#emotional entrapment

[indiaalphawhiskey]

I’ve been thinking about the evolution of these scenes a lot, and for all the flack part two gets, I think it perfectly illustrates one truth: Colin Bridgerton is consistent in his love to a fault, and he is hopelessly devoted to Penelope.

A lot of us (me) were bothered by him reducing their marriage to a show of his honor and nothing else, but, your honor, the scene on the right makes it clear that’s not true.

The actual truth is that he’d already forgiven her (in less than a day, mind you) — and he was angry at himself for how easy it was for him to do (common, unlucky lovesick fool that he is); angry at how Pen — even after embodying his ultimate dealbreaker — was really all that mattered to him now.

As @phantomphaeton said, what he was actually grappling with was emotional entrapment of it all — the harrowing realization that nothing, literally nothing, could make him not love her.

Because if you think about it, no matter what he may have said at the time, his honor wasn’t enough to make him stand by Marina. With her, honor had his limits. But with Pen? Nothing — not hell or high water — could stop that man from walking down the aisle.

And realizing that shocks him; it scares the living shit out of him, the acute knowledge that he’s so fucking far gone for her, he cannot fathom walking away, even from bloody Lady Whistledown.

So, when she suggests calling off the wedding, the man hurls that entrapment accusation at her with the ease of someone who’d been practicing it; someone who had a list ready to go at the slightest suggestion they break this off. In fact, he doesn’t even take it back when she says she doesn’t know if she will stop publishing, which, considering how much he wants her to stop, is actually super crazy, because it shows just how much he’s willing to put up with, if only just to keep her.

Anyway, Colin Dead Devoted Bridgerton, I look forward to analyzing even more of your desperately down bad clues.

[flowersarefreetherapy]

having so many thoughts about the cycle of abuse in TFP, specifically in the case of Starscream, how he takes out his anger at his situation on the others under him, unable to successfully protect himself against Megatron

not to mention no one else doing anything to protect him/actively helping in the cycle against him, thus continuing to entrap them all further in the cycle

[screambirdscreaming]

I read that article about [redacted] and I sort of need to talk about it but also I do not want to talk about it.

[edwardsissyhandsthtdanceslikeabb]

does shiv actually care abt loyalty?

thinking abt shivtom, then specifically WHY they're together i.e wrt shiv, made me reexamine logan's assessment of their relationship, i'd never thought too deeply abt it before, bc it certainly provoked a reaction from shiv (which was the point), and seemed biting enough, but i don't think that's quite what's going on there.

first off i don't think shiv's vice is loyalty, i don't think she was ever quite preoccupied with anyone's loyalty to her

(none of the siblings were — sans roman who was loyal TO logan and con, who chased after willa's love — [the two most romanticizing/complacent characters in relation to logan] but it could be argued that the two are the same thing manifesting differently),

let alone tom's, that's more logan's realm (projection lol? esp when he's notoriously disloyal and fickle in the romance department — and ACTUALLY pursues women below him, most notably kerry (also think its worth noting that when a woman did challenge him i.e gerri, he immediately devalues her, particularly interesting if you consider gerri's inclusion at the widow's table during his service — unless she was networking lol, doubly interesting considering his hypocrisies considering company dating/allegiance, ageism + desirability) — mans is NOTORIOUSLY noncommittal, esp as a means to ensnare ppl. which he and shiv DO share so maybe bru was cooking) and tom's, ironically [or not... more on that later].

loyalty, or one's preoccupation with it, is a possessive affliction, it demands, it is constantly evidenced and performed, its an anxious and insecure deficit — and this isn't to say that shiv isn't insecure (someone who opts for such shallow relationships and flits from vacuous intimacy to intimacy is obviously running from or compensating for smth), but she buries it, she disregards and bites back instead, opting to control and wound (treating things as tit for tat - transactional) —

shiv never really demanded things of tom, quite the opposite actually, she languished in his floundering, she pushed to see how much he could take, shiv shares caroline's judgement on the things logan loves: shiv too kicks to see if it will bother coming back, if it WANTS it bad enough. and shiv and logan are both cold and largely emotionally unavailable/unconcerned with emotion, and so the kind of passion that loyalty demands is largely absent from shiv & shivtom's dynamic, however the clinical, impassive manner in which shiv curates her life, CERTAINLY pertains to the way she moulds tom's place within it/her (😏).

to understand this, shiv's core fallibility has to actually be addressed, and that is - needing to be right™, or specifically, superior. shiv wants the sort of veneer that logan has earned, she wants to laud her superiority over others, the same way that logan thinks himself faultless and intellectually superior to his kin — except shiv wants to be able to feel superior abt it too, she wants to feel she earned it [which feeds into her efforts at individuality], she holds notions abt her true character that logan only wields manipulatively, practically.

unable to fit into logan's mould, shiv positions herself diametrically from him, seeking, unknowingly or otherwise, to best him at his own game [proving her superiority and equal formidability — the one he overlooked — bc part of shiv's overcompensation is egotism].

shiv is very perfunctory, and part of that probably stems from trying to claim this aforementioned individuality, trying to not be a logan derivative, to be better™.

shiv is always working in her own interests, even her pursuits within waystar always center herself, and ofc vying for heir is an inherently individualistic pursuit, but does waystar mean anything to shiv, like personally, other than a chance to take and spite, even until the end, a purely aggrandizing venture. shiv is concerned only with her stature during her tenure, with the optics of it all (as ken would say heh), shiv is constantly trying to assert herself, and similarly to all the roy siblings, her one pursuit is her most thwarted.

now this may not all meld given than love and betrayal specifically are shiv's consequences by the end of the show [the two things i posit she most neglected, yet evidently trailed her most], her interpersonal bonds largely frayed, but its important to note HOW this unfolds, and that these consequences were [not only] unforeseen, but inadvertent and inevitable. to expand on this, it needs to be acknowledged that at the core of the "betrayal" is tom besting shiv, its matson picking him over her, and a consequent reversal of their dynamic, tom now becoming the apparatus with which she accesses power instead of the inverse — her needing tom instead of him her. sure she had use for him/extricated smth exclusive to him, but she never felt indebted to him, she never felt weighted, tom was a choice, and she stuck by him to prove its worth to her, to always have a dependable sunk cost. evidenced largely by WHY shiv would stay upon her father's condemnations, upon their marring of her character, her undeniability, and its bc what shiv needs, what shiv truly values is subservience, its dependence, its the feeling of control and doing tom "favors", her benevolence and his constant parasitism, as she leeches and undermines his personal needs — the transaction. earning, feeling good™.

shiv is a coward yes. there's nothing to lose when you're uninvested, but there's also nothing to gain when nothing matters, including those around you. shiv had undermined and undercut tom at every opportunity and disregarded his every evident discomfort at her betrayals. tom, despite the implicit tenuous transactional tone of their relationship, actually tried to humanize shiv, its far from mere waffling when tom says he's offered her endless validation, when he says her sense of identity is non-existent, he's accepted her slights, he's offered the simple life, he's even doubted the authenticity of her pregnancy despite most seeing his attempts at family to be entrapping shiv. in actuality, shiv began to panic when there was no one to posture to, when the vacuum of logan's validation/acknowledgment also ushered in tom's independence, his participation in the game, elevated from mere collateral or pawn.

interestingly enough, tho, shiv treats tom most favorably when he openly wants, when he rejects his own pretenses and frailty and is callous and unfeeling like her, as if goading and priming him for this very iteration — a man she built up, gave value, modest and ambitious, and notably, a similar archetype to her socialclimber father [and tom IS the new logan, a ruthless opportunist corroded by the elitist world into viewing others merely as capitol (e.g shiv). shiv legit marries her father — siggy freu boy would be proud]. shiv enjoys the antagonism, the freedom in unabashed cruelty, but its in her indulgence that she loses, that she underestimates and comes to, ironically, find value in the adoration and dependence tom once supplied.

the hand that feeds finally being bit.

to conclude, this can easily be construed as loyalty: validation, subservience - they are the mark of subjects, of subordinates, and one's subordinates are implicitly loyal, but does shiv require his heart? does she require his care? does she agonize over being "fcked for her dna", or does she tally, does she loom, waiting, waiting for tom to incur her moral adjudication, making him work for her notice otherwise, fashioning her missteps into technicalities and overreactions and transaction.

does shiv need tom, or does shiv need tom to need her? [does she need his loyalty, him — authentic, dedicated and uncalculated. — or what he can provide her, his unwavering need.

logan is right that she's marrying a man fathoms beneath her, but she never cared much for him, his qualities, his approval, his presence, his allegiance (or lackthereof) or dependability, it was the echoes of her own influence she most prized. not loyalty, but entrapment — just like her pappy lol].

[sweetdreamsbuck]

I should not have finished part 2 of bridgerton season 3. just as I feared. 🥲

I honestly feel like so much was missing? there were so many points that confused me because I felt like scenes were probably removed when they shouldn't have been

miss penelope you will always be famous

[subconsciousmysteries]

it pains me to announce that if you got fucked over by someone with a mental illness and now you project that mental illness onto everyone mildly strange who you come into contact with

you too are MENTALLY ILL and you need to stop scapegoating others for your problems because you are the fucking problem.

[turtle-seance]

... the other good thing about my family not following this blog is i can also uh. say things that are not terrible jokes

[herawell]

.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Do u think Theon has a gambling addiction

[ojustice]

gender: prey animal sexuality: herbivore

[thesummerstorms]

I've seen a lot about Spite joining in Lucanis's anger at Solas for imprisoning Rook, which is always a treat.

I've been thinking though of how Spite would take the blood magic/mind manipulation but specifically though. We do get that fun line at the end game about "You. Hurt. Rook."

But especially when Rook first reveals the mind control to Lucanis? Especially a romanced Lucanis?

Mages using blood magic to warp your very nature is not only a real and intense source of danger for spirits, something they maybe understand even better than mortals, it is a trauma Spite has specifically endured.

Venatori Blood mages pulled Determination unwillingly through the Fade, imprisoned it in Lucanis, and for all Spite seems set in keeping its new name, that was a major source of trauma for it.

Now Pride is somehow also a blood mage and has used Blood Magic to entrap Rook and to alter their mind enough to make them fit into the locks of the Regret Prison. Literally trying to change their sense of self.

Rook, who Spite trusts more than any other human, even Lucanis, who Lucanis loves, who Spite loves in so much as an embodiment of Spite can love, and Pride has tried to hurt them and trap them and change them the way Spite was hurt and trapped and changed. No matter how confusing mortal emotions and pains and existence are that is something Spite can understand and dread/resent.

Solas is very lucky that Rook was returned to them by the time Spite and Lucanis saw him next is all I'm saying.

[feminism839]

The idea of radical feminism being labeled as "transphobic" for questioning certain practices around gender underscores the tension between different feminist movements. Issues like women's sports, lesbian spaces, and child sterilization are contentious within these debates. Often, it is men who enforce these ideologies within liberal feminist spaces, policing women's thoughts and actions. This dynamic reflects historical patterns of men controlling the discourse around women's rights and spaces. Men—who might otherwise consider themselves supportive or open-minded—will often resort to condescending remarks like "who hurt you?" or "you re just bitter." This response seems designed not to understand but to discredit. But what s really happening here? Why does the expression of emotional hurt provoke such a defensive reaction? Sex and gender debates often highlight the hypocrisy of gender activists. While they argue that sex and gender are distinct, they conflate the two when it benefits their agenda, such as in access to sex-segregated spaces like bathrooms and sports. This inconsistency undermines the legitimacy of their arguments and sidelines the concerns of women who seek to protect sex-segregated spaces for their safety and privacy. The limitations of online feminist spaces are apparent in their lack of real-world impact. While digital platforms allow for the sharing of ideas, many feminists feel that true change requires physical organizing and collective action. Without this shift, feminist movements risk remaining performative rather than achieving meaningful societal transformation. It's a system designed to entrap and control women. Where I live - you can get legally married in about 30 minutes. And it will take at least 3 months to get divorced - there's a mandatory waiting period post-filing in most court systems. Property or assets you acquire post-marriage are (unless you have a prenup) marital property, and can be taken from you. Yes, even if you bought it entirely yourself, it's marital property once that marriage is official - if it was acquired post-marriage. Youve got to thwomp like you mean it, especially when banana is involved.Why does everything have to be so snubilius with you? PRA…That's it. Why is the Toasty Realm always full of grubbley memmbers? perfect cell: Ive never heard of a male that could liminary like that in Hotel Mario. I didnt prip for this peanut buttery gyns, it found me in the funny carnival. Well, thats just silly. I cant tumble my way out of this. In the end, Garlic was just another tubular male. In the end, Garlic was just another tubular male. In the end, Garlic was just another tubular male.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

part 2

The BAU team arrived at the small town of Crescent Hills, ready to investigate a series of gruesome murders. The victims all shared similar physical characteristics. The team quickly realized that the killer was targeting women who looked exactly like you, the same hair, the same eyes and somehow personality, which had to be the scarriwst part of them all.

As the team discussed their next move, Spencer couldn't help but stare at her. She was the spitting image of the victims, but she seemed unfazed by the situation. In fact, she suggested that she pose as bait in order to catch the killer. She was the agent her mentor made her, because Hotch would have done the same in a heartbeat. Yet as Hotch looked at the young woman standing at his side, standing tall and holding her head high with pride and bravery, wearing a mask of calmness hiding her whirlwind of emotions with quite the efficiency.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his best friend putting herself in danger. His hands shook with dread and anxiety and his mind raced to a million directions as his heart seemed to weight a few tons more than usual. He was so confused. He had always seen her as a friend, but in that moment, he couldn't deny the intense feelings he had for her. Yes he had always cared for her, and wouldn't wish any harm in her way, but at this moment he desperately wished to have been the genius he claimed to be, to find a way out of this, to solve this without any one getting hurt, to keep her safe and alive and well next to him, hoping she felt even a sliver of the intesity of his emotions. He knew he couldn't let her go through with this plan. He had to act quickly, not caring if he embarrassed himself in the process.

"You can't do this, it's too dangerous," Spencer pleaded with her, his eyes shining with unshead tears as he saw her walking in her hotel room, trying to make herself more appealing for the UnSub.

"I can handle myself, Spencer," she replied confidently."Do not worry. I have been trained from the best." She whispered as she lightly hugged him and kissed his cheeks and the storm raging inside of him seemed to calm down for a few short seconds.

But Spencer couldn't shake off the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. He had been so focused on his work and solving the case that he hadn't even realized his true feelings for her until now. As the team set up a plan, Spencer couldn't help but keep a close eye on her. He couldn't let her out of his sight. But as she put herself in harm's way, Spencer's heart was in his throat

The warehouse was quiet, the ominous shadows twisting around the corners like specters waiting to strike and fear started clawing its way to her heart. Derek Morgan’s voice echoed in her mind; “You’re one of us, kiddo. Trust your instincts.” But in this moment, trust felt like an anchor dragging her deeper into despair.

She was second guessing herself now as well as her abilities. Maybe she had made a mistake. She had volunteered without hesitation, knowing the stakes were high. A string of brutal murders had terrorized several towns, and the Behavioral Analysis Unit needed to understand what made this killer tick. But she had never expected that the very thing she sought to uncover would entrap her instead.

As she stepped deeper into the warehouse, darkness enveloped her like a suffocating blanket. The cold was biting, but the fear coursed through her veins like ice. She had set off the sound of a chilling recording, a mocking lure that had been crafted specifically for the UnSub. The air was alive with tension, every creak of the old metal structure amplifying her dread.

“Just breathe,” she murmured to herself, but her heart raced faster with every passing second. Somehow, despite the adrenaline's flow, she felt an unsettling calm, as if her body was preparing for something inevitable.

She thought of the team back at the BAU. Hotch would be analyzing their data, Emily and Derek keeping their wits about them, and as she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Spencer Reid’s gentle voice. He was always a soothing presence, with his deep well of knowledge and quirky sense of humor.

“Remember when I tried to teach you how to play chess?��� he whispered in her mind, a memory flooding back. They had been at a coffee shop breaking down a case when she had confided that she hadn’t learned the game as a child. With a persistent twinkle in his eye, he taught her the basics, patiently explaining the rules as she fumbled through the moves. They laughed when she mistakenly thought pawns could move diagonally anytime.

In this dark warehouse, she recalled how he had once said, “You have to think several moves ahead. In chess, just as in life.” She held onto that wisdom now, fighting to stifle her panic.

The quiet was shattered by footsteps echoing through the maze of crates and rusted metal. She steeled herself, adrenaline rushing through her as the UnSub emerged from the shadows. He was a tall figure, cloaked in darkness, his face obscured by a mask that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She fought the surge of terror that threatened to overwhelm her. How? How had he been expecting her? She was a trained spy for the love of God, before joining the BAU, had she rusted her abilities this quickly? It had only been five years. Five wonderful, free years.

She couldn’t falter. In her mind, she anchored herself to another memory: a sunny afternoon with Reid. They had shared ice cream on a picnic blanket, debating the best flavors like children. He had quipped that pistachio was underappreciated, while she insisted on the classic chocolate chip cookie dough.

“You’re practically a gourmet, aren’t you?” she teased, and his laugh had brightened that day, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

But now, there were no sunny picnics; shadows danced along the walls as the UnSub advanced towards her. She could see glimmers of rage flickering in his eyes, an intensity that struck fear into her heart.

“Let’s see just how strong you are,” he hissed, gripping her arms in a vice-like hold. She gasped as pain shot through her, but even as she winced, she summoned the memory of Reid, who had taught her the importance of mindfulness in the face of fear.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, fueling her resolve with every ounce of anger she could muster.

But he laughed, a cruel sound that sent tremors of dread through her. The sharpness of reality cut through her feelings of safety, and she swallowed hard, desperately piecing together scattered memories, trying to fund the best course of action but it was already to late. She felt sluggish and slow, something was wrong.

She tried to find the good memories, to find courage and strength, such as Reid’s infinite patience, his love for obscure trivia, the whimsical way he could make her smile even in the darkest of moments.

“Your game is over,” the UnSub snarled, his breath hot against her skin.

As he began to carry out his twisted intentions, she closed her eyes tightly, conjuring one last memory, one that radiated warmth in the encroaching darkness. The night Reid had confessed his fears of inadequacy, only to find solace in their bond, his fingers grazing hers in comforting reassurance, his eyes reflecting the kind of understanding that only comes from empathy.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, even as fear clawed at her soul. “No matter what happens, I’m not afraid. I will not give you the satisfaction of the perfect murder, trust me it will be a fight to bring me down.”

"Oh, but you have already lost. I think you must be feeling it be now."

Her heart pounded with the realization that she might not escape. But in those harrowing moments, as she fought against the loop of pain and despair, she anchored herself in the love and camaraderie of her team—every shared laugh, every overcoming of hardship. No matter what happened, they would carry her spirit forward.

In those last flickers of consciousness, she thought of Spencer, his brilliance, his laugh, and the unyielding strength of their bond. She hoped he would forgive her for failing to bring him the answers they so desperately needed, all while holding onto the belief that even the darkest of nights must give way to dawn.

With that thought, she embraced the memories that would never fade, hoping they would echo in the hearts of those she loved, a reminder that even in their darkest hours, they could find light.

Then the darkness came.

The cold grip of fear tightened around Spencer Reid's heart as he stood in the dimly lit acting conference room of the BAU, a small desk office of the local police station. The air was thick with tension and the weight of impending decisions that could alter their fates. He paced the floor anxiously, running a hand through his tousled hair while his mind raced with worst-case scenarios.

“Guys, we can’t go through with this,” he implored, turning to face his team, his voice a tremor of desperation. “The unsub is more unpredictable than we anticipated, and we can’t risk her life. What if—”

“It’s not just about her,” Derek Morgan countered, crossing his arms. “This mission aims to take down a dangerous criminal. We need to act fast before he slips through our fingers again.”

“But what if he targets her, Morgan?” Spencer’s voice escalated, echoing in the room. “I've analyzed his patterns. If she’s involved, she’s at extreme risk. We can’t afford to lose her!”

Emily Prentiss, caught between the mounting urgency and Reid’s grave expression, glanced at the other agents. “We have to trust our instincts, Spencer, but you know we all understand the risk involved. We can deploy a secondary team to protect her—”

“No!” Reid snapped, panic threading his tone. “You don’t understand. I can’t shake this feeling. What if this is a trap? She shouldn’t be there. We need to stop this. We need to call it off.”

The room fell silent as his pleas hung in the air, but time was running out, and the team had a job to do. With reluctant determination, they gathered their gear and left the conference room, unknowingly walking into the lion’s den.

Spencer’s heart raced as he followed them, a whirlwind of dread washing over him. They arrived at the location of the suspected meeting and quickly fanned out, but dread settled deeper in his chest as time ticked away.

Minutes felt like hours, and Reid’s worries morphed into a nightmare. Suddenly, over the comms, a shout broke through the chaos, and panic pierced the stillness. “She’s down! She’s down!”

Spencer’s instinct kicked in, but it felt like running through molasses as he pushed past his teammates. His breath quickened dramatically. He reached the scene, and there she was—Her body lay still against the cold asphalt, pale and lifeless.

Everything around him blurred as the sirens wailed in the distance, blending into an agonizing scream that reverberated in his mind. He dropped to his knees beside her, an overwhelming despair crashing down like a tidal wave. “No, no, no…” he chanted, disbelief coursing through him as the realization sank in.

He placed his hands on her chest, feeling the emptiness where her spirit should have been. “Stay with me. Please,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he started CPR. Each pump felt futile, desperation fueling his actions—A metronome to the rhythm of her fading heartbeat.

“Come on, please! Breathe, breathe!” Spencer’s voice cracked as he pressed harder, not willing to accept the undeniable truth standing stark against reality—a truth that seemed to throng his senses.

Suddenly, strong hands pulled him backward. “Spencer, let the medics handle this,” a voice shouted through the fog of his anguish. It was Morgan, trying to wrestle him back to reality.

“No! I can’t! I won’t let her go!” Reid screamed, thrashing against the hold, fighting against the gravity of grief. But the world around him was collapsing, everything turning hazy, the wail of the sirens growing louder, drowning him in despair.

“Spencer!” Morgan’s voice cut through the fog, but it felt distant, as if coming from underwater. He was pulled away from the scene, from her cold body that lay so still. The agents moved in, the medics began their work, but Reid felt as if a piece of himself was being torn apart, the agonizing reality sinking its teeth deeper into his soul.

He fell to his knees, the weight of his failure crashing into him like a heavy stone, unyielding and unforgiving. Tears streamed down his face as he watched helplessly, the ache in his chest mimicking a gaping wound.

Desperation clawed at him as he realized that no amount of pleading or data could bring her back. And in that moment, the chaos of the world faded away, and all he knew was a profound loss that reverberated through every fiber of his being.

And then the impossible happened. She was still bleeding, covered in deep cuts by a knife that would scar her for life. Yet her chest lifted lightly before falling down.

Once.

Twice.

He was sure he was dreaming of it. His mind playing a trick on him, not being ready to register his life without her existence.

But no.

It was true. She was breathing.

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

Pt2

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VII

series masterlist - part six

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You experience the consequences of the previous night.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, toxic relationships, unhealthy relationships, controlling/possessive behavior, dub-con, forced proximity, sexism, historical inaccuracies

Word Count: 2.5k

You were awake long before the sun peeked over the horizon. It lit up Caracalla's rooms bit by bit until it was impossible to ignore. You attempted to sit up but Caracalla's arm was iron-tight around your waist.

He mumbled something but did not wake. His brother, on the other hand, looked at you with clear eyes. You suspected Geta had also struggled to find sleep. His eyes were red and irritated, his face pale despite the lack of makeup.

"Lie back down," he commanded quietly.

"I have duties to attend to," you reminded him.

"Your duties are what I say they are," he dismissed. He reached up and pressed his hand flat against your sternum, forcing you down until your back hit the pillows.

A tense quiet ensued. Geta did not move his hand. The rings on his fingers glinted in the rising sun. You could see indents in his skin where he had repeatedly twisted them.

In the light of day things seemed so much clearer. You hand found some odd comfort in the presence of the emperors last night - idiotic. Idiotic because it was likely your proximity to them that had driven this strange act against you.

Yet what else could you do? Your friends were out of reach; you had no-one else to confide in. The attack was not really against you. It was against the emperors. Had someone managed to harm you it would have been no different to breaking their favourite toy.

Geta cleared his throat. "You have been very affectionate with my brother."

Your head snapped to face him. "You say that as though I have had a choice. Emperor."

Geta scoffed, tugging on a strand of your hair. "I've watched you with him. You are hardly unwilling."

Shamed, you turned your head to face the man in question. Caracalla slept peacefully despite the tension brewing beside him. Soft gusts of breath ghosted your upper arm as he slumbered on, eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids. What did the Emperor of Rome dream of other than conquering and bloodshed?

Geta's fingers crept up to your chin and he forced you to turn back to him. "Look at me. Not him."

"I - I do not know what you want," you stammered. Your hands hovered uselessly in the air as though you could protect yourself against him.

"I want what you have given my brother," he said, rising until he was on his knees. He straddled you, entrapping you between his knees. "I demand that you look at me the same way you do him."

Trembling, you shook your head. If you had any control over your empathy you would not be in the position you were currently in. You would have walked on that night, focused on your own desires, and whatever was beneath the table would have been a mystery.

Geta's hand encircled your throat. "I thought you might understand now," he whispered, "what it is like to be hated. People have tried to hurt my brother and I before - last night they tried to hurt you. Do you not understand?"

"I understand," you nodded frantically. It was not a lie.

Geta leaned down until his nose dusted yours, until you were sharing the same breath of air. "You do. I can see that you do," he continued, "which is why you must obey us. Give yourself to us. No more questioning looks or quiet contemplation. We are your Emperors."

You wrapped a hand around Geta's wrist but did not try to pull it away. Whatever this was had been brought on by the incident last night. This desperate bid for understanding, for sympathy. Geta had not been as large of a presence in your life as Caracalla. It was clear he'd been using the distance between the pair of you to observe, to figure out how to draw emotions from you like water from a well.

"And what am I?" you asked, voice shaking.

"Ours," he said simply. "Nothing else matters."

He pressed a bruising kiss to your lips. You cried out and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth before pulling away, satisfied.

For the moment.

Others peered at you curiously from your spot beside the emperors. They were sat on their thrones, glistening with gold and intricate details. You stuck out like a sore thumb beside them on a small wooden chair.

It was not possible to rise as you had without being in service of the emperors and most thought that women could only offer one thing. They probably thought you were a whore. Maybe they were right.

A senator cleared his throat, side-eying you. "It has been done, my Emperors."

His words piqued your interest. Was it possible that they had found the one responsible for last night? You glanced over at Geta, gauging his reaction.

He looked bored. "Have them cut them down in two hours."

Alarmed, you waited until the senator had left the room to turn to Geta. "Cut who down, Emperor?"

"The fools responsible for last night," he snarled, "I had them hung for their carelessness."

"Praetorians?" you asked, horrified. "How many?"

"Five or six," he shrugged, "just the ones on duty in that particular corridor."

Somehow, after everything you had seen and experienced, you were stunned. Whilst you had been wrapped up in your own misery last night, six men had been living their last hours.

Geta's lip curled at the expression on your face. "You cannot possibly believe that they should live. It is because of them that we were all in danger and the culprit may feel emboldened enough to come back."

"Though he shall not get away with it again," Caracalla giggled, high pitched and unserious.

You almost wished the person would come back. Geta and Caracalla had increased the amount of Praetorians everywhere they could. Twenty had been pulled from their duties on the outskirts of the city. If the culprit dared to come back they would undoubtedly be killed and you could rest easily.

It was a selfish want. You were beginning to see that sometimes you had to be a little bit selfish in order to survive. You pushed all thoughts of the Praetorians aside. If you did not you were not sure you could cope.

It was at that moment that Lady Lucilla walked into the room. You tilted your head up to observe her approaching. She was beautiful, her clothing elegant and complementing the many braids and curls of her hair. There was a sprig of lavender in her hand; you imagined the smells of the city were quite overwhelming for someone who lived further on the outskirts.

The stench of death, you thought.

She offered you a soft smile and you reciprocated. You had never personally interacted with her but her maids had never said a bad word. That did not mean that they liked her - it is hard to like those who have naturally been given advantages in life - but she was kind in a world where that was not the norm.

"Emperors," she bowed her head. "And you are -?"

Caracalla told her your name and she repeated it, acknowledging you before turning back to the emperors. They offered no explanation for why you were there and she did not ask.

"My husband and I are grateful for the respite you so graciously offered him."

You ears perked up at that. It had been the first you had heard of General Acacius since that day in Geta's rooms. It seemed that, against all odds, the brothers had considered your words.

"We will be attending your games tomorrow," she continued, "we both. . .look forward to it."

You almost laughed. It seemed Lady Lucilla enjoyed violence almost as much as you. This was the first you had heard of the Games being tomorrow. You did not have to ask to know that it was likely you would be forced to attend.

It would not go well for you. Blood was one thing, but gore and the violence against animals truly turned your stomach. The Gladiators only had an illusion of choice - fight for your freedom or die. It took years to earn freedom and those few who did were often shells of themselves by the end.

The emperors behaved differently with Lady Lucilla. It was apparent that they yearned for her approval. Their own parents had passed on quite some time ago. If they had an adult mentor in their lives perhaps things would have been different. For them and for you.

Lady Lucilla left the hall and you were once again alone with the emperors. There were a few slaves on the outskirts of the walls but they were not within earshot. That had been you, once. How you craved for the coolness of the wall against your back, the weight of a jug in your hand and the blessing of invisibility.

"I need to relieve myself," you abruptly said, standing from your chair.

Caracalla waved you away but did not take his eyes off you as you went. How long did you have before they would come looking for you? Five minutes? Ten? If you took any longer they would likely come and drag you back to the hall themselves.

You were in such a rush that you almost bumped into Lady Lucilla as you rounded the corner.

"Oh," you held out your hands, "I am so sorry. Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven," she laughed, holding the lavender beneath her nose. "I understand why you might be in a hurry."

You swallowed and glanced around before shrugging. It was best if you did not say too much. Whilst you were not sure of the specifics, you were aware that there had been tensions between Lucilla and the emperors in the last few years. She was beloved by the people. Her support meant the support of Rome.

"I do not wish to keep you for long," she said slowly, "but I understand that you have the ear of the emperors."

"No," you gasped, "not at all, I -"

"I am not asking for favors," she assured you, "only offering advice. They lack good guidance and spurn those who offer it. If you find yourself in a position to give it, do so. They do not understand the people of Rome - perhaps you do."

With that, she turned and left. You pondered her words for a moment before heading to relieve yourself, lest the emperors come retrieve you.

It was becoming apparent why you had been targeted last night. Someone viewed you as - what, a threat? It was difficult to wrap your mind around. Your life had been thrown in to chaos and had been that way for almost two weeks now. You hardly had time for plotting and scheming!

It felt as though you existed only for the amusement of Caracalla and Geta. To think you had any real sway over them was laughable. The fact they had given Acacius leave was nothing to do with you.

It was not just the emperors that were dangerous; merely being around them was pushing you into new perilous situations.

When you returned to the hall Caracalla was on his feet, gesturing wildly amongst a group of guards. When he saw you he seemed to calm, shoving past the Praetorians and coming to meet you halfway.

He held your forearms in a bruising grip. "Where did you go?"

"To relieve myself," you squeaked, "as I told you."

His eyes scanned your face, searching for the lie. When he did not find one he smiled, turning round and dragging you back to the thrones.

Instead of letting you sit back on your own chair he settled you in his lap. Humiliation burned hot and true. He set about playing with your hair, twirling strands and occasionally tugging them if he felt your attention strayed from him.

To their credit, the senators that came to talk to the emperors did a good job of ignoring you. There was only confusion, mostly likely at the fact you did not resemble the concubines that typically were strewn about the place.

The entire day had been exhausting in a way you had not experienced before. The senators were frustrating and repetitive. If they disagreed with something they had no better idea to offer. They simpered and scraped, flattered and exaggerated, and after five hours had gone by you were thoroughly irritated.

"And. . .there will be food at these Games?" senator Velius asked.

"That is what I said," Geta raised his chin, looking every bit the proud emperor. "The people will enjoy themselves more if we feed them as well as entertain them. And what is the job of an emperor, if not to serve the people?"

"Of course," senator Velius nodded. He looked as though he was expecting to be told it was a joke. You would have thought so too but Geta had told the last three senators that had come the same thing.

Geta cared less about the people and more about his and his brother's image. It appeared as though he had finally settled on a way to control how they were perceived. You knew pandering to those he saw as below him was painful.

Geta had decided to have stalls outside the coliseum, offering food provided from their most recent conquest. Apparently Acacius had brought back exotic fruits and animals you had not seen before but the most special items were to be saved for the palace.

People were mostly simple beings. As long as they were fed and entertained everything else fell somewhere behind on the list of priorities.

"You'll sit with us during the Games," Caracalla told you, pinching your thighs.

"The Games make me sick," you said bluntly.

"Then you can look at me instead," he said hotly, trying to squeeze his hands between your locked thighs. "Open -"

"Brother," Geta interrupted, as he always did. "Save the excitement for tomorrow."

Caracalla scowled and nipped at your jaw before allowing you to sit back in your seat. The small spot on your jaw stung from his teeth and you absentmindedly rubbed the area.

You had seen how bloodshed excited the emperors. Tomorrow would be intense - for the gladiators and for you.

It was not just the blood. It was the people - the praise, the cheers, the exhilaration of it all. The moment when the gods used them as vessels and decided whether to let a man live or kill him as he knelt in the sand.

You could feel Caracalla's eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. You were not sure why Geta restrained himself and his brother but you got the sense that Caracalla was not going to put up with it for much longer.

Geta scared you. You saw the way he looked at you. You had seen the evidence of his desire in his robes. It felt as though he was waiting for something only you had no idea what that something may be.

Why had they not just taken what they wanted already? You tried not to think of them touching you but it was hard when every day you were wondering why they had not. Their resistance had you obsessing over every moment, wondering if this was finally it, and as a result you were thinking about sex far too often.

It felt like a ridiculous mind game that you had no hope of winning. You were not entirely sure what winning even meant anymore. You felt only loss and a sick sense of anticipation.

Author’s Note - please please leave likes, comments & reblogs if you enjoyed! I also love asks so if you have thoughts please send them♥️

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