to free her, and then pulled her to your lap.

“I will be seeing my beloveds now.” She smiled.

“No,” you hissed. “you are going to live.”

She reassured. “It is alright. I have fulfilled everything that was asked of me, and what I wished for.”

“Mother-!”

“-You will look after him, won’t you?”

You wanted to cry; you wished that sadness was the first thing you felt. But no, it was anger. Still, you nodded. “I will, but you will be there to make sure he takes care of me too!”

“He shall.” Was all she said.

“You will live, just please stop talking.”

“I love you.”

“Lucilla…” Your voice broke.

“Tell Lucius I would do this all again for him.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Lucilla rose her hand to your cheek, brushing it tenderly one last time.

Her eyes were held open as she went limp in your arms. You closed her eyelids, knowing her gaze would haunt you.

You did not move for the first hour, nor did you cry out in despair. It was when the sun was completely gone, and you tore yourself away from her corpse did you collapse into a fit of sobs.

The ugliest sounds were released from your mouth as you could barely stand. You do not know how long you cried, but when you could finally move again, you crawled to the nearest sword, and trailed it behind you before climbing back up onto the wagon.

You tied the rope from her body around her legs, and brought her back into your lap, sword in hand.

There was no rest for you that night. You would nearly drift off into sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to give in until you could bury her properly. You also couldn’t bring yourself to bury her at the same time.

When you had lost time altogether, and the sky was purple as twilight broke, a gentle hand shook you.

Raising the sword in surprise, you felt your body relax once you saw Lucius. You should have asked how he survived, what happened to Macrinus, anything else…but all you said was.

“I wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

He nodded, tears threatening to fall as he gazed upon his dead mother. He took a deep breath. “May I take her?”

You handed her to him, and he took her into his arms. You scooted off the wagon, your eyes reddened and exhausted.

“Where,” you cleared your throat. “Where should she be buried?”

“I…” He heaved. “I know where my father’s grave is.”

“Okay.” Was all you managed.

And you walked by his side, neither of you knowing what your fate would befall in Rome.

Yet…once both slaves, you were now free.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #hanno x reader #lucius x reader #lucius versus x reader #emperor geta #geta x reader #marcus acacius #lucilla #gladiator 2 spoilers #emperor geta x reader #Youtube #lucius verus x reader

1K notes · View notes