#geta is a bitch ok

[punk-in-docs]

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

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

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

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

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your oldest brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

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

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

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

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

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

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Seven

Summary: Aftermath of the attack.

Notes/Warnings: 18 & over, harsh language, verbal threat of violence, tending to a wound, innuendo for a sex act.

Thank you everyone for reading & sorry for the delay! But I finished it all on my flight. Yay!

❤️s, reblogs, feedback & comments are always welcome.

“Don’t dare kill him. But use any means necessary to find out if he was working alone.”

“Should we bring her down there as well, sire?”

“Are you questioning me?” Geta’s voice thundered.

“Yes, brother you should. The little bitch probably let this would be assassin in.”

Caracalla appeared from behind him. He had not even heard when he arrived. The fire of his anger strengthened.

“Or why else was she here?” His snake like voice continued.

He stared down at his brother. He did not care for another outburst with him in front of others. He bit the inside of his cheek as he took a breath.

“All of you leave, except you Aelia.” He finally snarled out.

“Yes, sire.”

The guards marched out holding now struggling captor.

He held up a hand. “Wait.”

On a quick pace, he went over to his would be assassin. He craned his neck to sneer down at them.

“You should have killed me, because now you won’t get any relief if I have any say.”

He straightened himself. He made a dismissive gesture with a ringed hand.

“Geta, no Geta.” A soft sound that could have been his name came from your lips.

“Sire?”

Aelia was down on one knee as you appeared to reviving from your fainting spell.

“Is she waking?”

“Yes. What should we do?”

“Don’t let her soften your spirits, brother.”

“Why are you still here?”

“You’re dismissing me?”

“Yes. I said everyone.”

He could see a mixture of reactions was over his face. Then an almost mask of quiet came over him. It almost churned his stomach as much as the assassin had.

“Fine. But they better look at that.” He pointed at his arm.”

“First and foremost check the back of her head, it would be a horrible cost if she had lost flair for a beauty with words after falling as she did.”

“Yes, sire. But your arm.”

He rose his eyebrows. She should know better, now was not the time to question him.

“Yes, sire.”

You startled at the touch and opened your eyes.

“Huh? What is going on ?”

Looking around I saw Geta. Some very ruffled, flattened curls sat on his sweaty brow. A sharp frown brought his mouth down. He was ok, distantly you had heard but none of it seemed real.

You reached out to him.

“He didn’t get you.”

A sharp chuckle, he didn’t know he could muster, especially right now bubbled from him. It dampened the anger.

“No, he will have to better than that to get me.”

********

Somehow cradling your head, helped with the soft throb of pain. You watched Alelia as she looked at Geta’s arm. You remembered what your mother had done when your brother had fallen from a tree.

A frustration came over you. What she had done healed his wound fast. Where when something similar happened to one of his friends, his wound had become angry had and had to be cut into to clean it. It had made you sick when hearing such a thing.

“Do we have any water Aelia and any strips of cloth, possibly a clear oil we use for cleaning?”

“Yes?”

“Fetch them for me, I mean for his sire.”

He looked at you. The look that came over her face as she glanced at you, made you actually step back.

“My brother had a similar wound, I watched my mother tend to it.” You said softly.

“I am sorry.” You bowed your head. “I am not questioning you.”

“Listen to her.”

You rose your head at Geta’s voice.

Aelia nodded. “Never seen or of heard of this method. I will watch.”

********

He hissed as you dribbled some of the clear oil into the wound.

“If my brother was right, and you are only helping the assassin the punishments Hades will give when you finally reach him will be nothing compared to what I will do.”

“With your bare hands sir?”

You instantly bit your tongue. The silence in the room grew heavier.

“Sire, I am sorry. My tongue spoke from the flutters of butterfly wings of worry that still cling to my heart.”

Once again he chuckled.

“I got my answer. She wasn’t hurt too badly. She can still weave beautiful images when she speaks.”

“Too bad it didn’t mend any foolishness.”

“But yes,” He added, you finally dare to meet his eyes. The soft earth of his eyes were barely visible a black tide had taken them. “If you are. I will take great care in wrapping my fingers around your throat.”

The lethalness that filled his tone, reminded you of words spoken, whispered of him.

“On my heart, I am yours completely sire till Hades decides I no longer need a beating heart or air to breathe.”

*******

You were walking over to the tricinium body heavy, your sleep when it finally paid you visit barely held onto you. Images of what happened kept appearing to you. Some grew worse but faded when you turned.

Keeping your head down, you kept your pace quick. Walking into something solid made you stop, you saw an all too familiar color of fabric. You immediately looked up.

His curled lips did little help the blemishes that sat on his face. He should calm his turbulent heart you thought.

You immediately bowed your head just barely seeing his eyes. Hoping he didn’t noticed.

A grabbed your hair fresh with new ribbons, it awakened the throbbing that had lessened.

“The dogs should have been enjoying you for breakfast.”

You didn’t speak. He had silenced your tongue.

“No words, this morning?” He drew close.

He smelled sour, something clung and make the powder on his face patchy as if someone mending a wall or street. Did his attendants not know how he looked. Did they not know how to smoothen his face? Your worry confused you. He had been nothing but cruel, but you worried.

You still didn’t utter a word.

He forced you from his hand. You maintained your balance.

“Leave my vision.”

“Yes, sire.” You finally uttered.

Then with haste in your step you made the rest of the way to the tricinium.

“There she is.”

The rich voice of Geta filled the small room.

From where he lounged he looked magnificent. Your heart fluttered, though with wings of worry. With something you couldn’t exactly put a finger on. The general reclined beside him. He offered a warm smile.

“Sire, general.” You bowed your head.

“As sweet, as flower like always.” The general remarked.

Geta, glanced his way.

“She would fill my goblet when I sit watch in the coliseum.”

Geta, nodded. “That was wearing I first saw her bloom.”

“So you clipped her and made her yours.”

“Naturally.”

The general nodded. “Good. We wouldn’t want her to be trampled under foot. Especially, if Caracalla had chosen to snip her himself.”

“Come, eat you must be hungry after all that transpired the night before.”

The general raked his fingers through his hair. “Oh?” His eyes lit up.

Glancing from under your tresses. You had not liked the behavior of the general, something put you off.

You glanced, around. Comforted that Aelia must be fetching some more food since there was a guest.

Comfortable, you then spoke. “He is speaking of the sword of passion that I had been run through with.”

Geta’s eyes grew but then relaxed as he grabbed a popped a grape into his mouth.

“Oh? I see.”

You nodded, then with a shaky hand you grabbed some more of those crisp grapes and some strawberries.

“I was quite a mess, still am.”

The general laughed.

“Our emperor, is quite versed in the sword.” A smirk curled his lips. “At least that is what the whispers speak of.”

“Enough. Of this nonsense. You told me there was a some uprisings in the south.”

You glanced at Geta, grateful you didn’t flinch even though inwardly you felt as if you had.

“Yes. Nothing serious.”

“Squash them. I do not tolerate unrest.”

“Not needed. The 48th legion just got home.”

“Then send out another. They need to know, there is no questioning us. Rome above all.”

“Rome above all.” The general echoed.

“Rome above all.” You echoed.

Geta, glanced at you and there was a shadow of a smile.

“We’ll leave in the fortnight.”

“Go sooner.”

“We need to prepare.”

“Grab a legion that is, and go!”

The general hung his head for a moment. He popped a few olives into his mouth. Them nodded. “I can do that.”

“That is why you are the general.”

“Yes, sire.” He stood.

Geta barely looked up, but then he stood and shook the fabrics that had laid on his legs. “Victory for Rome.”

The general saluted and bowed then stood. “Victory for Rome.” And he walked out.

Once the door clanged behind him. You barely breathed when you found your chin in Geta’s hand.

Blinking, you looked up at him. “Why didn’t you allow me to tell him? I trust him with Rome, my life.”

“I didn’t like his mood.”

“Oh? So you are now dictating what is said and not said?”

You looked down. “No Geta.” You glanced up. “It gave me a chill.”

“Alright. But do not do that again.” He let you go.

You nodded.

“I will not be pleased when I have to explain to him, why we didn’t discuss it here.”

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn @helsa3942

[jkgnggj]

REAL AND LET ME TELL YOU WHYYY

obvi he reads Wattpad c'mon he was like a nine year old with no adult supervision on the Internet that's where he read all those fucking delusional one direction x y/n reader insert stories he ate that shit up and probs even wrote some himself he's a hopeless touch starved romantic who just wanted to be sold by his parents to some boy band it's every girls dream.

Also yeah he's a big tall dude and with the force he's been using to jump onto saiki to hug him ofc he's used to like putting his whole weight on the dude and he's not used to touching ppl or physical interaction so whenever he gets the chance to hug anyone else he's def miscalculating and tipping them both over like the big loveable idiot he is.

AND LITERALLY THE CHOPSTICKS ONE LIKE like he was born and raised in a temple and wears fucking geta everywhere he goes as a casual thing those are his go to shoes not sandals not Crocs fucking getas that are like hard to walk in maybe comparable to heels or worse bc if u put too much weight on the toes ull fall over bc the like heels of it are just two fucking blocks of wood like ur a mf seesaw on those bitches (i know from personal experience bc my little brother once had geta lol) anyways the point I'm making is even tho he's fucking lazy as fuck he was raised in a traditional household so of course he does things traditionally and has learned with practice how to do them properly okay so yeah he's a pro with chopsticks

and YES MF IS IN A BAND HE MOST DEFINITELY GOT A GUITAR JUST FOR THE AESTHETIC AT FIRST THEN LEARNED HOW TO PLAY IT EVEN THO HES A LAZY BUM JUST CUZ HE WANTED TO IMPRESS GIRLS (he knows how to play all the popular talent show songs like hallelujah and riptide or some shit idk) like he learned at least one song ok and even tho his voice is enough he still wanted to be a cool bad boy type with an electric guitar to impress all the girlies (it didn't work but it's still a work in progress okay)

(also for the portal one yeah he'd be scared as fuck but then would be like hold on is that hot alien hotties I see? I'm going in !)

Hc's about toritsuka!! (from a generator) that are funny asf

He read's Wattpad. he knocks people over by hugging them. He's a bottom. he's very good at using chopsticks, he can play the guitar.

random one : '' If toritsuka reita was presented with an intergalactic portal, they would enter it without question." WHAT????

[tenshindon]

mfers were right when they said fights in Z were long god DAMN the future trunks vs frieza and king cold shit lasts like six episodes

[plunnies-n-shit]

Foreigner’s God

Bleach -- UraGrimmIchi -- Post-Canon

Ichigo gets trapped alone in the Soul Kings Palace after Yhwach is defeated.

Kisuke, injured and exhaused, still works tirelessly to open a way back. It only takes a couple of days, but. Time travels differently in the soul kings palace than it does in the other worlds.

By the time they get to ichigo, ichigo has been trapped alone for a full year

The ichigo they find is practically feral. Scared, half-hollified from desperation, weak from starving himself/not taking care of himself, but it still takes grimmjow hours to get ichigo subdued because hollow instincts are p much the only thing ichigo recognizes as not a delusion

It takes even longer to convince ichigo that any of his other friends standing there are real too. And even longer for ichigo to start healing.

He clings to grimmjow pretty hard because his hollow instincts tell him that grimmjow is real and even when the Soul Kings Palace was filled with ghosts and hallucinations Ichigos hollow instincts have never lied to him.

Most of ichigos madness is just from the isolation. Prolonged complete isolation does horrible things to people.

at some point ichigo scored huge gashes into his arms and thighs that healed ugly and even Orihime cant heal them completely. (Or. He doesnt let orihime close enough to heal them.) 

(His throat is torn up from screaming, so his voice is a low painful rasp. Hes so badly oversensitive to everything: touch, taste, noises, smells)

(Yuzu teaches grimmjow how to make jok bc thats all ichigo used to be able to keep down the few times she can remember him being sick)

Grimmjow fucks up every pot and ichigo still eats every bite bc its not food the Palace created for him, the Palace food is almost uncomfortably perfect and grimmjows food is flawed and kinda gross sometimes But its better than the Palace food.

They eventually realize that ichigo cant leave the soul kings palace. But because of the time transition it can sometimes be months if not years between visits from Ichigo's perspective. Grimmjow and kisuke are the only ones who stay with ichigo fulltime.

(Eventual grimmuraichi? Maybe >:3c )

(Benihime can reconstruct anything she touches so kisuke devotes hundreds of hours to learning how to deconstruct the stone of the palace and reconstruct it into plants trees and flowers.)

(Also. Transichi transurahara. Theres only one dick between the 3 of them)

(Well. Trans Enby Urahara. His gender is Science)

("You cant possibly want to stay here."

That perfectly-cheerful facade falters for just a moment as Kisuke freezes. "Whatever gave you that impression, Jaegerjaquez-kun?"

"Lemme see," Grimmjow starts counting on his fingers. "Cat-bitch, little demon boy, little demon girl, mr tall dark and kido-happy, your shop, your deal with the shinigami, all your experiments.... am i missing any?" 

Kisuke very slowly shoves the box he was unpacking aside so he can boost himself up onto the table and face Grimmjow. "There is no experiment that i cannot run here," he soothes. "And.... I have lived a long time, Grimmjow. You two are fairly young in the grand sceme of things, and if my predictions are correct you will live much longer than any soul or shinigami could hope to live. But--" his smile turns wry; the second honest expression Grimmjow's ever seen on that face, though Grimmjow would love to forget the first. "-- this old man would love nothing more than to spend the rest of his days at your side, and Ichigo's. If... if you two will have me, of course.")

(Grimmjow pulls Kisuke into a kiss, the slow, languid kind that makes onlookers feel like voyuers. "Youre not that old yet, geta-boshi")

(Kisuke turns himself into a vizard so ichigos instincts can recognize him)

(Grimmjow's like "...... ok thats kinda hot")

(Especially since grimm has to give urahara the post-hollification beatdown. Its not ichigos raw strength, but theres something about uraharas sharp-as-knives cunning that gets grimmjow a little hot n bothered.)

(Ichigo is their king long before he ever finally takes the Soul Kings throne)

(mostly to make sure Kisuke gets reincarnated somewhere good)

(And when grimmjow passes the final stage of hollow evolution and back into the cycle, and Ichigo finally allows himself to give up the throne, theres a boy with snow-white hair and a persistent cough waiting patiently at the gates.)

[caffeinated-mistake]

Ineffable husbands: St Francis of Assisi??

-crowley was the "voice from God" that tempted Francis away from the war and told him to instead build a church

-tells his superiors this is to make people doubt the Roman Catholic Church/ God cuz "wtf why is this wealthy merchants son giving up all his worldly goods to beg for stones to build a church that was destroyed a long time ago/is in disrepair???"

- then there's the "brother dove sister sparrow, etc etc" tick that Crowley thinks is silly (this either reminds him of aziraphale teaching a+e in the garden OR az geta it from here, either way Fondness Activates™)

- later ok, when the brothers are like "dude it needs to be consecrated, y not make ur own sect??" (Because at this point the Catholic Church was kinda all about grandeur and most higher ups actually had their own castles or estates, it's a whole thing, GO WATCH "PILLARS OF THE EARTH" IF UR INTERESTED EDDIE REDMAYNE IS IN IT AND ITS RLLY GOOD)

-the church Did Not like Francis on principle, and refused to grant his order legitimacy for a Long Ass Time u guys

-tells his superiors "ha ha look I'm defying the church but this dude thinks he's listening to Her, lmao"

-after it gets legitimized and the church is consecrated, he kinda just hangs around outside the chapel cuz, y'know, ouch.

-haha demon in their midst blah blah blah

- it helps that he really likes the whole "give everything to those who need it help the people don't ask for their money women arent the devil and deserve to be listened to" thing Francis is all about

-Francis went with the crusades on one occasion and then there was this whole thing with a military leader on the other side (sources vary, idk)

- so basically the dude said "ok Frankie if ur God is so chill walk into this giant fire and don't die." Francis walks on in and this is where we depart from history (where apparently the dude was like "oh shit this bitch- Frankie stop it, go in peace with all that Faith™")

- in our version either Aziraphale or Crowley (who had to go with him, he isn't just gonna leave his mans hanging!) Preform a minor miracle to save him

-when they get back (az was very cross to learn Crowley had been just living??? In a church?????¿¿??? d a n g e r o u s??

-the monk in charge had made everything switch to fancy fancy shit, was asking the poor for money, and wasn't helping the needy anymore

-maybe a terf war w another demon who ruined Crowley's little Francescan paradise?

-Francis is so extra (this is a history fact) that he basically said "greed? In my monastary? Fuck u" and turned himself blind because "I cannot see the sin you have brought into this holy place"

-then he runs away to pout in a mountain cave where later She actually blesses him with the wounds of Christ (stigmata, this is how it happened, unholyverse fans!!) Maybe Aziraphale was sent to do this??

-or Crowley did it or actual God did it?

-basically I just want to see Aziraphale and Crowley coparent a man with the biggest heart and zero self preservation skills whatsoever while Az is angsty about Crowley putting himself in danger all the time

I WANT A SCENE WHERE SOMEONE WASHES CROWLEY'S BURNED ASS FEET AND HE CRIES NOT FROM THE PAIN BUT BECAUSE HE FEELS UNDERSERVING OF SUCH A LOVING AND INTIMATE ACT

It also puts an emotional weight behind Aziraphale choosing the name Brother Francis for the next idiot they adopt (Warlock)

[littleindigochildx]

I can give him all my money.

“Hi my babies. How was school?” Victoria said as Timothy and Savanna got into the car. “Moooom.” Timmy groaned. He had finally reached the age where her referring to him as a baby embarrassed him. “I’m seven. When are ‘ya gonna’ stop callin’ me a baby?” He asked. Victoria couldn’t help but chuckle. He was right. Her babies weren’t babies anymore. They were growing up. The brunette wanted so badly to be able to freeze time and keep them little and innocent forever. “School was fun.” Timmy finally replied. He had done remarkably well on his math and spelling tests, and he had a new student in his class who was just as much into cars as he was. “Savvy, what about you? How was your day?” Vic asked when she noticed her youngest was unusually quiet. The little girl looked exhausted so Vic chalked it up to her being tired. “Good.” Savanna said. “Are we gonna’ go home now, mommy?”Victoria shook her head. They had a couple of errands to run before they could go home. Declan had Vic running his errands all day, since it was her day off, and she hadn’t made it to the grocery store before it was time to pick up the kids.

“We need to make this quick.” Victoria told her children when they arrived at the Pick ‘n Save. Timmy grabbed a cart but had a hard time steering it with Savanna standing on the front so Vic took over. “What do you two want to do for dinner?” She asked. She’d do the weekly grocery shopping on Saturday, but she knew DC would likely kill her if she didn’t pick up the beer he asked for. He’d get it himself, but drinking was a violation of his probation. If he was going to get locked up again, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be for picking up a 6-pack. “Can we have pizza for dinner? Or chicken nuggets?” Timothy asked. He was a boy with simple taste, but chicken nuggets and pizza were usually reserved for the nights Victoria worked late. When she was home, she tried to make healthy dinners for her family plus whatever DC requested because she didn’t want to hear him bitch about her feeding him chick food. “We can do baked chicken.” Victoria suggested. Savanna wasn’t helping much as she didn’t offer any input. She’d be perfectly happy with a bowl of cereal for dinner every night. “I don’t like chicken. Animals are friends, not food.” The six year old chimed in. She had recently seen a documentary on veganism and decided that she would be a vegan too. “Can I just have some Cheerios?” The little girl asked. Timmy was fine with baked chicken and whatever veggies Victoria chose as a side. He wasn’t really a picky eater. That was something he inherited from his dad. David was never one to turn down a meal, especially when it was homemade. “Ok, ok.” Vic replied. She didn’t have time to waste so she just agreed. Hopefully Savvy would at least eat some vegetables. She was falling behind on the growth chart and her diet of only cereal certainly wasn’t helping.

“Each of you can pick a box of cereal and a snack.” The brunette spoke as she checked her watch. “But you need to hurry. We’re running out of time.” DC would be home around 6 which meant dinner needed to be ready and waiting for him. He made it perfectly clear that he didn’t like to wait and that was something he drilled into Victoria’s head over and over throughout their many years of marriage. “Out’a time for what?” Savvy asked with a puzzled expression. Victoria seemed nervous. Her reaction was almost identical to how Savanna or Timothy reacted when they were in trouble. Ever since DC came to live with them the brunette seemed so on edge. She was a different person, as were her children. Like shells of their former selves.

----------

“Timmy… Homework, shower, and pajamas please.” Victoria instructed when they got home. She usually made him get ready for bed first because he didn’t require any help and he was faster at his nightly routine than Savvy was with hers. Savanna still needed assistance when it came to washing her hair so her bath was postponed until after dinner. “Butterfly, go get started on your homework too and I will help you in a little.” It was times like this when the little girl really missed her dad. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and his cooking was ok at best, but after a long day at work he would still offer to cook so Victoria didn’t have to, or so she could have some one-on-one time with their kids. DC would never do such a thing. The longer he stayed with them, the more Savvy realized he wasn’t anything like her daddy. He expected to be waited on. He expected Vic to jump when he said jump. Being told no wasn’t an option.

“Mama…” Savvy called from the living room. It was quarter to 6 and DC would be home any minute. “How come ‘ya friend is still livin’ with us?” She asked sadly. Just the thought of Declan Deschaine gave the six year old anxiety. It was a feeling she never experienced until he came into her life. “I thought he was only gonna’ be with us for a little while…” She and Timmy made it clear from the start that they didn’t trust their guest. Not only because he made Savanna cry on a couple of occasions, but because they didn’t like the way he spoke to their mom. “Does he need money for his own house?” The little brunette put her pencil down to look up at Victoria. Her homework was finished but she wanted to draw. She had a whole sketchbook filled with doodles, much like her mother had. “I can give him all my money. I have’a whole piggy bank full ‘cause grandpa gives me’a dollar every time he says a bad word.” Victoria didn’t know about the swearing until now. “DC can have it all so he can get’a house of his own an’ we can have our house back.”

[zoegts]

Gokus Heat season part 4

@lesleytonyb part 4

Vegeta sniffed gokus ass and tail. The sweet pheromone opened vegetas doors of desires! He touched near gokus opening and got some of gokus phermonic gel and started licking his fingers. Goku was looking at vegeta in confusion. G:g-geta?! W-what are you? V: I’m helping you kakarot. I’m giving you what you and I need. G: w-what!? Goku noticed as vegetas voice become more husky and dominant as he spoke with his eyes locked onto his. Seeing that from vegeta made Goku just lose it. He was ready! V: kakarot. I need you to get on the bed, NOW! Goku did as he was told and relaxed on his back. Looking at vegeta who was crawling at him like a beast in the covers. Vegeta was ready for his prey. Vegeta grabbed gokus belt cloth and tied gokus hands upwards on the bed bar. Goku was so turned on by this. Of not being able to do something, being simply vulnerable over vegetas seductive control. G: what about bulma? V: forget that bitch kakarot I got my own little toy right here who is desperate for my help.. look at you kakarot your body is responding to me. And I know exactly what it needs, don’t you agree kakarot? Goku blushed but nodded slowly. G: yes geta. (He responded shyly) Vegeta got up from the bed. V: good. Vegeta got the door keys and locked it so bulma can’t walk in. Vegeta walked to Goku giving him the eyes like he’s already inside him. He got on top of goku stroking his hair from his eyes and launched a passionate kiss. Goku could feel getas needy boner on his chest. He wanted to touch it but cannot break one hand free. Geta looked down at him and noticed what he requests. V: mmm you want this? Goku nodded and started to drool. Opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. Vegeta smiles and stuffed gokus face with his boner that was hiding in his pants. V: get it. Goku suckled the fabric to vegetas tip. Making needy noises. And struggle to breathe. Goku bites the clothing to get vegetas monster out. It springs out in front of gokus mouth. Vegeta moved his hips forward so Goku could reach in his mouth. ___________________________

Goku started to suck his hole length of vegeta in his throat. With vegeta helping it go deeper. it made vegeta opened up to new pleasures. Gokus cheeks went a crimson red, his body felt hot and enjoying every bit of it. Goku tried his best to suck vegeta really hard, he wanted vegeta ready. The suckle noises that escaped from gokus dirty mouth made vegeta smirk and almost laugh.

V: good boy, that’s enough for know. I can hear your ass hole calling me you slut!

G: ah please geta…be, gentle

V: gentle. Huh?

He stripped gokus boxers off and got a little bit of satisfaction that Goku was hard. It made him pleased of what he caused. His work was a success. But he wasn’t done yet… he slowly stroked gokus packs and stomach leading to his throbbing cock. A moan escaped gokus lips.

G: ahh geta…please I- (Goku was shy and too innocent to say those words out his mouth, he wanted vegeta in him soo badly)

Gokus legs swung open roughly by vegeta who was giving Goku a evil smirk. The saiyan knew what he wanted.

V: alright let’s not fuck around let’s do the real shit! He said in a husky dark voice.

The kind of voice that can send someone madly in love with a dangerous man like vegeta himself.

Vegeta position himself and spat in his ass giving Goku a bit of a head start. This poor saiyan was in heat. Know it’s time to accomplish this saiyans needs! Vegeta adjusted his cock into gokus entrance making Goku scream out load. Vegeta had to put his strong hand on gokus mouth to shut him up. He pushed in more with full force.

V: F-fuck…yes, I need this. HMmmn

*(As if vegeta would say that huh) But vegeta was having complications with bulma.*

Gokus rough messy fringe was all over his sweaty face. Goku tried his best to shake it a side. He did not want to miss a single expression from vegeta. It was a rare treasured moment to see. Gokus was going through a lot of emotions right know. One side was saying “this is bad” And the other was saying “more! My prince” While Vegeta was hypnotised by gokus heat scent. It alerts the nearest saiyan weather it is male or female. And that caught vegetas instincts. Vegeta pushed harder making Goku squeal louder.

V: lets speed things up"

Vegeta went super saiyan and was almost crushing gokus insides. It was a little too much for Goku.

G: “oh god vegeta have mercy! Ahhn”

Vegeta slowed down and almost froze. Some of his senses came back to him. Vegeta felt sorry for Goku, he was going a little too far with him. He always has been but has he found gokus limit to “extreme?”

V: k-kakarot..it’s ok.

That made goku feel calmer, hearing the vegeta he knew spoke out. It is unusual to hear that from vegeta but he was understanding about it.

Vegeta had an idea to ease the pain. Geta kissed goku passionately and going slower with thrusts to get Goku to adjust to vegetas size. Goku felt vegeta’s hips grind on him slowly and gently. It was so sweet of him. And his tasteful lips. So addicting.

Goku looked at the handsome man who was kissing him.“geta is actually being gentle with me and actually kissing me” He thought.

Gosh vegeta is making him confused know. Goku was lost in thought while vegeta was taking action and doing all the thinking. He kisses him more and longer. Goku feels getas hands slowly touch him from his chest all the was to his erection and leaving some tickles in place. Geta starts rubbing gokus stoned cock. Making Goku moan and muffle in vegetas mouth as they kissed. Vegeta broke out the kiss then stared into gokus ebony eyes and watched as it sparkles in response.

Goku made faces as geta rubbed gokus cock slowly and just how Goku liked it. Then he sped up. Making Goku breathless.

V: cum kakarot….

Those words, oh those words. So demanding, that sentence and voice alone can send him to climax.

G: I-I am almost there…

Vegeta sped up the thrusts as Goku was ok with it know. And made Goku moan again. Vegeta was still holding onto gokus cock and made sure he had a firm grip on it. Making sure Goku could feel his whole hand work on him. Vegeta pushed more and hit gokus spot. It made Goku make an unusual sound. It was satisfying to hear. Goku rolled his eyes back as he blushed and huffed and struggled to breathe as he moaned in between.

Goku let out a big moan. Goku exploded in getas hands and it lasted for a long time. This poor saiyan needed it badly too. Vegetas hands were covered in glossy fluids. It was just what Goku needed. Gokus head went flat back wards and he blacked out. Vegeta came aswell and flopped into goku. Listening to his heart beat accelerate faster and then become more clam and a nice tune. It was enough to make vegeta fall asleep on Goku. ……. Part 5 is coming soon ^^ and may do a comic on it.

[stephamphetamine-blog]

exhibit h

Ladies and gentlemans, meet HikaruXANA, the new thief on display: Behold the horror. God, when they will learn? She hangs around this place or this one too, so beware: She is highly unestable and dangerous. (XD) Shoot at will, then.

Ah, Maneko told me about you. He didn't eactly have a good word about you, however. You've probably figured out why...but still, you geta watch because Phoenixes = Awesome.

Um,who is Maneko?

Author of the comic Neko's House a couple of months ago, he found This comic which had...recolors of a couple of his characters' sprites. Apparantly, someone else made the sprites used here, using the sprites he uses in his comic, which is 403 FORBIDDEN.

Uh,broken link dude,and im still confused.

Second link, right? Maybe this one will work?

Another broken one,AND I SAID DONT POST LINKS TO OTHERS ARTWORK! It annoys me greatly...

Also,please do not post links to other comics/artists. I kinda hate it when people do that,cus their advirtizing on my art page...*glares*

Name: Hikaru Age: 15 Level: 3 Class: Sage of Fire Currency: 1500 Gender: Female

FAKE! FAKE! Lies about a fifteen year girl of stealing.

Okay to exact violence?

What else did he fake?

This is by far, the SADDEST thing I've seen in AGES: NIKE'S HOUSE!!!

Making sure this bitch can't get away with this: Ladies and gentlemens, meet Nike Navora, aka NIKE THE PATHETIC COMIC THIEF. The little shit  stole jokes, stories, backgrounds, edits, and even ENTIRE PANELS FROM MY COMIC, for christ's sake. She even had the nerve to paste her PATHETIC SONIC RECOLORS over MY OWN  fucking sprites, thinking that nobody was going to notice it, so she could get away with her FUCKING ATTENTION WHORISM FRAUD.

But don't worry, pals! Even if her cretinous minions tried to get me banned from  her ex- community   to hide her theft, Justice prevailed anyways, and before she could say "ayamawhore" the great Modstaff exposed her like the imbecile, lying, coward, pathetic fraud she is... AGAIN!

Yes! This was her SECOND time stealing other people's work to get some attention (She also stole LOTS of stuff from Insonicmia's site) without giving a shit about it, but since she was too nice, holy and mellow as to face the truth about her blatant theft, the poor, poor Nike tried to get everyone's pity by doing THIS ABYSMAL PITY SHOW. But guess what? Once again, Sonniku.net's modstaff managed to put her in her place, like the fucking, pathetic, insignificant MANIPULATIVE EMO SHIT she is! Yay! Go, Sonniku.net's Moderation team! Fight for everlasting peace!

In case the little bitch tries to delete the evidence of her retarded theft, I took the liberty to post some of her "comics" here. Egads, is it just me, or is something looking very familiar? And that's just the tip of the Iceberg! She stole MY ENTIRE GODNAMED ARCHIVE! Everyone, please point at Nike Navora and laugh. Serves her right, dammit.

You know, sometimes I wonder what part of "My sprites are NOT PUBLIC" is so difficult to understand.

I wonder why a man in his "late twenties" has to lie about teenage girls? All links go nowhere. Wayback Machine has nothing! All of it was fake?

Remember Nike Navora, the comic thief? Well, after I unmasked her, she and her gang pulled some really funny things (Like homicide threats... through internet. Le Sigh) but finally, she accepted that what she did was wrong, and apologized for real. Check this:

Alright! This has gone far enough...I'm just going to say it straight forward! I'm sorry, Maneko! I understand what I did really pissed you off, and I don't blame you! You had every right to post what I did on your site, it hurt, but I deserved it! and I think you probably believe this is "Self-Pity", but I truly am sorry for what I did....I just didn't think I'd get caught, but I was wrong and not only did I make you mad, but I also made some of your friends mad at me too. My friends don't deserve to get caught in this since they weren't involve, it's me you want not them. I won't steal from you or any other site again, I learned my lesson. Seriously ~Nike

Ok, so the little brat finally understood that when you lie, steal and mess with the big dogs, crap happens. Fine, fine. Just don't do it again, kid. Of course, her friends Darky, Melissa and Yaoi_Lover never stopped to vomit hate, lies and threats, but meh. Who cares about them? Nobody. Nobody important, at least. So yeah, the issue is over.

Thanks for your support, people. You have no idea how much I appreciated it.

Who supported this FAKE outrage?

The harassing and trolling of a teenage girl by a man claiming to be in his "late twenties"?

Bob and George?

It didn't end there.

I have found he posted FAKE messages on other blogs, 4chan, and KKKchans.

[punk-in-docs]

@callmeloverr ohoho just wait it’s gonna GET SO MUCH WORSE !!! I’m talking pure evilness and some porn thrown in-

A song of rage and salty waves: part I

— Emperor Geta x reader (Salacia)

— 2.5k words

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

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

You’re imprisoned in Rome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

His palm is damp. Gold rings wet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your oldest brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Imprison them. Both.” He smirks.

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

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

You tasted like salt and sea foam

~

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

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