#i hadn't even finished reading the op before i knew

[megalony]

Maimed My Wife

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine that turned out rather long. I'm very happy with this one and I hope you will all like it.

Please tell me what you think.

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Summary: Geta is very protective of his wife. And when a General in the palace attacks her, he sees to it personally that said General will no longer be a threat.

Enjoy.

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A deep warmth spread through (Y/n) and her mouth curved into a tender grin when a familiar pair of lips attached themselves to the side of her neck. Silently, she inclined her head to the left, allowing more access while she tried to keep her focus on the book in her hands.

Her fingers skimmed across the corner of each page, an action she had done for long enough that the corners were starting to crinkle as if they had been dampened with water. Each page was still pristine and crisp, but there was a small, noticable mark of wear and tear in the corners and the remnants of ink smudged across the side of the pages when each one had been turned.

The words began to blurr on the page the longer (Y/n) felt Geta's administrations on her neck continue. Added with the movement of his hands which were fiddling with the fabric of her dress and the belt around her waist, he was making it very hard to concentrate.

Geta's arms were encircled around (Y/n)'s waist as if he were caging her in his embrace, not that she ever wanted to leave.

It wasn't often that they could scrape moments together like this without having some kind of audience or interruption. Being here, just the two of them with no guards or family or servants hovering nearby, it was heavenly. It was a sense of serenity.

(Y/n) re-read the same two lines for what felt like the tenth time until they finally seemed to sink in and she could focus on reaching the bottom of the page. But when Geta's teeth sank down against her lower neck near her shoulder, she was sure he was trying to leave a visible mark. A signal that she was his, she was taken. As if no one already knew who she belonged to.

The book started to tap against her knees that were drawn up so her feet could press down into the sofa and steady herself. The words weren't making sense anymore, she wasn't really paying attention.

(Y/n) hadn't been in the library long before Geta wandered in, knowing this was exactly where his wife would be. As soon as he sat down with her, (Y/n) knew her book would end up being forgotten and would have to be finished another day. Even as Geta murmured into her hair that he just wanted to sit with her as he had a moment to spare, and the promises he uttered into her skin that he wouldn't be a distraction. (Y/n) knew he would be.

Her chest leaned further back into Geta's chest until she was reclined against him and her head fell back against his shoulder. He was sat slightly slouched down into the sofa while (Y/n) was sat sideways so she could be tucked into Geta's arm. It didn't take long for him to twist and curve both arms around her and attach to her like he had been apart from her for days, not hours.

"You're making this difficult." (Y/n) murmured with a sly smile, already residing to the fact that she was giving up with reading for today.

"Hm, I can tell."

Her hand draped across the sofa, fumbling about to try and find the speckled feather she had been using as a bookmark for quite some time now. Once it was slotted safely in place between the pages, (Y/n) leaned forward to set her book down on the other end of the sofa.

The library was (Y/n)'s sense of peace. She had been thrilled when she moved into the palace after marrying Geta and he showed her the library. He had quickly realised that if he couldn't find his wife anywhere, this was where she would be hiding. Buried in the books the library provided, catching up on her Latin and Greek and delving into the mythical stories each book provided.

Geta understood her love of books, even if he didn't read half as many books as her. He had been tutored well. He and Caracalla had been taught to read and write since the moment they could stand on their own two feet. Emperors had to be well-schooled and be given rich educations. Geta wanted the same for his children, even if he wouldn't go about it as strictly as his parents had. And he had promised himself never to treat his children the way his father had treated him and his twin.

He began to feather his fingers up and down (Y/n)'s waist, grinning into her neck at the way she squirmed against him and moved her hands down to clasp over his wrists now that she wasn't holding her book.

When Geta lifted his head, (Y/n) turned and angled her head up so she could peck his cheek.

She took the chance to admire his pale features, amplified with a lacquer of paint to make his features more ghostly and frightening. On anyone else, (Y/n) was sure looking so pale and deathly would look a horrid sight, but on her husband it was enchanting and regal.

One hand reached up to brush a stray strand of bright orange hair away from his dark eyes that fell closed as he leaned into her touch and nudged his nose against her wrist.

Moments alone like these were few and hard to grasp, Geta liked to bask in them for as long as possible before they morphied into something else or became broken by interruptions.

He continued to glide his fingertips along her waist, drawing patterns into the pure white dress that crinkled and ruffled along her thighs and over her bent knees. He liked how her dress contrasted to the golden clothes he was wearing beneath the cold golden armour over the top. When being seen out in public, Geta was used to wearing his armour. It was for spectators as well as his own protection. They never knew what people were lurking around each corner.

While Geta had his eyes closed, (Y/n) took the opportunity to turn around so her back was no longer against his chest. She moved round so she was knelt up beside his thigh, now able to loop her arms around the back of his neck and lean her chest flush against his.

Her touch was surprising but very welcome and Geta's hands moved to cup her hips, digging his fingers into her flesh as he leaned further back and tilted his head so he was gazing up at his wife. His own Goddess.

The word "Beautiful," passed his lips as he gazed at her in splendor before he leaned forward to capture her in a kiss. The touch was soft and warm and loving and (Y/n) gasped into his mouth when she felt his teeth bite down on her lower lip.

(Y/n) began to stroke her thumb up and down the back of Geta's neck, brushing against the short hairs and tangling her finger in his longer locks at the back of his head. When she tightened her grip it earned a quiet growl to rumble from deep within Geta's chest. And she felt his hands tighten on her hips in retaliation and he scrunched her dress up between his fingers, just starting to pull up the material as if his intentions were to bunch her dress high around her hips.

She was sure that was what his intention was and she leaned further against his chest to try and deter him. Anyone could walk in. People didn't tend to knock on lounge or library doors the same as they would if the Emperor and Empress were in their personal chambers.

(Y/n) would hate to be caught by anyone if she and Geta were in a compromising position. She knew her husband wouldn't bat an eyelid, but she would.

When she tugged on his hair again and tilted his head back without breaking their kiss, (Y/n) felt his hands give a sharp pull on her hips. He was about to pull her onto his lap and (Y/n) would have obliged, if the wooden doors to the library didn't creak and groan as they opened.

Their lips quickly broke apart and (Y/n) glanced over her left shoulder while Geta let his head drop back against the sofa while he casually looked towards the doors.

A smile instantly formed on his lips and his fingers dug into (Y/n)'s hips, pulling her back down against his chest again when they both saw that it wasn't a guard or a servant requesting something from them.

It was Caracalla, with his niece in his arms.

Caracalla's hair looked rather disshevelled as if he had woken up from a hundred year nap, but he had a bright smile on his features and his head inclined to one side as he waltzed into the library.

He jostled his niece who was perched high on his chest with her little arms draped around the back of his neck and her head nuzzled up against his cheek.

There weren't many people in the palace that Geta would trust with his child. The nursemaid who had been employed with them since the princess's birth, the two guards who were to watch over the princess without fail, wherever she went. And his brother.

When the princess was with her parents or her uncle, no guards needed to constantly have her within their sights. They could walk a few paces back or wait outside the room rather than stand inside and observe.

"Oh, and what are you doing?"

Geta chose to ignore his brother's words and the smile that broadened on his features because they both knew what the couple had been doing.

As the large oak doors closed behind him, Caracalla walked further into the library, looking around the grand room he hardly ever came into anymore. He didn't find books fascinating, his attention span was short these days and with his changing moods, curtesy of his illness, the mood to sit peacefully and engage in a book never came about. He was either much too frivilous or much too riled to read.

But he knew his sister in law was quite often found in here and sometimes this was where he had to come in order to find his niece. Caracalla was immensely fond of her. He was childlike at heart and found he could entertain the little girl and enjoy spending time with her rather than most of the people who frequented the palace.

"She can walk, brother." Geta dropped one hand from (Y/n)'s hip so he could motion his hand towards his daughter.

His daughter had recently learned to walk and it made her much more of a trickster. Geta was forever finding her sliding the rings off his fingers and running off with them, clearly wanting him to play her game and chase her for the jewels.

And now that she could walk, it meant the princess would run into meetings and abscond around the palace with her maid right behind her, unable to stop her from trying to explore and find her parents. Geta never declined when his daughter found her way to the meetings and he would sit her on his lap and let her play with the jewellery hanging around his neck or the rings cladding his fingers while the Senates talked state business. Her presence was calming.

"Where's the fun in that?" Caracalla countered with pursed lips and a huff that ended with him kissing his niece's cheek.

He knew she could walk, she had ran right up to him this morning, clearly wanting him rather than her nursemaid and Caracalla obliged. He dismissed the maid immediately and took to wandering around the palace with the little princess by his side and then in his arms. He loved carrying her around. Why walk when she could be carried like the princess she was?

But he seemed to relent when she started to wriggle and he set her down to her feet so she could toddle across the dark purple and crimson rug with her arms outstretched towards her parents.

(Y/n) slowly turned back around and slumped back down on the sofa so she was sitting beside Geta rather than kneeling up against him. Her lips curved into a grin and her hands draped over Geta's shoulders when he leaned forward to reach out for her.

A squeal burst past Floriana's lips when Geta scooped her up from the floor and leaned back to sit her down on his lap.

"Hi flower," He murmured softly and when her little hands patted his cheeks, Geta obliged and leaned down to kiss her temple.

(Y/n) watched the both of them with fondness amplifying in her eyes and causing a bright smile to etch across her face. Her hands squeezed his shoulders and she leaned forward to perch her chin in the crook of his neck as a little incoherent murmur left their daughter's lips.

She loved to see Geta with their little girl. Although it was frowned upon to have the father at the birth, Geta had burst into the room when he couldn't wait around any longer and listen to his wife's tortured cries.

(Y/n) had been nervous when she had Floriana. She didn't know how Geta would react to a daughter, it was something that had rattled her and caused her many sleepless nights. Everyone had expected her to bear a son, to give an heir to the throne to secure Geta's place as Emperor. Having a girl simply meant everyone would be pressuring her to have a boy sooner or later as if she had done something wrong and she would have to keep retrying until she got it right.

Geta quashed those worries immediately. The tears in his eyes and the bright smile on his face when he held his daughter showed he wasn't disappointed in the slightest. He was enamoured with his little girl and he wouldn't change her for the world. She and (Y/n) were Geta's everything.

The three people in this room with him were his family. These were the people he would give his life for.

"Have you two had some fun?" (Y/n) reached her arm across to brush her finger against her daughter's cheek, watching the little girl giggle and burrow into Geta's chest.

Although her fingers started to tap against the golden armour covering his chest. She couldn't reach his undershirt or his robes. Floriana had a new obsession with hiding herself away in Geta's robes like she was doing some kind of magician's trick. With his armour in the way, she couldn't tuck herself into his clothes or make herself disappear.

"We've been for a stroll in the gardens with Dondus." Caracalla perched on the arm of the sofa nearest to (Y/n) and brought his feet up to rest on the sofa cushion. His sandals began to tap against the cushion and his hands patted his thighs as he continued to smile. He was in one of his good moods today.

When Floriana pushed up until she was stood on Geta's thigh, he tilted back to see what she was doing.

"What are you doing, little one?"

Her hands scrunched up in the collar of his shirt that poked through above his armour and her cheek flopped onto his shoulder near (Y/n) as she pushed into his chest. Geta kissed the top of her head with a smile as he realised that she was tired. She would need a nap now and if he had the time, he would lie right here and let her lay on his chest. He would cuddle her and stay with her as she slept if he could.

"Acacius is back from his venture, we should go and await his arrival." It wasn't like Caracalla to be prompt and ready to follow procedure, but they had sent the General on a mission to conquor lands in the name of Rome. And both Emperors were eager to hear of his triumph and know just how much he had procured for them while he had been away.

"We should." Geta hummed against the top of his daughter's head but the sigh he let out told (Y/n) he didn't really want to leave.

"I think we will stay here and have a nap while you await your victories." (Y/n) turned to gently ease their daughter into her own arms because she knew if she didn't, Geta was unlikely to let his daughter go.

She made a little whine at the movement but once her head was nestled into (Y/n)'s chest and she began drooling on her mother's sleeve, she seemed content. The little girl curled up in her mother's embrace who slouched back into the sofa so her daughter was lying down and could settle to sleep.

(Y/n) was more than eager to stay here in the library where it was quiet and serene. Her baby girl could take a nap and (Y/n) could continue reading while the Emperor's went about their business.

A lot of the ladies in court had told and advised (Y/n) to leave the nurturing of her daughter to the maids.

'That is what they are there for.'

That wasn't good enough. (Y/n) wanted to be with her daughter. She loved to read to her and cuddle her and take walks with her and be in her presence. (Y/n) wanted to be involved just the same as Geta rarely let his girl out of his sight when he wasn't in his meetings. He checked on her at almost every moment of the day, he wanted to be involved when she began to take her lessons and tutoring.

They would both be involved in their daughter's upbringing more than the servants and maids would be.

"Sleep," Caracalla muttered and grazed his fingers against his niece's thin strands of hair before he bounced up from the sofa to take his leave. He had done his job with entertaining her for the morning and now he could go and drown in spendor and victory.

"I won't be too long."

Geta pressed a finger beneath (Y/n)'s chin, tilting her head up towards him so he could steal a kiss from her warm lips. Her touch was enticing him to stay and he hummed against her lips, swiping his tongue against hers in a battle that had him yearning to stay here with them than to go and deal with the victories of Rome.

When (Y/n) finally pulled back for air, Geta groaned and bowed his forehead against hers. He didn't want to leave his girls.

"Rest, little flower." His words were hushed against Floriana's temple which he kissed, twice, and his finger brushed along her cheek before he finally parted from his girls. His eyes lingered on them as he left the library, feeling like he was walking away without his heart that had been left behind with them.

He wanted to be back with them already.

***

After both Emperors departed, it didn't take long for Floriana to drift into slumber, resting against her mother's chest. Her head was tucked against (Y/n)'s neck and she had curled up like a cub, dozing peacefully.

(Y/n) had her cheek resting on top of Floriana's head with one arm draped around her daughter and the other hand expertly balancing her book and preventing the pages from wavering and losing her place.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed there, tucked up in their own little world of peace together with no disrruptions or people clattering around and making a fuss. It was lovely to spend some time together with her little girl.

(Y/n) could feel her own eyes desperate to close but she powered through, wanting to use this time to read and sit with her daughter rather than fall to sleep and lose the moment.

They had been tucked up together for a long while before a quiet knock sounded at the door and (Y/n) looked over to see the nursemaid poking her head around the door. She wondered if the maid knew instinctively that the princess would be in here with her mother or if she had spent a while searching round the palace for the pair of them. Or maybe one of the Emperors had mentioned in passing where they both were.

It didn't matter either way. The maid walked into the room with a smile gracing her plump features as she looked down at the princess who was just beginning to stir in her mother's arms.

"Would you like me to take the princess for some lunch?"

"Please." (Y/n) nodded and placed the feather back in her book which she set down beside her.

She eased forward until Floriana was forced to sit up on her lap and the little girl rubbed her fist against her eyes to try and wake herself up. Her head lolled from left to right and a yawn escaped her lips as she smiled sweetly up at the maid who reached down to scoop her up.

They both knew if the princess tried walking now she would stumble or lay down with only just waking up and she would dawdle. It would be much easier to carry her back to her room to have something to eat.

(Y/n) pressed a kiss to her temple and brushed her short strands of golden hair away from her little eyes before she was in the maid's arms.

"Are you joining us, Empress?"

"Soon, I'll find the Emperor first." It wouldn't be fitting for (Y/n) not to find out how their meeting with General Acacius had gone- or was still going, depending on how long this meeting would drag out for.

(Y/n) knew the Emperors would entertain the General and want to hear about every triumph and each obstacle he overcame so they knew how to better strategize their next invasion. And she knew as Empress that she needed to take an interest too and find out how things had gone.

She watched with a smile as the maid nodded and left the library with the Princess bundled up in her arms, still half asleep.

(Y/n) wasn't that hungry yet, anyway. She would take a walk to liven herself up and then go and see how things were fairing with both Emperors. Hopefully this meeting would go well and there would be reason for triumph and celebrations. (Y/n) knew both Emperors were desperate to entertain more Gladiators in the colosseum. It wasn't a sport that (Y/n) particularly enjoyed witnessing, but seeing her husband so eager and cheering and giving the casting vote of a Gladiator's life was thrilling to watch.

With her book laid on the small table beside the sofa, (Y/n) stood up and smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress that pooled towards her ankles. The pure white cotton always glistened when she walked in the sunlight and Geta always commented that she reminded him of a star with how the light sparkled on her when she wore white. A blinding beauty was how he often described her.

She made her way to the door and headed out of the quiet library, into the corridor that had very limited windows and therefore not much light. The shadows cast darker in this corridor and made (Y/n) feel like she was wandering the palace in darkness rather than the middle of the day.

The sound of her sandals clicking against the stones echoed and bounced off the walls and she slowly descended towards the end of the hall to the stairs.

(Y/n) wasn't too sure whereabouts her husband would be having this meeting with Acacius, but she knew it would be downstairs. Either in one of the drawing rooms or the great hall which they used for meetings with the Senate. The only thing she was sure of was that he and Caracalla would speak to Acacius on their own. Without an audience so they could truly discuss their plans and news.

A gasp tumbled past her lips and she stepped back just before she reached the corridor leading to the stairs when a firm chest almost barrelled into her.

Her left hand pressed into the wall and her right hand pressed against her chest to steady her breathing.

Her round eyes looked up to see who she had almost collided with and she stepped back again to add a bit more space between them and make sure that she wouldn't tumble over.

"Oh, General Caius." (Y/n) nodded her head at the General who stood tall in front of her.

He was one of the men she didn't know too well. (Y/n) knew only a few of the Generals who paraded round the palace and led her husband's armies. Caius was one of the men she was more acquainted with but she never really had many dealings with him. It was usually a smile in passing when he would come to deliver news to the Emperors.

"Empress." He bowed his head to her and (Y/n) watched a smile light up his features.

His smile seemed somehow too large and crooked for his face and the way his beady eyes trained in on her made her chest tighten. Being married to an Emperor made (Y/n) the subject of scrutiny by many people, and it was never something she handled well.

She couldn't help the way she cast her eyes around the hall as if waiting for someone to wander out of one of the rooms and cease this awkward encounter or strike up a conversation.

"Have you seen the Emperor?"

"No my lady." When he stepped closer, (Y/n) tried to form a placid smile as she carefully stepped to the right. "No guards?"

The way Caius cast his eyes around the hall and ticked his head made (Y/n) look behind her rather stupidly. She knew she didn't have guards following her. Geta had agreed to her wishes not to be followed around the palace at every waking moment.

When she had been pregnant, he had been a little less willing and made sure the guards followed at a safe distance behind (Y/n), for his peace of mind. And of course if the princess wasn't with her parents or uncle, she was to be guarded at all times. But Geta had allowed (Y/n) the luxury of not having guards trailing her every movement if she did not want them to.

She only had guards if she left the palace or when they were entertaining company, for curtesy.

Caius knew this. He often did guard duties in the palace from time to time and he knew (Y/n) was different to the Emperors. Both Emperors liked to have guards nearby, they never knew who might be lurking around each corner or when someone might turn into an enemy and attack. Whereas this had never happened to (Y/n) so she had no reason to think it might happen now.

"Good day, General." Dipping her head down in curtesy, (Y/n) scratched her fingers against the palm of her hands as she stepped to the right a little more to try and walk around Caius.

She had no wish to entertain him in conversation today, she wanted to go and find her family and celebrate their victories.

Her eyes trained on the floor, following the cracks in the carefully carved stone but a jolt ran through her system and made her chest tighten horribly when a hand curled around her upper arm. Her feet stumbled over one another and her shoulder bashed into Caius's chest when he roughly pulled her back towards him.

"What's the rush?" His voice seemed to lower an octave and his grin had turned sickening as he stared down at her.

His fingers were starting to grip bruisingly into (Y/n)'s flesh and when she tried to yank her arm out of his hold, he simply reeled her back towards him again.

What was he doing?

"You forget your place. General." (Y/n) held her chin high and ground her jaw as she wrenched her arm out of his hold and fought the urge to reach out and slap him for his indignation.

He had no right to be grabbing her like that. (Y/n) wanted to go and he had no cause to stop her or try to entertain a conversation with her when she said no. All it took was one word to Geta for General Caius to be demoted; not that (Y/n) would ever want to use her status and power like that, but she would if she had to.

"And you clearly don't know yours, my lady." The way he sneered down at her made (Y/n)'s stomach churn but before she could try and bolt towards the stairwell, he grabbed her. Again.

A hand curled around the back of her neck with shuch a viper's grip that (Y/n) felt too afraid to breathe. She felt his other hand press down against the centre of her chest and her tense legs tripped and scuffed her heels against the floor when Caius pushed her back until she was pressed against the wall.

The cold stone bruised her shoulders and her spine ached when she jolted back against the wall, staring up at Caius in terror.

No one had ever been so bold as to do anything like this to her before. They knew who she was married to. They knew the madness that dwelled within her husband and the deep rage that jealousy provoked within him. If someone so much as looked at (Y/n) for a second too long, Geta's arm was around her waist and his petrifying gaze was burning into whoever was looking at her.

He had dismissed men from the palace for staring or hovering too close to his wife and for striking up much too informal conversations with her.

(Y/n) didn't want to think what he would do to a General under his command who laid a hand on his wife and who would try and put her in such a compromising position.

"Caius- that's enough!" (Y/n) clenched her hand around his wrist and tried to force his hand from her chest where he was pushing her so harshly into the wall that the stone was beginning to grate againt her exposed shoulders. But she couldn't seem to move when he all but thrust her back against the wall again and his head inclined closer to hers.

He took two steps closer until the smooth silver armour he wore clinked against her chest. It felt like (Y/n) was trapped between two walls that were closing in on her. At any moment she felt like she was going to be crushed.

When his other hand moved down and had the audacity to grip her hip, (Y/n) let go of his wrist. She reeled her arm back and slapped him across the face with as much force as she could muster.

The blunt force caused Caius's head to propell to the left and it weakened his hand against her chest enough for (Y/n) to push against him and stumble to one side.

Why was he doing this? Didn't he know the punishment for this would certainly be his death? If he went any further in his torturous advances, (Y/n) wouldn't be able to stop Geta from unleashing Hell onto him. If he stopped now, if he backed off and let (Y/n) hurry to Geta, then Caius would get away with being stripped of his General status and being exiled from Rome. But if he continued, (Y/n) wouldn't be able to stop her husband from taking his life.

"That was bold." Caius rose one hand to his mouth where he could taste blood from where he bit his tongue from the slap. But the way his grin splintered into a sideways smirk showed he wasn't going to stop at that.

(Y/n) screamed when his hand knotted in her hair and dragged her back against his chest, but when a thin hand blade was pressed over her neck, her voice cut short.

"Don't make me use this." He pressed the knife deeper against her throat until (Y/n) couldn't breathe without discomfort, as if she didn't know what he was referring to. "Although I do wonder… does your blood run blue when cut?"

A cry bubbled up in (Y/n)'s throat but she clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes to try and steady herself. Her hands grasped Caius's arm to stop herself from wavering and to try and keep him from pressing the blade too far and cutting off her breathing.

Oh dear.

How was she going to get out of this? How was she going to explain this situation to Geta? Her husband wasn't going to react well. She needed to get out of this now before Caius did something horrible. (Y/n) didn't want to know if he would cut her or not. She didn't want to be hurt with a blade. She didn't want to know what his intentions were or how far he would go or if he would truly try and defile an Empress.

His motives were clear and disgusting.

The word 'no' uttered past her lips and her neck tensed and began to tremble against the blade as she tried to push him back but it wasn't working.

The blade held her in place and when she felt his free hand move to clutch at her lip it felt like his fingers were fangs piercing into her skin. She could feel her dress being scrunched up in his fist along with how tightly he was gripping her skin that would surely bruise beneath his poisonous touch.

With what effort she could muster, (Y/n) rose her knee up and rammed it into his crotch as swiftly as she could manage. But the movement caused Caius to crash forwards into her as he doubled over with a loud grunt.

His face pressed awfully close to hers until (Y/n) could see the emotions bubbling over in his eyes. Rage. Lust. Anger. All of it, mixing together in a sinister concotion that had her stomach churning in fright.

She could barely draw in a proper breath with Caius pressing into her and the blade against her throat. But she tried. She tried to inhale one deep breath that expanded her lungs to the max and allowed her to hold her breath so she could push forward.

She took the risk of pressing her throat further into the blade until she could feel a slight sting and a few droplets of blood dribbled across the blade. It caused Caius to pull his arm back an inch or two.

He didn't want to cut her. He didn't want to use the blade unless he had to. He was smart. He hoped the threat of inflicting pain would be enough to subdue (Y/n) and make her listen to him. Actually harming her wasn't something Caius wanted to do because he knew if he was caught and (Y/n) was harmed, that would be it.

Harming the Emperor's wife was a death sentence and although Caius was playing with fire, he didn't want to get burned.

"Enough!" The word spat past (Y/n)'s lips in a breathless scream and she thrashed her arms out until they bashed down into Caius's elbows, forcing his arms to tense and drop down.

The action caused the knife to slice through her skin. It wasn't deep enough to reach muscle, but it was enough to make (Y/n)'s knees shake in agony and a scream erupted from her lips. The feeling of her skin peeling apart like fruit made her body cringe and writhe. She felt the knife carve from the side of her neck down to her collar bone.

When Caius's arm slid from her frame, the knife roughly slashed against (Y/n)'s dress, cutting the strap across her right shoulder so the material hung loose and barely stayed over her chest.

With her right hand cradling her neck and feeling the blood trickling across her palm, (Y/n) thrust her other arm out until she smacked the General at any angle and area of his body that she could. She flung her left side into him, shoving him back as she tripped over her skirts and stumbled away from him.

Her feet became caught in her dress that was floundering around her like sails caught in the wind and her body slumped against the wall to her right to stop herself going down on her knees.

Tears tumbled down her face as another scream belted past her lips, trying in vain to alert anyone that she needed help. There had to be someone around here. Surely. Someone had to be walking these halls or cleaning the rooms on this floor or just loitering around. There had to be someone who could hear her.

"I will have you!"

Caius's shrill, gritty tone made (Y/n) whimper and she turned around just in time to raise her left arm in defence when she saw the glittering edge of the blade coming towards her. The blade cut through her forearm deeper than the wound to her neck and had her arm trembling and coiling back towards her chest.

Why was he doing this? Why (Y/n)? Was the thought of harming or defiling an Empress worth the price he was going to pay for this?

Surely he knew that if he didn't kill (Y/n), she would tell Geta and that her husband wasn't likely to ignore her. Geta would believe her, he wouldn't never think his wife was lying and therefore Caius would have no defence when Geta found him. He couldn't lie his way out of this situation.

When his hand clenched around her upper arm and gave a rough twist, (Y/n) stumbled towards him. She let herself go limp and allowed him to drag her to her knees before him while her right hand slithered round from her tense, bleeding neck to scrunch her fingers up into her hair.

Caius seemed too interested with the sight of the Empress on her knees before him to notice what she was doing. His eyes were roaming her skin, taking in the sight of her tense throat that was gasping for air and her heaving chest trying to regain enough oxygen so she didn't pass out. He seemed to enjoy the hatred pooling in her eyes that would not look up beyond his chin, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring into those beastly eyes.

He made the mistake of leaning towards her. He made the grave error of letting go of her arm in favour of grasping her chin which he man handled so he could tilt her head back and roughly force his lips against hers. He was so rough that his teeth clashed against hers and caused her lip to cut against her teeth and the touch was sickening.

But the distraction was enough. (Y/n)'s trembling fingers pulled one of the pins from her hair that had previously kept her hair pinned neatly at the back of her head. Tendrils of hair fell loose as (Y/n) clenched the thin metal between her thumb and index finger.

Her watering eyes narrowed and she focused on the General before her as she thrust her hand forward until the pin punctured into his eye.

The action made her stomach churn and she could feel bile rising at the back of her throat as she gagged. The squelching sound made (Y/n) cough through a cry and when Caius roared, (Y/n) took her chance.

She twisted his wrist until the blade punctured through his lower abdomen where the silver armour he wore could not reach to protect him.

Another roar of agony left the General's lips as he crashed to his knees. Blood lathered around his eye socket where his eyelid was pinned closed and blood continued to trickle down his face. His white robes beneath his armour quickly started to change like a magician's trick, turning a horrible shade of crimson.

The wound in his abdomen wasn't as deep as (Y/n) wanted it to be, but she didn't have the strength to push the blade any further when it needed so much effort and Caius's hand was fighting against her, repelling her motion. But the flesh wound was all she needed to escape him.

(Y/n) sank back on her heels and scraped her bloodied hands along the floor so she could turn over and scramble to her feet.

Her hands bunched around her dress, yanking it up so she had no fear or tripping over her skirts as she pelted down the hall.

Tears whipped across her face, horrid wheezing breaths tumbled past her lips causing her chest to heave. And blood coated her previously crystal white dress that was now ruined. She would never be able to wear this dress again. She would never wear white again or look at her white gowns in the same way.

She looked like a ruined work of art.

Blood coated her palms. It dried like flecks of paint along her neck and she could feel slithers trickling down her chest beneath her dress. The fact that Caius's blood was now painted across her dress made (Y/n) want to be sick.

Her sandals slid across the stairs and had her stumbling down three steps at once causing her to grip the handrail before she tumbled down the staircase.

Terrified sounds tumbled past her lips and tears blurred her vision as she gasped for breath, running on adrenaline and fear.

(Y/n) coiled both her arms into her chest and bowed her head, running slightly hunched over to try and rid herself of the pulsing pains coursing through her body in time with her rapid heartbeat. Her eyes aimed on the floor that blurred before her eyes and she ran off memory. It was a relief that she knew this palace like the back of her hand and could run its halls in the dead of night with her eyes closed.

A scream erupted past her lips when her shoulder collided with another and sent her veering to the right.

"My lady-"

(Y/n) recognised the voice of the maid she had clearly barged into, but she couldn't place her name. Her mind was too scrambled to make sense of anything except for the fact that she needed her husband. Now.

"No!" (Y/n) flung her arm out when the maid tried to rest a hand on her shoulder. She didn't care for anyone's touch or anyone trying to help her. It was too little too late. She needed help ten minutes ago when the General had started his attack. Not now, when she had already defended herself and took care of the matter on her own.

Her feet picked up the pace and she was back to pelting unsteadily down the corridor, aiming for the great hall. If her husband wasn't in there then (Y/n) would find the nearest servant and demand them to find him. But she had to keep moving. Standing around in empty corridors was clearly unsafe now. She had to move until she was somewhere safe. With someone safe.

"You have brought great victory to Rome, General. You must be rewarded." Geta's fingers tangled together behind his back while he looked at Acacius stood opposite him and his brother.

They had listened to him reel off the plans of attack, what had worked and what needed improvement. The land he had procured for them and how they had only lost a few good men in their army.

They would plan games in the General's honour, to celebrate what he had done for the good of Rome.

Geta glanced over at his brother who was stood to his right with a beaming smile and a chuckle of agreement. Caracalla was all for celebrations, especially if it meant watching the games in the colosseum. The more blood and guts and gore, the better, in their opinion.

Just as Geta went to say something else, the words faded out on his tongue and he twisted to look behind him over his shoulder when the large oak doors burst open.

Reprimands and arguments flooded his mind as he was ready to punish whoever it was for entering the hall without knocking. Without permission. The servants knew not to interrupt, they knew a meeting was taking place and none of them were needed and should not interrupt.

He found no such arguments getting past his lips when he realised who had burst into the room.

His wife.

Such a belting scream emmitted past (Y/n)'s lips that Geta cringed and his shoulders rose up while his brother flinched and grunted at the noise.

Geta found his jaw hanging open and every part of his body turned rigid at the sight he was faced with.

His wife dropped to her knees once she was two feet over the threshold into the hall. Her body went down with a thump that echoed off the walls and her arms encased around her waist while she leaned forward and bowed her head. Her hair fell all around her in tangled knots and rampid curls that had come loose from their earlier, beautiful style that Geta had witnessed not more than an hour ago.

But it was the sight of his wife's dress that left Geta speechless and on the brink of collapsing himself. Blood. It tainted her dress. It embellished her smooth skin and speckled across her face and mingled with her torrential tears.

"Guards! Fetch the guards- and a healer. Now!" Geta spat the words as he shoved his hand into Acacius's shoulder to get him to move fast.

The General seemed as panicked and confused as both Emperors, but he nodded. One hand moved to grip the hilt of his blade just in case he encountered some thieves or thugs or crazed lunatic running around the palace. Acacius glanced his eyes down at the Empress as he rushed past her, panic and pain filling his gaze as he hurried past her.

He didn't have time to stop and try to help, he had to fetch a healer and alert the guards that there was a clear problem within the palace.

Geta could feel his brother hurrying behind him as the pair of them aimed for (Y/n).

The marbled floor hurt when Geta sank down to his knees before his wife and his hands immediately found her elbows so he could carefully reel her up so she was no longer crumpled over her thighs. He had to know what had happened. He had to know where all the blood was coming from. He had to help her. Somehow.

He couldn't help the way he flinched when he reached out for (Y/n) and her blood and tears soaked into his palms. His teeth sank down into his lower lip while he cupped her face in his hands and began smoothing his thumbs beneath her eyes to try and coax her to look at him.

But as Geta tilted her head back and tried to look her up and down, he didn't like what he saw.

There was a large cut, not too deep but not exactly superficial, going down the bottom of her neck and ended in the centre of her collar bone. And when (Y/n) reached her trembling hands up to grasp Geta's wrists, he tilted back and leaned his head down to look at the wound on her left arm. Blood was coating her arm like a red scarf had been wrapped around her forearm and droplets were splotching onto the otherwise clear marble floor.

Not to mention the fact that the right sleeve of her dress had been ripped, causing the top of her dress to bunch and sit lower on her chest than it had been earlier.

Someone was going to pay for this.

Geta's manic eyes couldn't stop roaming up and down his wife's frame and his hands were at the point of trembling until he was nearly shaking her head in his grasp. He couldn't find any words, all he could do was take note of each mark, each droplet of blood and each scuff mark on her skin. Noting all the discrepencies that someone was going to pay for. Each mark would account for every stab wound Geta would personally inflict on whoever was the cause of this.

"Where is little flower?" Caracalla looked from (Y/n) to glance behind her and then he darted his eyes around the room. His voice filled with a sudden air of panic and his features became enraged with every passing second.

His niece had been with (Y/n) when both Emperors left them. Was she too injured? Was she alright? Did they need a healer for the Princess too? Did the Emperors have to gut someone for daring to harm a hair on both the Empress and the Princess's heads?

A sudden breathlessness took over Geta when the thought of his daughter came to mind. He looked from his brother to his wife, noticing how his brother was starting to huff and his features had gone bright red at the thought of something happening to Floriana.

Where was his daughter?

"W- wi- with the maid. Safe." The words barely spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips. She couldn't find the nerve to speak and her panicked breaths and rapid heartbeat made it hard to utter a proper sentence.

But she had to let them know that Floriana was safe. (Y/n) dreaded to think what the General would have done if Floriana had been in (Y/n)'s arms when he approached her. Maybe he would have resisted and carried on walking. Maybe he would have hurt the princess too in order to get to the Empress. Perhaps he would have tried to drag (Y/n) away from her daughter. The possibilities were endless and each possible outcome made (Y/n) shudder and whimper. Thank the Gods her daughter had been and still was with her maid.

"Who did this?"

The tone of Geta's voice made (Y/n) cry harder and she couldn't meet his gaze until his hands were cupping her face more firmly and he tilted her head up so she had no choice but to look at him.

He wanted names. He wanted to know exactly who he had to castrate and murder for this madness.

"C-Caius."

"The General?"

Both Geta and Caracalla shared a look of confusion with each other while (Y/n) pulled her face out of Geta's hands so she could push forward into his embrace. Her face buried in his shoulder and her hands clutched at one of his arms, reeling it into her chest as she tried to curl up as if wanting to make herself disappear.

A General had done this? A man of power and influence, someone who should know much better than to mess with an Emperor's wife. A man who was trusted with the ruling and discipline of the Emperor's armies. A man like that had done this to the Empress of Rome.

"What did he do?" Geta feared to ask the question because he wasn't sure what kind of answer he would receive. The tears pouring down his wife's face told him the General had vastly overstepped the mark and tried to harm her, but exactly what he had done was unknown to Geta. He couldn't get the full story simply by looking at her wounds.

"He h- had a blade, he… he pinned me to t-the wall, but I stabbed him." (Y/n) closed her eyes, shuddering at the mere memory of what she had done.

She had never stabbed anyone before. She had never so much as slapped anyone before today, she had no need. No one had ever been inappropriate with (Y/n) before and the only person who had insulted her had almost been blinded when Geta fought him for the indignation.

"Okay." Geta hushed quietly while a mixture of relief and violent torment circled through his system.

The General clearly hadn't gotten as far as he wanted, Thank the Gods, but knowing he had even tried in the first place made Geta's fury boil over. (Y/n) had had to resort to stabbing him. She had resorted to defending herself when she shouldn't of had to, not in her own palace where she was supposed to be safe from threats and vile people like that.

Once Acacius led the way back into the hall, he was followed by a dozen guards, all waiting for instructions but instinctively on the look out for anything and anyone who looked out of place. Their eyes cast around the room but all fell silent when they looked down at the Empress.

One of Geta's hands moved to carefully cradle the back of (Y/n)'s head and the other arm encased around her waist, making sure she was tucked up safe against his chest. His lips smothered her temple for a few moments before he looked up at Acacius.

There was a great fire burning within Geta's eyes to rival the worst atrocities in the colosseum and the way his upper lip curled into a snarl was more than unsettling to witness.

"The healer is in the drawing room." Acacius could barely find his voice. His words were low and his eyes cast on the floor as he spoke. He didn't dare look at the Empress. Something told him that Geta would strike any of them if they dared to look at his wife while she was in such a state.

"Come here, my love." Geta's voice was unusually calm and the words were whispered against the shell of (Y/n)'s ear.

Her whole body broke out in trembles when Geta carefully moved her arms to loop them around the back of his neck. He left her face tucked up into the crook of his neck while his arms swooped around her lower back and the other slid beneath her knees.

He eased her against his chest and pushed up from his knees that had gone numb with how he had been knelt on the cold floor. It was hard for Geta to stop from digging his fingers into her skin. All he wanted to do was squeeze and grip her as tightly as he could but he knew better than to do that and risk hurting her anymore than she already had been.

His lips attached to her temple but his steely eyes focused ahead of him as he stormed out of the hall and into the corridor lined with guards who were watching and waiting his every move.

"What are you all looking at?!"

It took Geta by surprise, but he didn't shudder or jerk when he heard his brother's sudden scream. He simply pursed his lips and took a deep breath while he continued in his strides towards the drawing room that overlooked the gardens.

He could feel Caracalla and Acacius following close behind while the guards hung back a few steps, clearly unsettled by Caracalla's outburst. If any of them were caught staring at the Empress, Caracalla might raise his own sword to their throats. He was liable to fleeting moods and he was rattled, anything and anyone could provoke him. His sister had been hurt, he wouldn't take this lightly.

(Y/n) kept her face smothered in Geta's neck, brushing her chin and lips over the golden armour cladding Geta's shoulder. She could feel the cold metal turning her arms numb and making her blood run cold, but it was soothing when her skin felt like it had been overheating until now.

She wanted to disappear. (Y/n) wanted to curl up and make herself as small as possible. She wanted everyone to leave, she wanted this nightmare to end and to wake up like she had this morning with no problems on the horizon.

Once Geta stormed into the drawing room, he stormed ahead to the sofa that was in front of the large canopy windows and he knelt down to carefully lower (Y/n) onto the sofa. He sat down beside her, allowing her to continue to curl into his armour.

He cupped the side of her bloodied face and smothered his lips against the top of her head, breathing into her hair and inhaling her scent to try and calm himself down. He didn't remove his other arm from her waist that kept her tucked up against him. If the healers wanted to help her, they would have to do so while she was wrapped up in her husband's embrace.

The sound of Geta's voice murmuring "It's okay, you're okay," caused (Y/n) to cry harder and she didn't dare lift her head from his chest. She didn't want to look at anyone and see the fear or the sorrow filling their eyes. She didn't want their gazes falling on her.

It was a relief to see that the two healers had already started to get things prepared. There was a small table moved beside the sofa, covered with balms, remedies, cloths soaked in cleansing oils, bandages and opium, for the pain the Empress was clearly suffering.

"I want General Caius found and brought to me."

"The General?" The implication in Geta's voice was clear, but Acacius couldn't quite wrap his head around it. Surely this madness couldn't be down to the General's doing. Surely Caius hadn't done or caused all of this.

Acacius was a General himself and he would never dare to lay a hand on the Empress without great reason. It was rare for anyone to strike up a conversation with the Empress. For someone to lay a hand on her, to harm her in such a way was unspeakable and unthought of. No one would imagine something like this happening, within the palace no less.

Acacius took a step back, his eyes casting down when he found himself under Geta's scrutinising gaze. The way Geta's lips curled was frightening and the vengeance he wanted was clearly written across his face.

"He has maimed my wife!"

His usually pale complexion was overrun with colour. The make up Geta wore couldn't hide the blood rushing to the surface of his skin and the black make up smudged beneath his eyes only made him look deathly and spiteful. "Look what he's done to her!"

Geta realised his voice may have been a fraction too loud when he felt (Y/n) whimper and flinch in his arms, but he couldn't help it.

Could General Acacius not see what had been done to his Empress? Could he not see that she had told Geta exactly who had done this and that Geta wanted his head?

He wanted Caius brought to him now, and he wanted to inflict the fires of Hell onto him for this madness.

"And I want guards with the Princess. She is to be within their sights at all times."

With the wave of his hand, the General and the guards all left the room in search of Caius. Three guards stayed positioned outside the doors, making sure no one came in without permission. They would all be stationed to protect the Empress from now on. She wouldn't be walking the halls alone again, not after this.

And four guards were ordered to go to the Princess's chambers and keep watch over her. They were to make sure she was alright and ensure no one visited her or went too close to her. The Empress had already been attacked, Geta wouldn't stand for his daughter being hurt or frightened in any sense.

A frustrated growl left Geta's lips. He couldn't foresee how this atrocity had happened. Guards should have heard the commotion. Servants should have been filtering around the palace at some point. Someone should have stopped this. Were these people not paid enough to look after their rulers? Were they incompetent? Would Geta have to replace each and every one of them to ensure the safety of his family?

Whatever Geta grunted and grumbled under his breath went unheard by (Y/n) and the healers around them.

She tried to nuzzle her face into Geta's neck but her watering eyes opened when she found his hand cradling her chin and he carefully tilted her head back on his shoulder so he could look down upon her.

Without saying a word, he took one of the cloths from the table and began working to rid the blood from his wife's features. It felt like polishing a diamond, cleansing away every bitter element of the world to find the beauty hidden beneath. He scrubbed the flecks of blood away, watching as hazy burnt orange water the same as his hair trickled down her features as the blood was cleaned away.

The healers didn't make a sound, allowing Geta to be the one to clean the wound on (Y/n)'s neck so they could apply tonics and rags soaked in lotion. The wound wasn't deep enough to require stitches, the tonics would help the skin mend back together on its own and as long as it was clean, there would be no infection to deal with.

When he was done, Geta tossed the rag onto the floor and went back to gluing his lips against his wife's temple. He resisted the urge to start swaying them from side to side, knowing that would make the healer's job much harder as he was tending to the cut on her forearm. That one would require stitches, the blood loss made that very clear.

His thumb stroked across (Y/n)'s jaw while his other hand tensed and twitched against her hip, trying to control the rage that was mounting up within him. But when he glanced to the left, adrenaline fueled his heart and made extra beats course through his blood when he noticed Acacius had crept back into the room.

With a lasting kiss to the side of (Y/n)'s temple, Geta carefully slid from sitting behind her and approached the General.

He was pleased when his brother took his place, sitting down beside (Y/n) with a tepid smile and his hand held out so (Y/n) could squeeze his hand. Caracalla took it upon himself to take the vile of opium and press it to his sister in law's lips, urging her to drink so the pain in her arm would be lessened and the discomfort from the gash in her neck would go away. And with any luck, it might help her sleep.

"We found him." Acacius murmured quietly and the grave look on his face told Geta all he needed to know. By the looks of him when they found him, there was no doubt that he had been the one who attacked the Empress.

The weak sound of (Y/n) trying to call out his name had Geta shivering, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. If he looked at her, he wouldn't be able to leave her and right now, he had to. As much as he wanted to stay by his wife's side, he had to let the healers tend to her wounds so Geta himself could tend to the obscenity that had caused this mess. The threat needed to be vanquished.

Geta let the General lead him through the twists and turns of the palace until they were down in the dungeon.

It had been a while since Geta had been down here, it wasn't a place he frequented often. He sent people here, he sent a lot of people down here, but he didn't administrate the torture they received or visit them as they spent many days, weeks, sometimes even months down here.

If he ever unleashed his violence on people, it was usually up in the main quarters of the palace. In front of servants or an audience.

But this was different. This was a General that Geta had to deal with. And although the people of Rome would be understanding that someone hurting the Empress needed to be punished, they wouldn't take kindly to witnessing a General being slain.

This was a necessity. No one got away with harming the Emperor's wife. General Caius had taken liberties and Geta needed to show him that he wouldn't allow that and that the price was his life. He had to pay for his crimes.

His sandals clicked against the grime covered stones lining the floor, differing from the marble floor that was in many of the upstairs chambers of the palace. The torches did nothing to cast a good light around the dungeon, the lighting was dim but it glimmered off of Geta's golden armour.

He removed the sword from his belt and tossed it to one side. Caius didn't deserve a swift end. Geta wouldn't grant him that.

Once Acacius led him to one of the cells on the right and a guard unlocked the iron door, Geta lowered his head to step inside the small cell with an oval brick ceiling matching that of the wine cellar.

One brow arched and his head angled to the side, both to overlook the General and to stop his golden hair from touching the low ceiling. Geta's eyes narrowed in scrutiny and something of a smile formed across his lips as he looked over the doomed General.

Hands bound in shackles chained to the wall. On his knees where he belonged in the grime and dirt and puddles of water that leaked through the small slits in the ceiling that provided very little light. The General had his head lowered but once he lifted his chin, something seemed to wash over him and his skin turned pale.

Geta revelled in the way Caius shivered and how his chest started to rise and fall rapidly, sensing his impending doom at the sight of one of his Emperors stood before him.

Turning to the side, Geta overlooked the wooden table in the corner of the room right beside the door. Everything he needed to ensure a torturous death; everything from tongue clamps to iron pokers and a various assortment of blades.

With a deep breath and a wider smile, Geta waved his hand to dismiss Acacius. He didn't need a witness or any protection, and Caius was going to receive no mercy. Geta didn't want Acacius to try and vouch for this man or try to earn the sparing of his life. He was going to die, Geta had already decided upon it.

Once Acacius departed to wait outside the chamber, Geta crouched down in front of Caius. His arms perched on his thighs and a sickening grin lit up his face as he leaned in close to inspect the wounds on Caius. He reached out and roughly gripped Caius's chin, twisting his head from left to right to take a good look at his wife's handiwork. She shouldn't have needed to defend herself in the first place, but nonetheless, Geta was proud of her.

"My wife has wounded you well; I have come to finish the task."

Whatever had been stabbed into his eye had been removed, but the blood was still covering the eye socket and both eyelids had swollen shut over his eye. He stared across at the Emperor with only one good eye to witness his own demise. And there was a lovely puddle of blood gathering around his knees from a wound beneath his armour.

They hadn't bothered to call a healer for him. What use would it do to patch up a condemned man? He was already dead, he just hadn't known it until now.

He roughly let go of Caius's chin, allowing his head to drop down while he rose to his feet and turned to face the table of instruments. Geta's fingers danced across each one before he decided which one to use first.

When he crouched back down in front of the General, glee lit up his face when he saw the panic strike Caius right in the heart. His head began to shake and he tried to shuffle back, but Geta tutted. He should know better.

"Tsk-tsk. True Generals show no fear; and true Emperors shall show no mercy."

Caius had nowhere to move to, he was limited by the iron clasped around his wrists and the chain welded to the brick wall. He dropped from his knees to flop onto the floor with his heels scraping against the puddle of blood beneath him and his back slumped into the wall.

His good eye screwed shut and he swallowed down a groan when Geta gripped his face and squeezed his cheeks until he had no choice but to open his mouth. The iron clamp snapped down into Caius's tongue, earning a croaked groan as Geta pulled the clamp so his tongue was on display. He knew the General knew what this meant, he was sure the General had used this device before. The tongue was either twisted until the muscle snapped or it was held until a blade sliced through the muscle and the tongue was cut out.

Geta slowly rose to his feet, a sickening look crossing his face as he reached out for a suitable blade. He stood close and hovered over the General like a beacon of Death. The Emperor was the bridge between life and death, he would deliver the General personally to the Angel of death.

"When I am done with you, what's left can be fed to the beasts in the colosseum."

***

A grimace flooded Acacius's face and his nose scrunched up as he tried to hold his breath so he didn't gag or make a disgruntled sound. He was used to witnessing death, he saw it whenever he went into battle and when he oversaw the games at the colosseum.

But he had never witnessed the gruesome death of a fellow General before. And the sight of the Emperor in front of him was one that was rather unsettling.

Geta glided down the hall like he was walking on air and the calm look on his face contradicted the heinous act he had just carried out.

It was as if he didn't seem to notice his attire was not all that fitting of an Emperor, but it seemed more fair to say that he just didn't care. He didn't care that his golden armour gladding his chest was now smeared with blood. He didn't care about the clear, bloodied hand print on the base of his robes near his knee from where Caius had begged for mercy. In vain.

Geta didn't see a problem with his ghostly white features that were now painted with a mixture of blood and dirt.

He paid no mind to the blood and grit stuck beneath his short nails, or the tiny cuts to his fingers and the palms of his hands from where he had hacked blades into Caius's flesh.

The clothes he was wearing would have to be burned, there was no saving the mixture of white and gold cloth from the stains this afternoon's torment had littered them with. And Geta would need to bathe and soak in boiling water for at least an hour to rid every morsel of blood and grime from his body.

He didn't care.

The smile on his wicked features said as much as he waltzed down the hall until he reached his chambers.

He wanted to see his wife. He wanted to see how she was fairing, how her wounds had been treated and if she was feeling any better. And Geta wanted her to see and bask in the blood and guts that he was painted with like a massacred work of art. Geta wanted her to know that he had taken care of the threat posed to her. He wanted her to see that she was safe and know that whatever Caius had tried to do to her, he got his comeuppance ten times worse.

He had already made sure that the Princess was in her own room and therefore wouldn't have to see her father in this state. Geta knew the Princess wouldn't understand and would most likely think it was paint that was covering her father, but Geta still didn't want this memory imprinted on her small, innocent mind.

Geta opened the chamber doors like he was walking out into a bright summers day and taking his first gulp of fresh air.

He cast his eyes around the room, noticing his brother sat on the chair by the window with Dondus perched happily on his shoulder, chittering away. And when he looked towards the bed, he saw her. His wife, his reason for living, sat in the centre of the bed looking like she wanted to fall to sleep but couldn't quite manage the task yet.

When their eyes met, their silent gaze spoke a thousand unsaid words as Geta strode towards her. It was all their in his eyes, his smile, his attire and his now crimson skin.

She was safe. He had made sure of that.

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Hey, i am the one who requested the slaxl story: yea I meant axl telling Izzy about slash, sorry if that was unclear😅 I respond you this way cause I'm sure how I can comment under your post😭 (new on Tumblr)

Okay so a year has passed since this ask (ops) and I am so sorry, but between uni and anything I've never got the chance to finish it until now. I hope you'll enjoy it :)

Izzy's POV

The clock read 3 a.m when a loud bang on the door woke Izzy up. The guitarist almost wanted to laugh, considering that he decided to go to sleep earlier for once but destiny had other plans for him. He settled on ignoring the noise however it just kept going.

“Go away!” He yelled, hoping that the fucker would give up.

“Izzy, pleaseeee open up!” Axl's voice pleaded.

“Go harass Duff, he’s probably still awake.”

He might have been Axl’s childhood best friend but it didn’t mean he had to deal with his shit, especially when he just wanted to sleep and nothing would change that not even the grip forming in his heart due the guilt.

“Please Izzy, I need your help.”

Izzy wanted to say no and go back to sleep or pretend to until Axl would have left him alone, but something inside him urged him to listen to his friend. More than once he found himself calming the redhead back to sleep or allowing him to let his emotions out, especially for Axl and the whole band’s sake.

Reluctantly he stood up, his hands curled up in fists for a second and promising himself that he would make sure to let the other man know he owned him. When he opened the door, he was relieved to see Axl's face still intact however his glossy eyes had some red in them that couldn’t only be because of the alcohol.

“What do you want, shithead?” He asked unceremoniously.

“I need your help, Izzy.”

“Yeah, you kind of said that already. So are you going to repeat that all night or are you giving a good enough reason why you’re knocking on my door at 3 a.m.?”

“Okay, so do you know Slash?” Axl sounded completely serious which made Izzy almost let out a hysterical laugh. He couldn't help but arch his eyebrows at how Axl was tiptoeing around the subject, even if he was more surprised about how he still hadn't pushed him out of his room. His stomach lurched at the thought he was becoming soft.

“You mean Slash, our guitarist, the one we have known for a year now?” His sarcasm was bitter but it didn’t seem to faze Axl.

“Yeah.. me and Slash did something…”

Izzy rolled his eyes. As much as he wanted to strangle Axl to make him spill the beans, a part of him didn’t want to know what those idiots did because it meant getting involved and he wasn't ready to bail Slash out of jail again, even if deep down he loved them. Before saying anything he sighed, letting out all the anger from his voice because he had learned long ago that it was pointless.

“Something illegal?”

“No, well maybe it’s immoral for some people. My step dad would have found it such but technically it’s not illegal.”

The guitarist forgot that if Axl normally would talk for hours, while drunk he would do that even more while making zero sense. Something so wonderful when he just wanted to sleep.

“Axl, please just tell me what the hell you two have done!”

“Me and Slash went on a date, okay?!”

Izzy’s eyes widened in surprise. The sexual tension between Axl and Slash was obvious, the two were constantly hugging and teasing each other, however he didn’t think they would actually act on those feelings. Probably his tiredness didn't only close his eyes but his brain too, because he felt genuinely happy for them, even if the redhead’s tone told him the date didn’t go as planned.

“On a date? Damn, did you bite the bullet and ask him?”

“Well it wasn’t officially a date but we both knew it was.” Axl said, sounding just like a teenager.

Izzy's head started pulsing in anticipation of the cheesy story that was about to unfold, he would rather eat sand than having to listen to that but he doubted that pretending to faint could get away with not hearing the story. However, making his eyebrows arch was the reason Axl decided to come to him, usually Duff was the love advisor. Was it because he trusted him more? Or was it karma deciding to kick his ass by not making him able to get a good night of sleep?

“What’s wrong with the date?”

“Everything was cool and then he kissed me!” The singer spat those words almost like they were poison.

“You weren’t okay with that?” Izzy 's heart started to beat faster as rage slowly crept close to the surface. He was well aware of Axl’s past and how he didn’t take lightly people forcing on him, so it was only expected for him to go into his protective mode. Hell, if he discovered Slash had done something to Axl, he would have killed himself with his hands.

“No no, I wanted to but then I freak out because it made everything real! Because I really like him but we agreed to be friends with benefits and I don’t know what to do.” The redhead sniffled, hiding his face with his hair.

The guitarist's brain just shut down, unable to process a correct answer to give, he knew he needed to be honest but not too harsh, sympathetic yet realist. He just stayed silent for what seemed the longest time, Axl's eyes fixed on him like he had the answer to every problem of the universe, while Izzy was just digging through his brain for possible outcomes.

“Well isn’t it pointless to not be together if he likes you?”

"Well, you are already having sex. What's the problem?"

“Don’t worry about it, true love always wins.”

“Fucking hell Axl, it’s 3 in the morning and I just want to sleep.”

“Why don’t you talk with him tomorrow? When you are sober and not a crying mess. Just tell him you want to take things slow and time will tell.” He decided to set on, hoping it would work.

Axl tilted his head, pondering what Izzy said like a big truth about the secrets of the universe, and eventually he nodded in agreement. The other man's shoulder relaxed, maybe the universe was really rooting his way and spared him more Axl's tears and possible screams.

“You’re right. I just gotta wait and I’ll tell him and if doesn’t accept him, well fuck him!”

“Great, now why don’t you go back to your room and just sleep on all of this?” The black haired man suggested, almost taking his arm to direct him to the door. However a knock to the door made him groan in frustration, every ounce of diplomacy leaving his body at the prospect of having to deal with another of his bandmates.

“Whoever you are, you better get lost in the next five seconds or I will murder you.”

“Izzyyyy, I need your help.” Slash’s intoxicated voice replied.

Another drunk friend, as dealing with Axl wasn’t enough for him. The redhead’s eyes widened were a big tell that he was about to freak out and the guitarist didn’t know if he could handle him. Pinching his nose, he decided to take matters into his own hands before he had to bash his head against the wall, after all his hotel room wasn't a therapist's office.

“Slash, go to Duff. It isn’t really a good moment.” He yelled sternly.

“But I need you!”

“I’m going out of here.” Axl said, moving towards the window and prompting Izzy to throw his arm to block him.

“Fuck no! You will stay here and I’ll try to keep him out.” Izzy squeezed his shoulders in a calming way.

He opened the door just enough to see his band mate: clearly intoxicated, his eyes weren't red but they were darting all around and his fingers were playing with one of the bracelets he always wore. It was another prime example of a band mate in crisis, but to make everything worse, he didn't know Slash as much as he knew Axl.

"Slash, why don't you go to Duff?" He crossed his arms, hoping to scare him enough to discourage him from staying there.

"Because he can't understand... you know him better." Slash's curls automatically covered his face, but that didn't fool Izzy and only made his heart drop in defeat.

"Know who better?" He sounded as vague as possible, as if he couldn't hear Axl crawling on the floor and hiding in the bathroom.

"Axl. Look, I'm afraid that I freaked him out. I'm scared too, I get it but I need to gain his trust back."

Izzy rubbed his temples, the headache slapping him with such a force that he wished he could make him pass out, giving him a way out of this mess. He had another choice to make: should he tell Slash that Axl was there, and let them solve their problems? Or should he protect his friend and keep his mouth shut?

He tasted his pockets for cigarettes, probably they could have cleared his mind and corrupted Slash, making him gain some time. All of a sudden a loud noise made his hand fall against his side and a small curse came out his mouth, even Slash in his drunken stupor was attracted by the unusual sound.

"What's that noise?" A look of puzzlement crossed Slash's face.

"I was busy before you interrupted me." Izzy gestured vaguely, hopefully the other man was too drunk to question his lie.

"You never bring a girl into your room."

"Now what? Do you think you know what I do in my free time?" His face contorted in an annoyed expression.

It took all his self control to not ran outside the room and leave the two idiots with themselves, all this diplomacy was making him sick to his stomach. Slash's glossy eyes stared at him for a second, but he was too out of it to argue back, however right when he thought the situation was diffused, he heard the bathroom door opening.

Axl seemed to have sober up a bit, his face was clean of any sign of tears however his eyes quickly went down as soon as he caught a glimpse of Slash. On the other hand Slash seemed awkward, his mouth opened in slight surprise as Izzy could clearly see the gears in the other man's brain trying to come up with something but only resorting to silence.

"Hi Slash." The redhead said shyly.

"Were you hiding in the bathroom?"

Axl's face scrunched up for a moment and Izzy saw a familiar fire in his eyes that made him ready to step in if needed, but apparently the redhead's rational side seemed to win so he just took a deep breath and did not break Slash's nose to the delight of Izzy.

"I guess we need to talk."

Izzy's eyes bolted to both men as the tension was filling the air: Axl's confidence was gone as he kept looking around the room while Slash just stood still as he was waiting for the Earth to swallow him alive. Izzy wanted to leave the room but a look from childhood best friend's told him to stay.

"Look Axl, if you didn't like the kiss it's fine. I know we said to keep things casual-" Slash started but he was quickly interrupted.

"No, I liked the kiss. It's just a bit more complicated than that." Axl started to play with his bracelets, trying to find the right words.

"Oh..."

Izzy's hands hitched to butt the heads of his friends together, maybe that could help them be less oblivious. A sense of discomfort took over as he realized that he was just standing here, watching two people talking about their deepest feelings in front of a bandmate. He needed to do something so he headed towards the only window in his room to lit up a cigarette.

"I... I like you Slash, okay? But this shit ain't easy! I've never had feelings for a guy, I've been taught it was a sin."

"You like me?" Slash asked, with such a surprised tone that Izzy had to turn around to watch both of them.

"Yeah. I know I said "no feelings involved" but it happened."

Izzy watched Slash stumbling towards Axl and gently kissing him. For a moment Izzy's heartbeat got faster but Axl quickly reciprocated the kiss, making shame invade the guitarist's body.

"I'll be outside... try to not use my bed for "fun times" " He said but the other two man were too busy eating their faces to acknowledge him in any way.

Axl POV

Axl barely heard the door closing, he was too focused on how Slash's lip tasted like a whole bottle of Jack and a pack of cigarettes or how his hands were buried in the other man's curls, making Slash purring in his mouth. Quickly their lips weren't gently touching anymore but smashing against each other, the air uncomfortably getting trapped in his lungs and his cheeks turning red.

"I'm taking this forward, okay? Tell me to stop whenever you don't feel up to it anymore." Slash said and Axl nodded, his face relaxing at the thought of having a choice.

Slash's hand traveled to Axl's shirt, his finger played with the hems without actually lifting it while their feet were subconsciously leading them towards the bed. The same bed Izzy forbidden them to touch. Axl tugged Slash's shirt, hating his moment of clarity because he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing, but the other man didn't budge.

"Slash?"

"Mh?" He said, interrupting the kiss.

"Izzy would kill us if we touched his bed." Slash sighed and stepped away from Axl. "But maybe we can continue in your room." The redhead added.

Slash's lips immediately turned into a smirk but he hesitated for a minute.

"So we are officially more than fuck buddies? Because I can't deal with another run like the one we had before, I thought you were going to take a plane or kill me!"

"Yes, we are. I might take some time but I promise."

Axl felt Slash's hand on his, squeezing it reassuringly and the cold metal of his ring gave him a weird sense of comfort, he couldn't explain it but it just felt like Slash. He let him guide him to the door as fear slowly left his body.

Izzy's POV

He sat against the door, his head pounding and his eyes tired which was so fucking stupid because everything was solved, there was no need for his body to be so dramatic. He pondered about resting,not sleeping, just to see if it eased the pain of his head.

"Izzy?" The voice was far away but he just ignored it. He was so close to drift away when the voice came back again and louder.

"Izzy!" It sounded familiar but his brain was too exhausted to match any face to the voice.

"I'm sleeping, leave me alone." He replied.

The sound of steps only lasted a couple of seconds before he felt someone sitting next to him, all his reflexes were apparently dull because he didn't react at all. A strong smell of cigarettes and a very specific cologne hit his nostrils and revealed the mysterious man.

"Duff, what are you doing here?" He said, giving up and opening his eyes.

Duff's shoulder dropped in relief, his red eyes holding all the remaining anxiety running through his body. Izzy had no idea if he was about to laugh or cry because having to babysit him sounded like a nightmare.

"Oh thank God you're alive. I was smoking outside the bar and then I noticed Slash running towards the hotel, I thought he was in trouble until I watched him get inside your room."

"Yeah, he is okay. He was just very drunk and he and Axl had to sort something out."

"Is Axl going to kill him? What's going on?"

Izzy's hands started to play with the pack of matches in his hands, he looked Duff right into his eyes with a blank expression while his mind was traveling as fast as light. He didn't want to harm Axl or Slash in any way, even if he always had a good amount of trust in Duff's open mind.

"No. I'm about to say something and it has to stay between us, okay? Axl and Slash are dating.

Duff started laughing and then it turned into wheezing, so much that he had to hold his stomach from it and his eyes started to water with tears. Rage shot through Izzy's body, making his face twist into the scariest impassible expression he was capable of, the one that usually meant he was about to throw hands.

" God, I thought Slash upset Axl or something. I mean, are we even surprised? Those two are behaving like a married couple all the time, fucking finally!"

Izzy didn't even realize he clutched his hands until he relaxed them, Duff's supportive nature came handy once again and he found it hard to suppress the smallest hint of a smile. As much as the bassist was a piece of work, but Izzy couldn't really say anything since he was one too, moments like this reminded him of the weird bond they had about making sure the rest of the band was okay.

Suddenly the door next to him opened, revealing a certain drummer with blonde hair staring at Duff and Izzy with the widest smile.

"Axl and Slash are together?" Steven squealed with excitement.

"Steven, what the hell? You scared me!" Duff said, holding a hand over his heart.

The drummer ignored him to instead close his door and sat across Izzy, eyes full of joy and his body vibrating with energy.

"It's almost 4am why are you awake?" Izzy hoped to distract him.

"I couldn't sleep. So, are Axl and Slash together? How did that happen?"

The guitarist sighed, he pondered if he should have ignored Steven all together but the angel on his shoulder seemed to win, his face softened as he looked at the other man. He went over the story again, his calm voice in total contrast with Steven's continuous face expression even if in a way it made him feel validated in having to deal with those two idiots.

"Wow, I've never knew they were fuck buddies. I mean, one time I saw Slash and a redhead in bed but I thought it was a chick!" Steven said, making Duff laugh again.

Before he could stop it, Izzy felt a small laughter escaping his body as the image of a very naked and dramatic Axl screaming plagued his head. His head moved closer to the door but he couldn't hear much so Izzy returned to focus on Duff and Steven and their very important argument about pizza toppings, but soon their voice became only a background noise and his eyes dropped.

Maybe he was finally able to get some sleep...

The door slammed open, making Izzy's eyes immediately snap open, he turned his body around and he saw Slash's guilty eyes shooting an apology, quickly followed by Axl's confused face. Irritated wasn't even enough to describe the pure heat radiating through his body, but he would have lied if he said that he wasn't relieved by their two friends holding hands.

" What are Duff and Steven doing here?" Axl tilted his head quizzically.

"Duff thought you would kill Slash and Steven wanted a sleepover." Izzy explained and that seemed enough for Slash, who tugged Axl towards their room before the redhead could say anything.

The doorknob almost lured Izzy like a siren as his tired body screamed for some rest, he barely realized his feet moving towards his room before he was distracted by Steven's cheerful voice.

"Wanna join me and Duff in our sleepover?"

"No." He said, closing the door right in his friends' face and falling flat on his bed.

[bradley-banner]

She's almost glad for the silence of the elevator ride, giving her a minuscule amount of time to prep herself for the conversation that has set itself out before her. The trajectory of her night completely different to how she'd intended. Elevator ride over and there's a silent pace to the door, the key card slipping against the lock until she hears the familiar clicking sound that signals the door has opened.

She doesn't bother to hold the door for him as she walks inside the room, desperate to find some distance between them as she throws her bag down on the table, mask right behind it.

( physical mask discarded, but Bradley wore a mask every day of her life, and that one still sat firmly upon the features of her face. )

She doesn't bother to kick her shoes off, it doesn't feel like theres time for that, and getting comfortable seems pointless when this conversation is going to be anything but, instead she turns around, finally facing him for the first time since they'd left the floor downstairs.

I knew you hated me, but I didn't realise just how much until now.

In that moment it's clear to her that even if he'd read her manuscript, he hadn't seen her in its words. Just the version of her he'd chosen to see, and that in itself made her heart ache, a prevalent feeling when it came to memories of them, even if her blood seethed with frustration at what she thought was his latest violation of her trust - not that she had much of that in him anymore.

"Stop, you know that's not true."

She doesn't go as far as to offer a pleading tone, but she'd never hated him, not once during their time together, not even when they'd come crashing down, not even now. She hated what he did to her, how the man she'd had starry eyes for over the bar top had made her tumble from her pedestal overnight. How he'd made her question everything she'd always been told she was. How he'd broken pieces of her that felt like they'd forever be beyond repair, no matter how many people she paid to try fix her.

If only he knew the ways she'd protected him. From her life when the lights got a little too bright, from shaving down her circle of inner people when they dared deem him an outsider, from the smear campaign Elijah had wanted to run when they'd split because how dare someone do that to his daughter, how the threat of selling her Banner shares was the only thing that had made him pull the plug on that narrative.

How every time he went to an event with her she'd hang back when she should have been at the forefront, her fingers tangled tightly between his because his comfort dominated over a photo op.

What comes next is brought up much sooner than she'd expected, and the question practically winds her. So much so she turns on the heel of her designer shoe, forcing distance between them. Fight or flight, and she momentarily picks the latter. She needs a pause to think.

"I don't know." She responds finally, still refusing to look at him as she stands up against the window, forcing her gaze out towards the sea, doesn't want him to see the emotion thats taken over her features match that of the crashing waves below.

"I don't know that you were ever supposed to know." Bradley clarifies, finally stealing a glance at him. "I told you, it's not finished. It might not stay." Sure, it's part of her story, their story, but it's not one she's sure she's ready to tell the whole world. "— but no, this isn't how you were supposed to find out, nor when it publishes, I'd think you knew me better than that."

Perhaps not, what did they truly know of each other these days? Halloween hadn't offered any clarity. They were different people, separated by social class, separated by time, separated by their marred ideas of each other that writhed around in pain.

"I tried to tell you." Her fingers wring together as she says it as she's turning back towards him properly, having prepped herself to push it down and handle it — or so she thinks, because no sooner is her head tilting to look away from him because she can't help but feel her face flush with the emotion of having to relive one of three of the worst days of her life.

( the first being Beau, the second being reason for the night she fled. )

"Couldn't bare you looking at me like you are right now."

( @santiagodeleons )

All you ever did was take.

It's hard for him to hear anything else that follows, his jaw tense and his stare cold as he wills himself not to rise to the provocation he perceives. He's no stranger to having a Banner infer that he that he was a leech of sorts. Elijah had been loud and literal about it, Isla's judgements were subtler, almost ladylike he had once thought. He found his own ways of never letting it phase him, of rising above it so he didn't drag himself down to a level where his reaction would embarrass his wife or leave her with another thing that had to be smoothed over.

For all the things he thinks she would accuse him of taking, he's certain she would never acknowledge everything he had given.

He had tried to lighten the load for her by doing his own smoothing -- the roughest edges of his personality, the raucous nights at Four Leaf that would spark a narrative that might reflect on her even when she wasn't present -- he did what he could to try move through her world without blighting it.

He bent and bluffed and boxed off parts of him and did his best not to break under the weight of being Bradley Banner's husband.

( No one ever saw her as Santiago De Leon's wife. )

She had never asked that of him, but she had never had to. He had wanted her more than he wanted an easy life, but he faltered when that life stopped feeling like theirs.

"Call me whatever the fuck you want, Bradley." He says evenly, avoiding the forked roads she's set out for him. They're easy traps to fall into, to defend himself, to defend their past but none of those arguments would give him the answers that he needed.

Ones that he would only accept from her, not from ink on paper.

Bradley goes and Santiago follows -- same old, same old -- his silence steadfast as the bustle of the main hall faded out in their wake, traded for penthouse suite that still managed to be equal parts lavish and hollow as it surrounded him. He had spent more nights than he could count there wishing for exactly this, Bradley stood in the same room as him with the rest of the world a faint reminder existing elsewhere to them.

Now he can barely look at her.

He doesn't insult her by asking if what she wrote was true, despite her accusation of the contrary, he knew better than to even think that of her. That didn't stop the other thoughts that came flooding to the forefront as his eyes find hers, tunnel visioned on a singular aspect of her novel.

"I knew you hated me, but I didn't realise just how much until now."

It had been easy to delude himself into thinking otherwise, fuelled by Halloween and the chapters that had preceded the one that had upended him, recounting how they had fallen in love and the good years that had come with that.

A love story until it wasn't.

"Were you ever going to tell me or was I supposed to find out about our baby when your book hit the stands?"

@bradley-banner

[narcissisticmf]

come back, please | peter pevensie x fem!reader

description: y/n lives in narnia and after the pevensie siblings leave, she feels like her connection with peter was left unfinished. she begs aslan to go see him in his world.

trigger warnings: angst, violence, sword fighting, mentions of anxiety/depression, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: 3.1k

You stood beside Caspian as you watched Aslan stand before the crowd of Telmarines and Narnians. The air was rather brisk that day, you felt your clothed arms grow subtle goosebumps all amongst them. You attempted to avoid eye contact with anyone except Aslan, for you were unable to look to the Pevensie siblings without shedding a tear or two, or many more. You felt Caspian nudge your arm softly with his elbow as a way to comfort you without using words. You forced a small smile to your glossy lips and continued to look at Aslan.

"If any Telmarines wish, I will return you to your forefathers. I'm not referring to Telmar, either. Your ancestors were seafaring brigands. Pirates run aground on an island. There they found a cave, a rare chasm that brought them here from their world. The same world as our kings and queens," Aslan trailed off and continued to explain more about where he would send any of the volunteers.

When he'd mentioned the kings and queens of Narnia, your eyes flickered to the Pevensies. The warmth in your eyes slowly started to grow cold when you locked your gaze with Peter, who looked back at you with a gentle expression. Through your lashes, tears blurred your vision. You felt as though you shouldn't be crying, you did your best to fight it, but the tears continued to trickle down from your waterline, along your cheeks staining your soft skin.

After a family had offered to go through with Aslan's offer, he awaited upon another volunteer. You bit the inside of your cheek, knowing what was coming when Peter stepped forth.

"We'll go," He swallowed thickly, his gaze bounced from Aslan to you.

"We will?" Lucy's voice raised in pitch.

"Come on. Our time's up," Peter released a breath and walked towards you and Caspian. His attention was solely on the prince as he pulled off his sword. "After all, we're not really needed here anymore," He handed the sword over to Caspian who took it in his grasp.

"I will look after it until your return," Caspian spoke with incandescence.

"I'm afraid that's just it," Susan spoke up. You glanced up to her with a knowing expression. "We're not coming back," She finished.

You felt Peter stand before you, but your eyes refused to look up to him. Without making any weeps, hot tears fell down along your flushed cheeks. Your blurred vision caught a glimpse of Peter's hands motion towards your face. His warm palms caressed your wet cheeks, making you finally look up to him.

"Why must you go, Peter?" You released in a soft whisper, nearly inaudible.

"I've learned what I can from this world, Y/N.. it is time for me to live in my own," He spoke gently, a subtle sadness under his tone.

"I will miss you so much," You choked out, in an attempt to keep your voice steady, but you failed miserably.

Peter parted his glossy lips and stared at you with the most comforting gaze you could imagine. He snuck his arms around your shoulders and buried his face into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly. You wrapped your arms around his torso with all the emotional strength you had left in you. You couldn't let go, not until he would first.

"Don't forget me," You whispered, lifting your head up to look at him.

"Never," Peter pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You fluttered your eyes closed in response and let the warmth from your forehead spread throughout the rest of your body.

You felt Peter pull away, his fingers grazing across your sides as he stepped back, keeping his eyes upon you as he made his way to stand beside his siblings. Caspian and Susan shared a goodbye beside you, but you continued to watch Peter as he did you.

A burning sensation overtook your eyes as you watched the Pevensie siblings make their way between the trees of which Aslan had made for anyone who wished to go into another world. As soon as they stepped between the trees, they disappeared and you were left with your heart sunken into your stomach. More tears trickled down your cheeks as you stood silently watching the same spot Peter once stood.

More Narnians and Telmarines volunteered to go, but not all. Many people chose to stay. You planned to stay in Narnia with Caspian and the rest of the Narnians. You continued to stand still, watching the same place Peter was last seen before he disappeared.

.

The night was rather cold in Narnia, brisk wind and starry nights. You remained in the same spot for hours on end, still staring at the same tree. You hadn't known why you felt so weakened by Peter's departure, but you knew there was no way you'd be able to cope in any healthy manner.

"Don't you think it is time you get some rest?" Caspian's voice was heard from behind you. You couldn't break your gaze from the trees as more tears begun to fall.

"He's not coming back," You whispered through your parted, dry lips.

Caspian begun to walk up along the steps behind you. He stood to your side and followed your gaze to the same tree. "If it makes you feel any better, I am just as unhappy to know that Susan will not be back either," Caspian stated quietly.

"Knowing we are both miserable makes me even more unhappy," You released a soft breath, feeling emotionally tired.

Caspian sighed and continued to stand beside you, for even his company may do some good for you. After hours upon hours of looking through the trees, you broke your gaze and looked at Caspian. His eyes found yours and your parted your dry lips, breathing slowly.

"I've done enough mourning for one day," You spoke, "Goodnight, Caspian."

Starting down the steps, you walked along the stone of the fortress and headed towards your chamber. With sleep, prehaps, you'd be able to regain some emotional strength for the days to come.

.

The sun's rays snuck through the curtains of your chamber and struck your eyes mildly. You groaned and turned over, in no desire to awaken just yet. Your body felt awfully heavy and the skin around your eyes puffed due to how much you'd been crying.

Slowly, you fluttered your eyes opened and felt the mixture of mucus and tears harden along the inner corners of both your eyes. You took your knuckles and rubbed them away, releasing a deep sigh as you did so. You begun to sit up against the headboard of your bed. You pushed yourself off the mattress and walked barefoot about your room. You quickly changed from your sleepwear to your armor. Although not needed, you decided to practice some sword fighting early that day, in hopes of getting your mind off of Peter.

You pulled your boots on over your barefeet and grabbed your sword from the case at the end of your bed. Hurrying across the hall, you made your way out into the field where many Narnians were gathered. You kept your eyes peeled for Caspian, in hopes of asking him to practice with you.

"You're looking well rested this morning, Y/N," The voice of Caspian was heard from behind you, making you jump.

"Don't creep up on me like that," You scolded softly and watched him chuckling lightly. "Mind practicing with me for a little while? I need to get my mind preoccupied."

Caspian nodded his head, "Allow me to get my sword first." You nodded in response and scurried out further into the field, where you both would maintain a harmless battle away from the rest of the Narnians.

Awaiting in the field, you held your sword by the handle, having the blade kiss the grass. The sun's rays were potent that day, the leather armor against your body grew hot against your skin. When Caspian was seen in the distance with his sword and two shields, you released a breath and felt the adrenaline begin to build.

"We can't fight without shields," Caspian offered a grin as he tossed one to you. You rolled your eyes playfully and held up the shield in your free hand. "Ready?" He asked as he stood relatively far from you.

"Are you?" You offered with an evil glint, swinging the blade towards him as he dodged it with his shield. When Caspian tried to strike you from the head, you bent down so that you'd dodge his hit. You took the opportunity to swing your sword at his feet, causing him to stumble backwards.

You stood straight and watched as he slowly got up, swinging his sword towards you from the left and right. A grunt left your lips when your blade came to contact with Caspian's shield, a spark flew off the metal.

You couldn't help but remember Peter, how you and he would often practice together. Mostly because your sword fighting needed some work, but never directly spoke of that. You missed him truly and it grew harder to come into terms with when you knew you'd never see him again.

Caspian's strike to your blade kicked you from your thoughts. You mentally thanked him for that. You let out another grunt and swung your sword to his, the strike so powerful that it knocked it from his grasp. Caspian looked rather surprised and when you kept swinging, he dodged almost every hit with his shield.

You swung beneath his feet, which caused him to jump, swiftly avoiding your hit. You watched as Caspian reached for his sword upon the grass, making you swing to his shield again.

The both of you froze when you turned to notice Aslan was watching over the field at the top of the castle, overseeing all the Narnians. You released a soft breath and slowly brought your blade down, endless thoughts of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy ran through your mind. You dropped your sword and begun to run back into the castle.

"Y/N! Where are you going?" Caspian called, but you were already hot upon your feet, too fast to turn back.

You scurried up the stairs, making left and right turns until you'd make it to the top, where Aslan stood overseeing everything and everyone. You needed to take the opportunity you had to speak with him yourself. You opened the doors to the top and looked straight ahead, seeing Aslan still there, before the same tree you spent all of yesterday looking at.

"Aslan," You breathed out and watched as his head turned to look at you. His light green eyes found yours, his mane moved softly with the brisk wind. You made your way towards him and stopped once you came to the edge.

"I see you've been practicing on your skill, dear one," Aslan stated, turning his head toward you.

"I need something to occupy my mind," You bashfully admitted.

"Missing them, are you?" He asked, with concern.

"More than I would like to admit."

"I miss them too, Edmund and Lucy will return eventually, in a few years potentially," Aslan continued to look at you, finding your face was written with distress. "What's the matter, dear one?"

"I must see Peter again," You spoke in a shaky tone. "I want him to come back and be here."

"Y/N, Peter has grown and learned all that he could from this world," Aslan said, his eyes softening.

"Can't I visit him in his world?" You spoke gently.

"Yes, but only for a little while," Aslan breathed out.

"How long?" You whispered.

"Two days of their world and then you will return."

You nodded gently, parting your lips as you stared at Aslan. He nodded in response and motioned towards the trees, the wind picked up in and the leaves rustled against the thin branches. You watched with a mesmerized gaze, keeping your eyes locked with the leaves. The color of the sky faded into a dark grey from a light blue. You squinted softly and turned your head to look before you. The road was slick and droplets from the sky fell rapidly down upon the ground. Puddles overflown against the sides of the road.

Glancing down at your clothing, you noticed you'd been dressed in a maroon colored uniform with your hair now straightened against your shoulders. You parted your lips and turned to look around, noticing how busy the streets were.

Slowly, you stepped forth to make sure no oncoming vehicles would hit you, when both sides of thr street were clear, you scurried across and made it to the other end, seeing that many a persons walked about the concrete. You'd been in Narnia so long that you'd forgotten what the streets were like during the daylight. You questioned if daylight would still be referred to as the same despite the gloomy whether that arose over England.

You turned your head to notice several people were exiting the underground railway station. You felt a nervousness grow deep inside your stomach. The center of your palms produced a thin layer of sweat when your eyes were met with four people you knew all too well in your world. You parted your lips softly and watched as Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy came up from the staircase and upon the same sidewalk as you had been upon. You were unsure if they'd recognize you, being so far away.

Your eyes locked with Lucy as she turned her head and noticed you. She had a wide grin upon her face as she reached to tug Peter's sleeve, her gaze never breaking with yours. Your lips formed into the most beautiful smile, shining ever so brightly on such a dull day.

When Peter looked to Lucy, she pointed towards you and her eldest brother followed where her finger led to. When his deep blue eyes fell into your warm ones, he froze in a state of shock, but also great happiness as you could tell his smile was rising. You missed everything of him, his smile, his eyes, his voice, his arms and his incandescent attitude. Susan and Edmund were the last to notice you, smiling happily.

You couldn't hold yourself back any longer, you begun to run towards them with pure excitement running through your veins. The adrenaline ran through you like wildfire, spreading about beneath the surface of your skin. The pit of your excitement lied within your chest, where your heart was palpitating like crazy.

"Peter!" You smiled as he started running in your direction. Behind him, the rest of the Pevensie siblings ran to you. You released inhaled deeply once you were close enough to Peter. His smile was wide as he wrapped his arms around your torso, lifting you up and spinning around with a sweet laugh escaping his lips. You hugged his shoulders and buried your face into his neck.

"Ah! Y/N, I missed you," Peter spoke as though a large weight was taken off of his shoulders.

"I missed you.. all of you," You let happy tears trickle down your cheeks as Peter placed you down onto the concrete. You slowly peeled back from him and took Lucy into a hug, along with Susan and Edmund.

"How did you get back?" Susan asked with a grin to her lips.

"Aslan, I will be here in your world for two days," You released a breath.

"Why two days?" Lucy questioned.

"I suppose it has a lot to do with how much I miss you all.. how terrible it was to let you go the first time.. it'll hurt no less the second time," You sighed gently.

You looked from Lucy to Peter with a softening expression. "If it's okay, I would like to speak to you," You mentioned softly.

"I'll catch up with you, wait at the traffic light for me," Peter looked to Edmund, Susan and Lucy as they all nodded and headed up along the sidewalk. You turned to look at Peter, who was already staring down upon you.

"I couldn't bear it," You released in a gentle breath. Peter offered his hand and you gladly took it, feeling an overwhelming sense of butterflies in your stomach. He lead you to a small bench before the road and you took a seat in it, soon after he did as well.

"Peter, I wish you could come back with me," You admitted.

"I wish I could as well," He pressed his lips together, "But I'm afraid I am just grown too old to go back."

"You're never too old for Narnia," You spoke softly. Peter offered a thin smile and took your hand in his own, entwining your fingers together.

"Come back, please," You felt your eyes brim with tears, "There's so much I haven't gotten to tell you."

Peter gently took his free hand and brushed away the tears from beneath your eyes. "What is it that you haven't gotten to tell me, Y/N?" He whispered and leaned in closer, making the moment much more intimate.

"Two days won't be enough time," You looked up to him.

"Come back, bring Lucy, Susan and Edmund.. Narnia needs you. I need you," You admitted ever so gently. "I'm unsure if Aslan will ever do this for me again, Peter."

Peter rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your fingers intertwind with his own. "There's only one thing Narnia has that I would go back for in a mere second," His voice lowered.

"What is it?" Your eyes flickered up into his own, a deep nervousness kicked back into your stomach.

Peter pulled his head back gently and smiled, his dimples caving in as he did so. You parted your glossy lips and watched as his blue eyes locked with yours. You felt your body move closer to him, not physically, but rather emotionally.

Before you could comprehend it, your lips were overtaken by Peter's. You fluttered your eyes closed in response and gave into the kiss, feeling your lips mold together in the most perfect sync. You felt his chest press against your own. You took the opportunity to cup his cheeks with your palms, feeling pure gaiety within your body. You missed Peter more than you could even begin to explain. You were unsure where else this kiss would lead, but you had no intent to rush there.

.

a/n: hello lovies!! so this may have been one of my favorite things i've ever written. i know it's angsty but those are the types of pieces i love writing the most. i hope you enjoyed this one and who knows maybe i'll write a part two? hmm? haha! anyway, thank you so much for reading! be safe and treat people with kindness. — angelina.

[ziskandra]

PRIORITY OPS: REPOPULATING HELEUS (Ch. 2)

what did you do today, natasha? i made a dress and cried in a bunning’s parking lot and i also finished the next chapter of the longfic (finally!) HERE YOU GO. ao3 link. 1 | 2 |

2. Home Truth

When Liam returned from Prodromos, Sara was nowhere to be seen. Liam wasn't an idiot. He knew Sara hadn't been herself lately. Still, he hadn't expected her to simply disappear without a trace; while part of him understood why she'd done it, it caused a strong feeling of foreboding to settle in his gut. Why couldn't she just talk to him? What had he done wrong? Had he screwed things up already? The thoughts swirled around in his mind, but they did nothing but agitate him. He wasn't going to get answers like this, and he was torn between going searching for them or finding a distraction to throw himself in. God knew they had enough to be working on, and right now, he'd like to be doing something with his hands.

It was shortly after he found Sara's note attached to the fridge, her penmanship all hard lines and contained angles, that there came a knock at the door. Liam pulled up the security feed, and at first when he saw bright blue eyes staring back at him, he thought it was Sara. His heart washed with relief before common sense kicked in. He blinked once, twice, before realising it wasn’t indeed Sara but someone with those very same eyes. Scott.

“Hey,” Sara’s brother called, waving in the general direction of the security cam. “I know I’m dropping by unannounced and all, but, can I come in?” He bent at the knees, lifting a carton up into Liam’s field of view. “I brought beer!”

Liam couldn't help but laugh, even though it still did little to ease his nerves. He didn’t know the guy well, yet, but from what he did know? He liked him. And maybe Scott’s sudden appearance here had something to do with Sara’s disappearance. It was surely too much to be a coincidence. “All right, all right,” he acquiesced, pressing the button for the door’s override on his omnitool. “Come on up.”

Once he heard Scott struggling to heft the carton up the stairs, Liam popped out himself to help him carry it inside. Scott’s breath was heavy with exertion, fingers pale where he’d been gripping the box, his forehead a fine sheen of sweat. “Please don’t tell the doc I’ve been overdoing it,” Scott huffed. “I should be able to carry a fucking box…”

The box, by Liam’s reckoning, weighed at least a good fifteen kilograms. Hardly anything to a man like Scott at the peak of his physical conditioning, but he wasn’t, and therein lay the rub. He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t if you stop,” he offered as a compromise.

Scott threw his head back and let out an exaggerated sigh as they settled the box down in the kitchen. “Oh, God, not you too.”

It struck Liam then, as he busied himself with opening the carton, just how similar the twins were. It made him smile despite himself, despite how frustrated he currently was with Sara. Was this galaxy really ready for both of Alec Ryder’s kids?

“This is just like Sare,” Scott muttered from where he was stood by the fridge, finger running over the note Liam had discovered just before the other man had arrived.

“Is this the part where you tell me why you’re really here?” Liam asked, handing some to Scott to put away; they wouldn’t all fit in the fridge, but he’d like to at least try.

“That obvious, huh?” Scott answered with a laugh.

“That obvious.”

Excess beer safely stowed, Liam busied himself with pouring one for himself, and one for Scott. “Tell me about it,” he asked, doing his best to keep the trace of neediness out of his voice. He’d always been the kind of person who’d striven to understand people, know what made them tick so he could help them, if and when they needed it. The fact that he’d so obviously missed the mark with the person he cared most about in this whole galaxy still stung.

“All right,” Scott agreed, “but let’s get comfortable. Nice place, by the way!” He cocked his head to the side, as though appreciating the architecture of the ceiling. It looked to Liam like most of the other buildings that they'd built in Heleus since their arrival. “Still waiting for the housewarming, though.”

They settled on the couch, a look of deep thought settling on Scott’s face, deepening the thought lines on his forehead. He was a young bloke, young looking even, but the expression aged him. “Okay,” he started slowly, hardly looking at Liam, “Firstly, I know it’s not my business. But secondly, I saw Sara before she went off-planet and just… thought you deserved a better explanation than whatever the hell that was.” He waved a hand at the fridge. "If you want to hear it."

Scott's repeated hesitation made Liam wonder just how many sternly-worded warnings Sara had given him about getting involved in her business. He wondered, too, whether he should accept Scott's offer. Possible that Sara would see it as some transgression of boundaries. And yet. The situation seemed to warrant it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep sip of his beer. It helped, somewhat. "Okay," he agreed, settling back into the couch cushions, "hit me with it."

"Ah, shit," Scott sighed, "I didn't actually think this far ahead." He fiddled with his glass, twirling it between his fingers. If they were drinking real beer, out of real bottles, old-school style, Scott Ryder was definitely the kind of guy who'd rip off the label. "Just first, let me tell you, it's got nothing to do with you, all right? She's always been a bit like this." As though sensing Liam would seek clarification, Scott shrugged his shoulders gently before continuing. "Things get all up in her head, under her skin, and then poof, she's gone. Always took after Dad more, for the better and the worse."

Liam couldn't miss the way Scott's eyes clouded over; he nudged the other man in the shoulder with his beer. "I'm sorry," he said, because what else could he say? He didn't know what it was like to lose a parent, not the way Sara and Scott did. He'd left his behind, yeah, but they'd gone on to live long and fruitful lives without him. He'd made a decision. A choice. One the twins had never had.

The corner of Scott's mouth curved upward, a sad and tiny smile. "It's okay. I had a lot of time to think while I was stuck in that coma. It's more... I wish I could have been there. For Sara."

Liam sagged slightly at Scott's words, because he knew that he'd tried his best in those early Andromeda days, hell, the whole crew of the Tempest had. But it still hadn't been enough.  

As though reading Liam's mind, Scott threw him a shrewd look. "I know you love her. And I think you're good for her. But you don't know her like I do, and honestly? That's probably for the best." 

There was something about the look in Scott's eyes that told Liam that if he wanted to dig more deeply, Scott would probably let him. But he’d heard enough for now, and maybe recklessly pushing Scott's buttons would just tell him things he was better off not knowing. Sara's not even here but it was hard to ignore the way she'd affected him, especially after she'd voiced her disappointment in him after the mess with Verand. The old Liam would have pushed and pushed and pushed. Now? He was more cautious, and his nerves were somewhat calmed, and that was all he could really ask for. "So, I left for Eos, and she took the opportunity to ...go?" he asked, just to be certain about the timeline of the whole thing. 

"With the Tempest to Havarl," Scott confirmed. "She should be back soon enough. Give or take a few days. Still not certain about the travel time between places here." He took a long gulp of his beer, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You know, one day, they're gonna have a proper comm buoy network all set up again, and everyone will be able to talk properly. Maybe." He winked.

Liam ran a hand through his hair. He really, really hoped he hadn't screwed things up.

***

Sara's return was marked by as little fanfare as possible. Liam was dozing off on the couch when he heard the door slide open. It could only be one person, the only other person who had access to their little house-slash-unit, whatever it was called. Liam felt his heart thump erratically in his chest as he heard Sara shuffle around in the bedroom before heading to the kitchen. He'd never been good at putting off confrontation, so he pushed himself up and forced himself to talk to her. He'd never really been good at this part of relationships; everything had always been fine until reality had set in, and that's when things got hard and when Liam started to feel out of his depth. Ended things, usually, before his temper did.  

But he'd also never been this stupidly in love before, and with everything he and Sara had been through together? Hell, it still felt like something straight out of a vid. He took a deep breath and tried to remember all the other relationship advice his dad had ever given him. People like to feel they're being heard rose to the forefront of his mind, and it made him wonder if maybe he hadn't been listening enough. Sara wasn't ready for the kind of commitments that he had taken for granted. That was fine. He still loved her, and so long as she still loved him, they could work something out. Together. 

Still. His throat felt raw and tight, like he was about to cry, as he approached her. She was standing by the refrigerator, stripped down to a singlet top and leggings, fastidiously removing the note she'd left there, the note that had Liam felt had been mocking him ever since he'd arrived home. "So," he started, doing his best to keep his voice even, "are we going to talk about it?" 

Sara jumped, almost as though she hadn't expected him around, hadn't given his presence a second thought, a flash of guilt passing through her bright blue eyes before her gaze hardened. He'd recognise that look anywhere. Doubling down. With a shrug so careful it seemed practiced, she crumpled the piece of paper in one fist. "I left a note," she deadpanned. 

"That's your explanation?" Liam said, more sharply than he anticipated. "'Hey, Liam, just have some things that need doing. Be back in a bit.'" He shut his eyes as he did his best to get a handle on his emotions. On one hand, yeah, Sara deserved to be listened to, and maybe he hadn't been doing a good enough job of that lately. On the other, his own feelings were still valid, and being left so thoroughly out of the loop like this? Well, it made him feel a bit shit, to be honest.

There was a moment of silence as Sara rustled around in the fridge, with a confused mutter about why the hell there was so much beer inside it. Eventually resurfacing with a large bottle of reconstituted orange juice, she took a deep sip straight from the container, wiping at her mouth with her wrist. "Yeah, that note," she answered with a jerk of her head. "Sorry it wasn't good enough for you or anything." 

Sara's stubborn passive-aggression unfurls something tightly coiled within his chest, he felt it crawl up his neck before he could quite stop himself. "God damn it, Sara," he started, eyes bunched up tight as though it would stop the inevitable tears from falling, "I was worried about you." He'd pretty much watched her die three times now and he still hadn't cried in front of her. Not really. The thing was, Liam had never been ashamed of his emotions; had told her, even, about how he still cried at night when he thought about his parents, the Milky Way and the life he left behind. Yes, even though he loved his new life now. But Sara has always been his strength, his rock, and as long as she was happy, he was happy, and now she was in obvious distress and he still wasn't enough.

He watched Sara's face drop out of the corner of her eye; she set the juice down on the corner as she whispered to herself, "Oh my God, I'm such a jerk." She reached out for him, a hand hovering just inches from his arm. He recognised the gesture from her own need for personal space; she was never the type of person to touch without permission, and also the kind of person who liked to be asked first. Liam, conversely, had always been very tactile. Dating Sara had been a learning curve.

Taking the offer as intended, he took her hand and drew her into a hug, burying his head into her hair and inhaling deeply through his nose. She smelt like some sort of angaran flower that he couldn't quite place, but what was most important was that she was there and real and he hadn't lost her. "You might not have come back," he whispered against her ear, and he wasn't really talking about just Sara's ill-timed interplanetary jaunt. He was thinking about all those other times he'd almost lost her, to the kett, to the Archon, and to think that after they'd survived all that, he could have lost her because he couldn't stop running at the mouth about just how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. 

He knew Sara had never been emotionally demonstrative; empathetic, yes, likely to get caught up in the heat of the moment, most definitely. Yet the depth of her feelings was something she'd always kept close and tight to her chest. It wasn't that Sara didn’t love him, Liam realised, just that she showed it in different ways. God knew he knew enough about the beginnings of relationships to remember how easy it was to get caught up in lust and discovering a new partner without taking the time to think about one's own self. One's own needs. Probably something Sara had already done but Liam hadn't even stopped to think about. But there was time. They had time. 

Sara buried her face into his chest, arms wrapping around him, holding him tight against her body. "I'll always come back for you, Liam Kosta," she assured him with a little laugh, a laugh that makes him feel a bit stupid for ever considering the opposite. "I just. Freaked out, okay? You were so certain about everything and I wasn't. But I'm feeling much better now." Her fingers splayed at his hips, running over the material they found there. "And I love you," she added, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

"I love you," he responded automatically, sniffling slightly to get all the last bits of congestion and whatnot out of his eyes and nose. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing down in Havarl?" 

"I will," she promised, cupping his face with one hand, fingers wondering ponderously over his chin. Liam realised he'd forgotten to shave. "But let's go to bed first?" 

Liam yawned. Sleep? Sleep sounded good.  

[emoprincey]

Hey op I hope u don’t mind, but I just had to write a little something based on this XD 

One morning, Janus was enjoying a late brunch of syrup-covered pancakes in the light side's kitchen. He'd been spending more time here and in their common room recently, since he'd started getting along better with them. Patton always greeted him with a bright smile when he came down for breakfast in the mornings; Logan seemed mostly indifferent to his presence, but he was more than willing to engage in a debate on any topic Janus felt like choosing, or just to read quietly at his side. Roman had taken a little more time to come around, but they were now at the point where they could run lines together or sing duets from their favourite shows and quite enjoy each other’s company.

In fact, they were close enough now that he could even play the occasional prank without them minding.

Just last week, he'd made Logan shriek in surprise when he shoved his cold hands under his shirt when he'd snuggled close to him for warmth. Not that Logan would ever admit it to anyone, but Janus had the satisfaction that he'd gotten that reaction out of the side who prided himself on his stoicism.

There was one side he still hadn't tried to prank. His friendship with Virgil was still tenuous, and he didn't want to do something careless that might ruin it.

Virgil shuffled into the kitchen just as Janus was finishing his pancakes. He was clad in his hoodie and ripped black jeans, but he still looked half-asleep, and he moved over to the coffee maker without even acknowledging Janus.

And, well, that simply wouldn't do.

"Ah, the emo awakens," he said grandly, because he could never miss a chance to rile Virgil up.

Virgil turned to glare at him, but with his bleary eyes and messy hair, the expression was more adorable than threatening. But then he turned back to the counter, with his back to Janus. 

Janus hummed in thought, wondering how to get Virgil’s attention. Then he caught sight of his own bare hands. He hadn’t bothered to put his gloves on this morning - they'd just get in the way while he was eating, and all the other sides had seen his scaled left hand by now and, surprisingly, none of them seemed to mind it. Janus still felt a little self-conscious about his scales, but he was starting to get used to not covering them up so much around the other sides.

His interaction with Logan earlier that week came to mind, and with a smirk Janus got out of his chair. 

It probably shouldn’t be this easy to sneak up on the embodiment of anxiety, but Virgil was often groggy before he’d had his morning coffee. The other option was that Virgil... trusted Janus, enough that he would let him sneak up behind him, and Janus wasn’t sure how to feel about that. So, he did what he did best, and shoved all thoughts about Virgil maybe trusting him like he used to into a neat little box and buried it deep inside himself, and continued with his plan. 

Virgil seemed a little distracted with sorting out his coffee and trying to remember what day it was, so it was easy for Janus to sneak up on him and stick his icy hands under Virgil’s T-shirt. 

Janus wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A shriek, maybe, like the time Virgil had found a spider on his desk (because, as much as Virgil loved all kinds of spider decor, he was still Thomas’ anxiety and still very much had the same fears as the rest of the sides), or maybe for Virgil to scramble away to his favourite safe space on top of the fridge. He was half-expecting to just be decked in the face, and kept his hands poised to defend himself just in case. 

But all Virgil did was stay very still, and dread settled in Janus' chest.

Because Virgil’s job was fight or flight, and he had the ability to act quickly in any situation. 

So, when he didn’t react at all, when he stopped and took a moment to plan out his actions - that was when you knew you were well and truly fucked.

Sure enough, Virgil turned around, very slowly. Janus could easily have run and tried to escape his fate, but there was something captivating about the way Virgil moved, how he loomed over Janus and stared down at him with unreadable grey eyes.

That stormy gaze fixed Janus to the spot, and he found himself thinking that he would do anything to gaze into those eyes forever.

Then Virgil moved, and the reality of the situation came back to Janus. He tried to dash away, but a strong arm caught him before he could even take a step. Before he knew what was happening, he was hoisted into the air, and suddenly he was staring at the ground behind Virgil. Because apparently he'd now been slung over Virgil’s shoulder and was being carried effortlessly.

"Put me down!" Janus demanded, not at all petulantly.

"You asked for this," Virgil said, and Janus could hear the grin in his voice. At least he seemed a lot more awake now. 

Janus kicked and flailed to no avail as Virgil carried him into the common room, but then one of his kicks made contact and Virgil stumbled. The two of them overbalanced, and Virgil tumbled to the floor, dragging Janus down with him. 

They landed in a tangled heap, and Janus quickly rolled off of Virgil to playfully kick him again. Virgil punched back, but his blows were a little aimless, and Janus could hear him laughing. 

“Idiot,” Virgil grumbled. 

“Takes one to know one,” Janus said, then paused for a moment when he realised he’d just roasted himself. 

That second was all Virgil needed to grab Janus’ hands and pin him down. 

As they lay there for a moment, catching their breaths, Janus realised just how close Virgil’s body was to his. Virgil was practically lying on top of him, their chests flush against each other, and Janus was sure the weight of the person pinning him down wasn’t the only reason it was hard to breathe. 

Time seemed to stop for a moment.

Janus reached up to cup Virgil’s jaw, ever so gently, and his heart melted at how softly Virgil smiled at that.

Perhaps Janus' thoughts were a little hazy from the gorgeous man literally pinning him to the ground, so it took him a moment to register when Virgil’s smile turned into a smirk.

Then cold hands were shoved under Janus' shirt, and he screeched.

That was the first and last time Janus used Virgil as a target for one of his pranks.

Headcanon that Janus is a sneaky little shit that will shove his ice cold hands under the shirt of the his nearest unsuspecting victim(one of the other sides) whenever his gloves are in the wash(or just whenever he feels like being a lil shit bc his hands are always cold even with the gloves on)

Remus is the least bothered and only screams in joy as a reaction to antagonize Janus

Roman will actually scream because jesus FUCK Januswheredidyoucomefromand-WHY-ARE-YOUR-HANDS-SO-COLD

Logan jumps in reaction and grumbles at janus why trying to bat him away bc "stop it you smug icicle no warm hugs for you" while Janus is firmly plastered to his side with the smuggest grin ever

Patton takes it in stride with a little shriek but knows he can easily retaliate once Jan has had his fun bc Janus has put himself into 'tickle range' and Janus never seems to learn his lesson even when it ends in him trapped in a Dad Hug with retaliatory tickles

Virgil is like. The one person Janus seems to avoid doing it to. Until one day he does it and Virgil-instead of reacting to the hands- turns to scoop Janus up and toss him over his shoulder and it desolves into what seems to be a playful scuffle. It ends with Virgil pinning Janus down and shoving his own cold hands under Janus's shirt, earning a betrayed screech

[hjellacott]

Lately I am finding it amusing to read opinions from people I utterly disagree with. It's great for the mind to be challenged a little, to be given something other than absolute agreement at all times, to be forced to really think and dig in deep to revise your beliefs. Which is why I'm happy to read this stuff.

Firstly, I like the first point about when Rowling wrote what and how can an author devolve. I'd like to point out that actually, the reader has changed far more than the author, if it's a Potter reader. In my case for example, I was literally in nappies when the Philosopher's Stone came out. However, as a Strike reader, I hold a university degree and a half (still a bit to finish it), I've had a few jobs, experiences with loss, love and sex, I know how to drive, and so on. Harry Potter was first read to me, then read by me as a child, then read by me as a teenager a second time around, and then read by me in my twenties a third time around. Like billions of others, I am approaching and processing both series in entirely different ways. One as a child/teen with a lot of experiences yet to be had, another as a grown-up with a lot of life experiences.

And I had entirely different impressions about Harry Potter each of the three times, in three entirely different life stages, in which I've been read or read myself that series. Each time I still loved it with adoration, but for entirely different reasons. To put an easy, recent example. When my parents read the books to me when I was very little (before I knew how to read myself) it was a bed time story for me and my sibling. It was all about the magic, the friendships, the love and the laughter. But the last time I read the books, about a year ago, I cried my eyes out a lot. Because I was finally reading them having experienced a shit ton of death (in almost unrealistic amounts) and heartbreak, and things that before simply passed me by, or that as a child or teen I didn't fixate upon, were suddenly hitting me with the force of a hammer. So while the first time I knew about the books they were my favourite because they were so much fun and so magical, the last time I read them (also first time I read them in their original language, which also affects the perception) I thought they were a fucking masterpiece. They made me feel such a whirlwind of emotions. They impacted me like a hurracane. They felt like a life-changing experience. And I realised I'd forgotten a lot of their brilliance and why exactly I adored those books my whole life, and I suddenly valued them like, a billion times more.

I put my own example because I realise I'm probably echoing hundreds of you guys and your experiences, and I want to use our memories as an example of how different our perception of a book can vary depending on when exactly we're reading them. To be clear, my perception was always high, but as an adult it wasn't just subjective any more; I could appreciate the writing style, the complexity of the vocabulary, the technical difficulties, the influence from other authors such as Dickens, and so on, and it made me value the books even more, in ways more objective than I'd ever had. The books hadn't changed. But I had.

I'm sorry about using so many paragraphs to express myself, by the way. Brevity isn't my forte when it comes to second languages. But I hope I've made my point that no, the author didn't change that much (aside from the natural progression that comes with age and experience, and which I personally found quite satisfying and positive) but the reader certainly changed way more than the author in the majority of cases (and I hope in the OP's too!) and with that, sso does the reader's perception.

As for the criticism on CS, I have to disagree, but I am going to try to show this with objectiveness, as much as I can muster. I've read CS in my twenties, in their original language and like I said, with academic experience, so I was analysing the CS books exactly the same as I did the HP books the last time around (which was between reading Troubled Blood and the publication of TIBH if I remember correctly). Same age, same everything, only variating the material I am reading. And I can tell from a hundred miles that they were written by the same person. I know nobody is doubting that, I'm just saying that I'm baffled that the OP found it hard to believe or something.

The style is the same. Complex, actually (how can anyone say otherwise? few things are more complex than a mystery/detectives novel, specially since you have to sneak in clues), with advanced English vocabulary, neat writing style, grammar, orthography... As one expects with Jo Rowling, really.

Both third person, both with a similar style of making a big use of the narrator and illustrating scenes with dialogue, both highly descriptive (again, how can anyone say they're simple? SIMPLE? not as descriptive as Potter? WHAT?) but with that thing Rowling does with characters in which she won't give you any details about a character that aren't absolutely essential, so you can imagine them any way you like, really, hence black Hermione.

The biggest difference comes in genre. We go from fantasy, children's book, to adult, serious, detectivesque novel. So if it bores you, that's a very personal thing, and perhaps you're just reading the wrong genre. I imagine you'd probably be bored reading Freud, and that doesn't make him any less fascinating, isn't it? And I love Dickens, but a lot of people don't. And yet, he's still considered one of the greatest authors of all time, worldwide, and one of the jewels of British literature, same as Shakespeare, which also a lot of people cannot stand.

Also, you (OP) are saying someone prioritises other things over entertaining you, and I tell you, don't you know that JK Rowling never writes anything simply with the banal hope of entertaining someone? Everything she's ever written has been deep and full of hidden meaning (and not so hidden) as it is the case with any major author worldwide across all years of humanity (and yes I am ready to say so). Because those are the best books. HP, The Casual Vacancy, Cormoran Strike... all full of Rowling's heart, ideas, soul. And yes, politics, even Potter if you realise. Because activism is a huge part of who Rowling is, and she's not going to remove her soul from her books, she pours it right in.

You say CS is boring, slow paced, mind-numbing, idiotic, and politics done wrong. You say you could write something better. Well, why don't you? Please, show us how it's done right. Because the only strong thing you've said that makes any sense is that your whole rant makes no sense.

Boring is, like I said, down to very personal taste. I found the book fascinating, but I wouldn't recommend it to someone who loves romance novels and never reads any mystery or detectives, for example. You say it's slow-paced, but all of Rowling's books are I wouldn't say slow, but not fast for sure, it's called build-up. HP took 10 years. CS? God knows, but I hope more. And this book in itself? You can't write a novel with as much complexity and content without it being slow at times and a bit faster at others, what I call a nice varying pace depending on the scene, because there's so much to get inside of it. Mind numbing and idiotic? I don't even know what you mean. I don't even know where you get it from, but again, entirely personal. It wasn't the case for me, for sure. And politics done wrong? Again, very personal. If you think that, sorry. To me? It's politics into books done right. Much better than Grey's Anatomy will ever do, for sure.

The last thing I want to tell OP is, it's very, incredibly sad all you do these days it's hate read. What a waste of time and energy, what a sad existence. It shows you've got bigger problems within yourself than with literature, so please, get help.

And when you do, by all means, write your own book and show us how it's done.

I'm editing my Ink Black Heart reveiw cause I think the tumblrina's would enjoy it, but almost every chapter ends in me being like "OMG FORESHADOWING" and then I remember its rowling.

You wish past Lu, you fucking wish.

HOW DID SHE WRITE HARRY POTTER?? The style doesnt even slightly feel the same, and I know they were writen a couple years apart but you dont usually DEVOLVE as a writter.

you dont go from detailed, magical, and evenly paced to boring, simple and so fucking slow. If I completely ignore the politics in the book, like i do with other hate reads, i can not bring myself to enjoy rereading this fucking book. I love hate reading. It's the only way I can read these days, but i fucking cant. This book is so boring. Oh. My. God.

If someone asks you for evidence that God is unjust (or just not real) give them this fucking book. If there is a cosmic entity out there controlling everything, do not fucking trust It. It let this book exist, It clearly fucking hates humanity

I know this is a weird rant but i am so pissed, what is this book?

I'm not even actually pissed. I'm just severely disappointed. I may not like Rowling now but I cant deny that she was my biggest insperation when I was younger and it's breaking my baby-writer heart to she what her writings come to. She's prioritising her political beliefs over genuine entertainment and it fucking shows. It's so mind-numbing and idiotic. If I took a shit on my keyboard, it would write a better novel than this.

There is nothing inherently wrong with politics in books as long as its done right. Books have meaning, a writers beliefs are often worked into their work, and it can be so enjoyable. Not. With. Her.

And I know this rant is probably nonsensical but I just need to get this out before I explode!!!