#ice emperor anon

[ninja-confession-go]

Ok probably the coldest take imaginable but can we all agree that Akita kissing Lloyd at the end of season 11 came out of absolute nowhere?? Like???

The switch up Akita has during the last couple episodes is insane. She goes from trusting Lloyd and working on her mission alongside him [and I would understand the kiss happening if this was how it stayed] to realizing he is friends with the Ice Emperor [you know that guy who killed her entire family + all the other formlings] which was a huge blow to the trust that she and Lloyd had built up, to then back to that same trust level and kissing him like a day or two later??

It doesn’t make sense to me at all because as far as I know the timeskip at the end of season 11 could not have been more than a week tops, and somehow I feel like that doesn’t really give Akita the right amount of time to forgive Lloyd, but here we are.

No hate to people shipping them [I can see it just… more in the future probably] but think that was a really weird choice the writers made.

-Ice Emperor anon

.

[inseparabiles]

Is Caracalla a top or a bottom in your opinion? Asking for a friend

This is such a question I love it. I need it to be known I was walking home from the store and just... stuck my face to this ask for the whole of it. Your ask made me a traffic hazard.

Anyways,

instinctively, top, definitely. But it's a bit complicated because some of it is culturally tied - it'd take him a bit to figure out there's an alternative, first off. I mean be real nobody's going to be springing this on him in any consensual fashion. Nobody is his equal, suggesting he'd make a woman of himself for someone would easily land them a really dirty cackle and the cross under 7 minutes span. It's not an option, for him to consider or anybody under him to so much as suggest.

And I think even after it crosses his mind that... you know? What's actually stopping him? It's still a question of control. Calla is difficult when it comes to power, imho. Split between always being the follower and losing more and more ground where he'd even be capable of making his own choices to begin with, he often doesn't question when he's being led but he RESENTS where it puts him, and how it makes him feel. It can be Geta or it can be Macrinus but he's very used to having his power stripped from him and relying on the few people he views as capable and reliable. At the same time, while he craves that sense of safety and wants others to make his life simple and easy and safe at all times, he viscerally despises being reduced to a state of inferiority in comparison to anybody else. And it's clear that in matters of pleasure, he demands control and feels capable of wielding it unlike in so many other circumstances, and he craves that sense of power immensely. He can order slaves to die for his pleasure and he takes it as his god-given right to get off to this. Sex is much the same, he can command or pressure anybody into anything from his position of authority alone and easily guarantee that refusal to comply will end badly on the scale of you'll probably die painfully for it or your and your line's lives will at the very least be ruined forever. This is an area where he can have ultimate power over people and he'll take it without questioning it. The only thing we see pushing any breaks for him on this is Geta: he'll allow Geta to spare a gladiator on the arena, even when Caracalla's own vote disagrees (when wouldn't it???)

On the other hand. If he feels unthreathened, lazy, if he's so high he's already barely functional. Maybe he just doesn't care that much, as long as his needs get served by it, or if he's following a whim from curiosity. But I think I disagree with swathes of the fandom that he wouldn't feel shame - initially - for that submission. Again, this is a huge taboo, and he is already always struggling for control. He's never allowed it anywhere in his life. He knows on some level he's not even capable of having it, and isn't worth what he's already abusing to his heart's content. I think being anything but in control, even when it's on his own terms, will be a lot of pushing and then pulling back, purposefully going for an option and then getting incredibly frustrated and distressed when his own goddamn wishes are heeded. Because he might want the feeling of just being for once - having someone be more powerful than he is in a way that he still controls and can get out of, to be cared for, to be served and pampered and loved for all he's worth without having to decree every single part of the act. But fuck anybody who asserts control over him. I mean how the fuck dare they.

Would he like to be versatile? I'm sure, sometimes. And I think it's very clear that he's comfortable with doing just about anything that will get a rise out of other people, he loves being a scandal and having it be known that he doesn't give a fuck about anybody else. Does that mean he's not naturally assertive and enjoy his power and control immensely? Nooope. Even his displays of inappropriate, emasculating acts or behaviours or his dress and style are assertions of that authority - he does it because he wants to and he can and no one is going to be able to tell him no, no one can stop him, and that very much appeals to him all on its own. But ultimately he just needs that certainty so much, he's not any more free from needing to prove himself at all times in his life than Geta is. In some ways, where I could fully vision Geta craving for the chances to be taken out of that position - by his disability and illness, his diminutiveness and physical weakness and by the way he is perceived and how his own body is ripping his control away from him, Caracalla is the opposite. He doesn't innately crave a break from power, he craves for a moment he feels it is truly inherent to him.

In all, I think he'd be most likely to dip from his power trip under two conditions: either he feels exceedingly secure, or else so far gone he doesn't know how to take control in that situation anymore and wants to be safe and cared for more than anything else. He will not be wanting power or control in a spot where it demands anything unpleasant or difficult or dangerous of him whatsoever, and he'd likely be fine giving it up for a while if it's otherwise handed to him in excess.

Anywhere under other circumstances, he'll be gripping to a sense of power above any other things.

So, in conclusion, uh.

Tl;dr: definitely a top because he's a massively insecure and entitled mess of a divine thing - but make him cosy or make him desperate and he'll give it up eventually.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

Fic - Since Beardo Philip has at least one evil bone in his body, I think it would be fun to see him and a Reader pretend he's a villain capturing a prince or princess. He lifts the Reader over his shoulder and carries them into his hideout cave like it's his evil lair. Reader plays along by helplessly kicking their legs in the air though they secretly enjoy being carried.

The Prince / Princess of the Boiling Isles (Beardo Philip x Pretend! Prince / Princess Reader)

The Boiling Isles considered you to be their most beautiful prince / princess.

Why?

Because you were responsible, always helping others when you could.

You were compassionate, even towards those who displayed cruelty.

You demonstrated complete respect for the Titan and did everything in your power to protect the environment and the people you loved.

You enjoyed the world around you and found happiness in everything you did.

Rather than dismissing someone as a bad person, you opted to help them improve when they were facing difficulties.

You followed your heart and carried out what was right.

You searched for understanding and peace in disputes and conflicts and ensured that everyone was treated fairly in the end.

You showed bravery in confronting your problems.

Your dreams were made a reality by your hard work.

You never judged a book by it's cover.

No matter what happened, you never gave up.

You took love at a slow pace and embraced your unique talents.

But most importantly, you were true to who you were.

Your inner beauty illuminated like a light thanks to all those positive traits and aspects.

...

One day, after completing your "chores" in the totally real "castle" that you lived in, you decided to take a nice walk in the woods.

After being cramped "indoors" all day, you were craving some fresh air.

Putting on your favorite leisure outfit, you headed out the "castle" doors.

...

During your small stroll, you passed by a bush and paused when you heard rustling coming from it.

You let out a small giggle in your hand, assuming it was one of your animal pals playing a game.

However, you were wrong when a man jumped out, causing you to jump and squeal in surprise.

Your eyes were curiously fixed on him, your mouth slightly agape.

What was he doing in that shrub and who was he?

The man's hair, long and brown, was tied in a messy ponytail, and he had a mustache and beard.

He also wore a blue coat as well as a sinister smile on his face.

Looking you up and down, the man began to twirl his mustache like a stereotypical villain, which "scared" you as you tried not to laugh.

"So, you're that prince / princess that I've been hearing about," He hummed softly, wasting no time to lift you over his shoulder as you squeaked.

"You're coming with me!" He declared, quickly taking off with you as he laughed his diabolical laugh.

You were now his.

"Nooo!" You cried out dramatically, "helplessly" kicking your feet.

How could this monster kidnap you?

"What's the matter, prince / princess? Not keen on coming with me?" The man asked, letting out a devilish laugh.

"No, I'm not! Let me go! Let me go, you foul fiend!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he insisted.

"Now, be a good little captive or I'll feed you to a Stonesleeper. I heard they have a strong craving for princes / princesses, especially cute ones such as yourself."

"Nooo! Someone help me!" You cried out again, but no one came to your aid.

Poor you.😔

When the two of you arrived at the "evil lair" (it was really just his cave), he began doing the most diabolical thing one could ever do to someone... he started covering your cheeks with loving kisses.

His facial hair caused you to giggle as it tickled your skin.

Persuading Philip to join you on this may have been challenging, but you're pleased that you managed to do it.

[appallinnballin]

i will say ruv having lesbian parents is extremely based of you actually

GLAD YOU THINK SO 💥💥💥💥💥💥

[haresvoid]

Omeluum, has there ever been an illithid who has retained the memories and/or mind of their host after Ceremorphosis was complete?

“&– - While very uncommon, it is a prospect that is not impossible. Before recently, I have heard but vague accounts and studies regarding those that still exhibit properties of their hosts. Take for instance gnome ceremorphosized individuals; I have heard should a tadpole actually manage to take root, the hosts... mischievous nature and personality remains mostly intact post change, as well as physically being quite different than a typical illithid. Of course, these are not a typical target for my kinds procreation due to the high likelihood of failure. It also seems that those whose host had strong personalities and memories may remain much more than others, as well as exhibit inclination to... independence. Similar to my arcane birth, though without the benefit of diverting the attention of their Elder Brains. Truthfully, I feel.... despondence for those of my kind that fits this specification.”

“&– - As said, previously this was merely hear-say for me and journals discovered. I have discovered one that truly displays these factors-- - which has crafted many new questions for me. I must admit, I am also curious whether my own hosts memories can be regained-- - certainly, they may be collected within my original colony as is a fairly typical procedure, but I have no desires to set foot within there. Logically, they are likely disposed of regardless unless they had any value... even if they did, my curiosities are not worth that cost.”

[stylesispunk]

"The soldier in the armour" | Last part

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter

summary: The search for peace of Rome starts with sacrifices and bloody hands and ends where lovers meet again.

wc: 16k (ups)

warnings: extreme angst, age gap, mentions of blood, power imbalance, mentions of death, violence, manipulation.

a/n: as much as I'm sad to end this story, I really needed it to do it. Writing as much as I enjoy and love it, it's also becoming unbearable to the point i can't find myself writing peacefully anymore and I need a break. Still, i'm leaving you with something else 👀 and I will still be here rebbloging stuff. Thank you so much to the sweet anon who requested this in the first place because it gave me the chance to expand a story i loved writing so much and thanks to everyone who commented on this story, the ones who always reblogged and shared their thoughts with me, and showed me real support. I appreciate it so much! ♥️ this was the original ending for this btw. Please, share your thoughts with me 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The dim torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting long shadows as the guard knelt beside you, pressing a small wooden cup of water into your trembling hands. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as if the weight of his next words could cut in half.

"Here. Drink this, my lady."

You took the cup but didn’t bring it to your lips. Your throat was raw, not just from thirst but from the weight of everything crashing down on you. Instead, your mind raced with so many questions about the ones you loved.

"How… how are they?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The guard sighed, his expression darkening. "Your mother is alright."

A sharp exhale of relief left your lips, but it didn’t last.

"Hanno?" you asked without wanting to reveal his real identity.

His brow furrowed. "Why do you care about that gladiator this much?"

You shot him a glare. "How is he?"

A beat passed before he muttered, "Good. He is fine too, my lady."

But that wasn’t the name that hung the heaviest on your heart, tearing it apart.

"My husband… how is Acacius?" your voice cracked.

At the sound of his name, the guard’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. His hesitation was enough to send ice through your veins.

"General Acacius… Emperor Geta and Caracalla-"

Your stomach twisted violently. "Is he dead?" You choked out, your fingers tightening around the cup until it nearly cracked in your grasp.

"No," the guard said quickly, shaking his head. "But they have… they are sending him to the arena to fight for his life… as punishment."

Your entire body froze. "And they’re going to make me watch," you whispered, the words hollow and filled with fury. It wasn’t just cruel but calculated, a vicious torment. Geta wanted to break you in every way possible.

The rage that had been simmering inside you boiled over.

"Where is he?" you demanded, your breath coming in uneven bursts.

The guard swallowed hard, glancing toward the entrance of the dungeon as if he feared being caught. "You shouldn’t-"

"Where. Is. He?" you cut him off, your voice sharp like a blade.

For a moment, he looked at you, not as a prisoner, not as the emperor’s pawn, but as the little girl he had known all his life. A woman who had once walked through the gardens of the palace without fear, whose laughter had once filled the halls of Rome. He let out a slow breath, then leaned in closer.

"In the lower cells," he whispered. "They took him there until dawn."

“Could you take me to see him?” You asked him, throwing the cup of water on the ground.

The guard hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced nervously toward the entrance of the dungeon. “I can’t. It’s too dangerous. For you and for me.”

Desperation clawed at your throat. “Please,” you pleaded, leaning forward as much as the chains would allow. “I just need to see him. Just for a moment.”

He looked away, running a hand over his face, as if waging an internal war. “If they catch us, they’ll kill us both.”

“Then let me die, I’ll blame myself for it” Your voice wavered, but your resolve did not.

His eyes flickered with something, pity, perhaps even understanding. He owned too much to your family and to Acacius, so muttering a curse under his breath he finally nodded. “Fine. But you must cover up. And it must be fast.”

Relief crashed over you, and you nodded eagerly. “Thank you.”

He stood, moving quickly to retrieve a tattered cloak from a pile of discarded linens in the corner. He draped it over your shoulders, pulling the hood low over your face.

“Keep your head down. Stay close.” His voice was firm but quiet.

You nodded once more, your heart hammering against your ribs as he unlatched the chains from the wall. Your wrists throbbed, the skin raw and bruised, but you didn’t care.

Not long after, the guard led you through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, the torches casting long, flickering shadows on the cold stone walls. Your heart pounded with every step, the weight of the cloak heavier than ever on your shoulders, but nothing compared to the what was pressing against your chest, the thought of seeing Acacius, of what had been done to him.

You kept your head low, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric close to your body. Every time footsteps echoed nearby, the guard would stop, pressing you into the shadows, his hand firm on your arm as if reminding you to stay silent.

Finally, you reached the holding cells near the arena. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, damp stone, and blood. You could hear the low murmurs of other prisoners, the occasional clank of chains.

The guard glanced around before gesturing for you to follow. He stopped in front of a heavy iron-barred door. “He’s in there,” he whispered. “Be quick.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you stepped forward. The guard pulled a key from his belt and slid it into the lock, the heavy door groaning as it opened just enough for you to slip inside.

At first, the darkness swallowed everything, and then

“Acacius.” You whispered, calling out his name.

He was slumped against the wall, his wrists bound in iron cuffs, his tunic torn and bloodied. His dark hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, and a fresh cut trailed along his cheekbone. But his eyes, his sharp, brown eyes, snapped open the moment he heard your voice.

“My love?” His voice was hoarse, as if he had been calling for you in his sleep.

You rushed to him, falling to your knees, your hands reaching for his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if savoring it.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Acacius. I tried-”

“Shh.” His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You weren’t safe but it didn’t matter to you anymore, your fingers trembled as they traced over his bruised skin. “They’re sending you to the arena.”

He exhaled sharply. “I know.”

You shook your head, panic surging in your chest. “I can’t let this happen. I won’t.”

His chained hands lifted as much as they could, brushing against your arms, trying to soothe you despite the agony he must have been in. “You have to be strong.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You have to survive this. That’s the promise I made to your mother and that’s the promise I made to myself.”

“Not without you.” You sobbed.

His eyes softened, full of something deeper than love, something treading your two-heart beating faster.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as shook your head, your lips pressing against his in a desperate, lingering kiss. He kissed you back with all the strength he had left, pouring his love and soul into you, as if trying to leave a piece of himself with you, in case this was the last time.

A sudden sound at the door made you break apart. The guard stepped inside, urgency on his face.

“They’re coming. We have to go-now.”

You turned back to Acacius, your hands gripping his face as if you could keep him here with you forever.

“I will find a way.” Your voice was a promise. “I swear it.”

His eyes burned into yours. “Then I will wait for you, my love. In this life or the next.”

The guard pulled you away, and Acacius’ hands fell to his sides as you were torn from him. Your silent sobs echoed in the chamber as the door slammed shut between you.

The guard took you back to your cell, where the reality fell over you. Not enough praying would bring you back to the nights lying next to Acacius and enveloped in his arms, safe and sound.

The moment you stepped back into the cell, the cold iron bit into your wrists once more as the guard fastened the chains, his movements slower this time, almost hesitant. You could still taste Acacius on your lips, still feel the warmth of his hands on your skin. But now, all you had was the damp air of your prison and the weight of despair pressing against your chest.

The guard exhaled, stepping back. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched as if wrestling with something deep inside himself.

“You don’t deserve this,” he muttered. “None of it.”

You lifted your tear-streaked face, meeting his gaze. “Then let me go.”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he only shook his head. “I have my duty.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice hoarse from emotion. “Duty? To whom? Geta? Caracalla? Do you think they would do the same for you?”

His face darkened, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. You already knew.

“I serve Rome first,” he said after a long pause, but there was something hollow in the way he spoke. As if he was trying to convince himself.

Your wrists throbbed as you shifted against the cold chains, your anger burning hotter than your grief now. “Then you are just as much a prisoner as I am.”

A flicker of something—shame? Regret?—crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly. He turned toward the door.

“I hope the gods are kind to you, my lady.”

Then he left. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing you in darkness once more.

A shuddering breath escaped you as you pressed your forehead against the damp stone wall. Your body ached, your heart ached, but your mind was clearer now.

Acacius was running out of time.

And you were done waiting.

The hours dragged on, each second stretching into eternity as you remained chained in the cold, damp cell. The weight of what was coming settled deep in your bones, but you refused to surrender to it. Acacius was there, awaiting his fate, and you would not sit idly by while the love of your life was thrown into the arena like a common criminal.

When the first rays of morning light filtered through the cracks in the stone walls, you finally spoke. "I demand to see the emperors."

The guards exchanged glances; their expressions unreadable. One of them scoffed, but the other hesitated.

"You are in no position to demand anything," one of them sneered.

You lifted your chin, steel in your voice despite the exhaustion creeping into your limbs. "I am still a daughter of Rome, and I will be heard."

A long silence stretched between you and them before the guard who had led you to Acacius the night before stepped forward. His jaw was tight, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. He sighed.

"Very well. But be careful what you ask for.”

The chains were undone, your wrists sore and bruised, but you ignored the pain once again. Two guards flanked you as they led you through the corridors of the palace. The familiar scent of incense and polished marble filled your senses, a stark contrast to the filth of the dungeons.

When the heavy doors to the grand hall were pushed open, your eyes immediately landed on them—Geta and Caracalla, seated on their thrones, draped in the finest silks, adorned in the weight of power they had not earned.

Geta was the first to notice you, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

"Ah, my little rebel." His voice was thick with amusement. "I was wondering when you'd come crawling back to beg."

Caracalla, in contrast, simply watched you with an expression unreadable, his dark eyes cold and calculating.

You stepped forward, ignoring the guards at your sides, ignoring the ache in your body. You met Geta’s gaze without fear, without hesitation.

"I did not come to beg." Your voice was steady. "I came to make a deal."

That caught their attention. Geta's smile faltered, and Caracalla finally leaned forward, intrigued.

"A deal?" Geta mused, amusement returning. "What could you possibly offer that we don’t already have?"

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Myself." You let the word settle between you before continuing, voice unwavering. "You release Acacius, my mother and Hanno. Let them leave Rome unharmed. And in return... I will do whatever you wish. I will be yours."

Geta's smile widened into something almost victorious, while Caracalla tilted his head, scrutinizing you.

The room was silent for a moment, the air thick with tension.

Then Geta let out a quiet laugh. “I can’t believe it!”

He stood from his throne, stepping toward you, his gaze dark and triumphant. "But tell me, my love... are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for a man who may already be dead?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You swallowed hard, keeping your expression unreadable. "You wouldn't have let him die so quickly. Not when you could turn his suffering into a spectacle."

Geta’s smirk deepened. "You know me too well, my princess" he said, caressing your face.

Caracalla exhaled sharply, almost bored. "What makes you think we would honor such a deal?"

You turned your gaze to him, unflinching. "Because you love control. And forcing me into submission would be far more satisfying to you than simply killing them outright."

Another beat of silence.

Then, Geta reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch making your skin crawl. "Oh, my sweet lady... you may have just sealed your fate."

Your heart pounded, but you did not flinch. “I request divorce from General Acacius.” You said, trembling.

A hush fell over the grand hall, the weight of your words pressing against the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. Even Geta, who had been reveling in his triumph, paused for a moment, his smirk faltering ever so slightly before returning with renewed satisfaction.

Caracalla, however, was the first to speak, his dark eyes narrowing. "Divorce?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his throne. "Do you take us for fools?"

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here and willingly destroy the bond that tethered you to Acacius. But you had no choice.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was firm. "I do what is necessary."

Geta let out a slow chuckle, stepping even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted your chin up to face him. "So quick to throw away your little love story," he mused. "Tell me, does he know you would sell him so easily?"

"This isn't about him," you said, your voice cracking, but you forced yourself to remain steady with your lie. "This is about Rome."

Caracalla scoffed. "Rome? Or your own survival?"

You turned to him, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest you feared they could hear it. "A wife cannot be forced into marriage with another man while she belongs to another. If I renounce to him, you have no reason to keep him in Rome. No reason to make him suffer."

Geta hummed in amusement. "And if we refuse? If we simply let him rot in the arena?"

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "Then you lose any control you hope to have over me. I will fight you at every turn, defy you in ways that will make the Senate and the people question your power. But if you let him go..." You forced yourself to meet Geta’s gaze, hating the victorious gleam in his eyes. "Then I am yours."

Silence stretched between you all, thick and suffocating.

Geta exchanged a look with Caracalla, something unspoken passing between them. Then, he turned back to you, his smirk deepening. "Very well, my love. You will have your divorce."

Your stomach twisted violently.

"And Acacius?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Geta grinned. "Let’s not be too hasty, shall we? The games are still to be held. And what is a spectacle without its most anticipated performance?"

Your blood turned to ice. "You swore—"

"I swore nothing," Geta interrupted smoothly, his fingers tracing your jaw. "But if your dear Acacius and that beloved gladiator of yours prove themselves worthy in the arena… perhaps I will reconsider their fate."

Your eyes widened at that. Acacius and Lucius fighting in the arena for a mere mistake of you.

“What is wrong, my love? You thought I wouldn’t find out that gladiator is your presumed to be dead brother?”

Your breath caught in your throat. The world tilted beneath you as Geta’s words sank in like a dagger to your chest.

Lucius.

Your heart pounded wildly, disbelief warring with the sheer horror of the situation. You had spent years grieving him, mourning the brother who had been stolen by fate from you. And now, that you had tried to save him, here he was, forced into bloodsport, pitted against the man you loved, all because of you.

Geta’s smirk widened at your silence. "Ah, there it is. That look of devastation I so adore," he murmured, his fingers still tracing your jaw as if he were savoring every ounce of your suffering. "I must admit, I was rather surprised when I discovered the truth. Your dear Lucius… alive, a mere gladiator, reduced to nothing but entertainment for the masses. I almost pitied him."

Your body trembled with rage, but you refused to break before him. "You sick, wretched-"

He tutted, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you. "Careful now. You wouldn't want to anger your future husband."

You wrenched your face away from his touch, your nails biting into your palms as fury and despair crashed over you in violent waves.

"You planned this," you whispered, horror lacing your voice. "You waited until I had no way to fight back, until I was desperate enough to come crawling to you."

Geta only chuckled. "Of course, my love. Did you truly believe you had a choice in any of this?"

Caracalla, who had remained silent until now, let out an amused sigh. "Enough theatrics. She has her answer." He waved a hand lazily. "Take her back. She’ll have the best seat in the arena for tomorrow’s entertainment. Next to Lucilla."

The guards grabbed your arms, pulling you back toward the door, but your mind was spinning too fast, your heart hammering with only one thought-

You dug your heels into the floor, twisting in the guards' grip. "Geta, please!" you pleaded, hating yourself for it but knowing you had no other choice. "Lucius is my brother—my blood. Spare him, at least. You’ve already won. You have me!"

Geta only smiled, utterly delighted by your desperation. "Oh, my love, I haven’t won yet. Not until I watch your heart shatter in that arena. Besides I wouldn’t allow the grandchild of Marcus Aurelio to live."

Your blood turned to ice.

"Perhaps they’ll kill each other. Or perhaps the people will cheer as the lions tear them apart. Either way, you will watch, and you will understand—" he leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear "—that I own you. In every way that matters. Even when Acacius took you in that way too."

A sob built in your throat, but you swallowed it down.

You would find a way to stop this. Even if it meant destroying Geta himself.

Geta’s cold smile twisted into something darker as he waved his hand dismissively. “Take her to my quarters,” he commanded, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “And make sure she’s cleaned up. I want her looking her best for the games tomorrow.”

The guards tightened their grip on your arms, dragging you away from the grand hall. Your legs felt weak beneath you, each step heavier than the last. As you were pulled through the winding corridors, a hollow numbness settled over you, shielding you from the crushing reality of what was to come.

The guards stopped before a set of ornate doors, shoving them open and pushing you inside. The room was lavishly decorated, with rich fabrics and polished marble, but it felt suffocating, like a gilded cage.

Two servants appeared, their eyes lowered, and began to draw a warm bath in the corner, their movements quick and practiced. One of the guards barked an order at them. “Make sure she’s presentable. And keep an eye on her.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and you were left standing in the center of the room, your breath shaky, your heart pounding. The servants approached you cautiously, gently taking your hands and guiding you toward the bath. You allowed them to remove the dirtied cloak and help you into the steaming water, the warmth seeping into your bruised skin but doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

As they washed away the grime and blood, your mind raced. You had to think. You had to find a way out of this nightmare, a way to save both Acacius and Lucius. But with each passing moment, the walls seemed to close in tighter around you, Geta’s words echoing in your mind.

When the servants finished, they helped you into a simple, elegant gown, white and gold, befitting someone meant to be paraded before the masses. They braided your hair with trembling hands, casting nervous glances toward the guards standing by the door.

Once you were ready, one of the guards stepped forward, his expression blank. “You’ll stay here until you’re summoned.”

Your jaw tightened, but you nodded, watching as they exited the room, the door locking behind them with a resounding click.

Left alone, you paced the room, your hands shaking as you ran through every possible scenario. But each plan seemed more hopeless than the last.

You couldn’t give up. Not when the lives of the people you loved hung in the balance.

You moved to the window, pressing your forehead against the wall, watching the city below begin to stir with the first light of dawn. Acacius was preparing for a fight he shouldn’t have to face, and Lucius… your brother, alive, suffering because of a twisted game of power.

Your fingers brushed against the golden ring your mother had once given you. A knock at the door startled you, and a servant peeked inside, her voice trembling. “My lady, is there anything you need?”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steeling your resolve. “Yes,” you replied, turning to face her. “I need my mother.” You said, as tears streamed down your face.

The servant hesitated, glancing nervously toward the guards outside the door. "My lady... Lady Lucilla has been confined to her chambers. The emperors ordered that she couldn’t to see anyone."

Your heart clenched, but you squared your shoulders. "Then find a way," you urged, stepping closer. "Tell her I need her. Tell her it's urgent."

The servant bit her lip but nodded, bowing her head before slipping out of the room.

Left alone, you turned back to the window, gripping the cold stone as your tears fell freely. Your relationship with your mother had been complicated, but now she was your only pilar of strength, the only one who had ever truly understood the weight of your burdens. If anyone could help you, it was her.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before the door creaked open again. You spun around, hope flaring in your chest, only for it to vanish just as quickly.

It wasn’t your mother, but Geta.

Your stomach twisted as you straightened, schooling your features into a mask of cold defiance. The servant quickly bowed her head, backing away toward the shadows.

Geta took his time crossing the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in the gown his servants had chosen. A slow, satisfied smirk curled his lips.

“Much better,” he murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along your cheek. You forced yourself to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of recoiling.

“Enjoying your newfound authority?” you asked, your voice flat.

He chuckled. “Oh, my sweet, stubborn lady. You can glare at me all you like, but you and I both know how this will end.”

“Do we?” you shot back. “Because I think you forget that caging me only makes me more dangerous.”

Geta laughed at that, full and rich, as if you had just amused him beyond measure. “That fire of yours,” he mused, “it’s what makes this so thrilling. You think you’re still in control, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “We’ll see if you’re still so defiant after you watch your beloved Acacius bleed for my entertainment.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, rage bubbling like molten lava beneath your skin.

“You will regret this,” you swore, voice shaking with fury.

Geta only smiled. “Perhaps. But for now, I will enjoy watching you break.” He said, kissing your shoulder, just above the scar he had done in there a while ago. “But I know you want to see Lucilla, and as your soon to husband I will allow you to see your mother for a minute.”

Your body went rigid at his touch, the ghost of old wounds burning beneath his lips. You forced yourself to stay still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you recoil.

“You are still not my husband,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom.

Geta only chuckled, stepping back as if your defiance amused him rather than angered him. “Say that all you want, my love. The day will come when you’ll have no choice but to accept it.”

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat. There was no use in wasting words on a man who thrived on your resistance. Instead, you latched onto the one small mercy he had granted.

“Take me to her,” you demanded.

His smirk deepened, but he gestured to the guards, who immediately stepped forward. “Escort her to the Lucilla’s chambers. She has one minute.”

Two guards flanked you as they led you out of the room and down the dimly lit corridors.

Your heart pounded as you neared your mother’s chambers. You hadn’t seen her since your imprisonment. The thought of what she must have endured in your absence made your chest tighten.

The heavy doors opened, and the moment you stepped inside, you saw her—Lucilla, sitting by the window, her elegant frame draped in a dark silk robe, her usually poised expression now marred by worry.

“Mother,” you whispered, rushing forward.

She turned at the sound of your voice, and in an instant, you were in her arms.

“My darling,” she breathed, clutching you tightly, as if afraid you’d disappear. “What have they done to you?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced them down. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have much time.”

Lucilla pulled back, searching your face. “Tell me what I need to do.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping her hands. “Acacius and Lucius are to fight in the arena. I have to stop it.”

Her eyes darkened with grief and fury. “Those monsters,” she whispered. “He will never be satisfied until he has crushed you completely.”

Your breath hitched. “I won’t let them kill him.”

“Listen to me carefully,” she said, her voice low. “You cannot afford to be reckless. Do you understand?” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You are my daughter. You are of noble blood. But that means nothing to them. To Geta, to Caracalla, you are just another pawn.”

“Then I will stop being their pawn.” Your voice was steel now. “I will fight.”

Her gaze softened, but only slightly. “If you truly mean that, then you need to be smart.”

You swallowed, waiting.

She reached for a golden pin from her belt, a simple yet elegant piece of jewelry. But as she turned it in her hand, the tip gleamed sharp as a dagger.

“This belonged to your grandmother,” she said, placing it in your palm. “Use it as you want to.”

You stared at the pin, feeling the weight of the upcoming consequences weighting heavily on your hands.

“I don’t want you to fight with words,” she continued. “I want you to fight with power. And power, my daughter, is taken. Not given.”

Your fingers curled around the pin, your heart pounding. Before any of you could say something else, the guards stepped forward. “Time’s up.”

Lucilla’s grip tightened, but she nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Be strong, my love.”

As they pulled you away, you met her gaze one last time, silently pleading for her to find a way, to do whatever it took to keep Acacius and Lucius alive.

The guards led you back through the winding corridors of the palace, your mother’s words echoing in your mind.

Power is taken, not given.

You clutched the golden pin in your palm, the sharp tip pressing into your skin, grounding you. It was a weapon, small but deadly. A tool of survival. A symbol of defiance.

The halls were eerily silent, the torches flickering against the cold stone walls. When you reached Geta’s quarters, the guards opened the door and ushered you inside.

He was waiting for you. Reclined on a cushioned chair, a goblet of wine in his hand, his smirk already in place. He studied you as if you were a rare creature he had trapped in a cage.

“Did you enjoy your reunion, my love?” he mused, taking a slow sip of his drink.

You forced your expression to remain impassive. “It was enlightening.”

Geta tilted his head, as if weighing your words. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guards. The heavy doors shut behind you, leaving you alone with him.

He stood, closing the distance between you in two slow, deliberate steps. “You’re trembling.” He traced a finger along your jaw, his touch featherlight, mocking. “Are you afraid?”

You met his gaze head-on. “No.”

His smirk widened. “Good. I’d hate for you to become dull.” He stepped behind you, fingers brushing over your shoulders as he leaned in. “I have to admit, I do find this fight rather… exciting. Your beloved general against the brother you once thought dead. Who will win? Who will die? What a spectacle it will be.”

You swallowed back the bile in your throat. He was toying with you, savoring your pain.

“Tell me, my sweet,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear. “Who do you hope survives?”

Your fingers tightened around the pin hidden in your palm.

This was it.

A moment of hesitation would cost you everything.

Your breath was steady as you turned your head slightly, your lips ghosting near his cheek as if you were surrendering.

Then, with a swift movement, you drove the golden pin into his side.

Geta inhaled sharply, his body jerking as pain registered in his eyes. He staggered back, looking down at the small weapon buried just below his ribs.

His stunned expression turned into something else. Amusement. Then, laughter.

Blood dripped from the wound, staining his tunic, but he didn’t collapse. He didn’t even reach for a weapon.

Instead, he cupped your face roughly, forcing you to look at him, his grip tightening like a vice.

“Oh, my love,” he chuckled, voice dark with pleasure. “You just made this so much more fun.”

His grip on your face tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. The laughter in his eyes was almost more terrifying than his fury.

“You never fail to surprise me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. His free hand reached down, wrapping around the golden pin still lodged in his side. With an agonizing slowness, he pulled it out, the wet sound of metal sliding from flesh making your stomach churn.

Blood trickled from the wound, staining his fingers. He studied it with something close to fascination before flicking his gaze back to you.

“Did you think this would kill me?” he asked, voice laced with amusement. “A little pin?”

You remained silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of fear.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Foolish, but admirable.” He lifted the pin, brushing the bloodied tip against your lips. “Perhaps I should return the favor.”

Before he could act, the doors burst open.

Caracalla.

His expression was unreadable as his gaze flickered between you and Geta. Then, he noticed the wound. His eyes darkened.

“What has she done?”

Geta let out a sharp breath, wiping the blood from his side with an almost lazy motion. “My beloved soon to be wife wanted to kill me” His lips curled into a smirk. “Charming, isn’t it?”

Caracalla’s jaw clenched. He took slow steps toward you, his presence as suffocating as ever. When he reached you, he lifted your chin with two fingers, inspecting you like one would inspect a delicate vase with a crack down the middle.

“Do you want to die?” he asked, voice low, but his gaze didn’t show such fury as Geta’s gaze.

“No,” you answered, steady. “I want to be free.”

Caracalla’s fingers lingered beneath your chin, his grip neither cruel nor kind. His gaze, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face as if weighing something in his mind.

Then, he exhaled, dropping his hand. “Enough, brother.” His voice was quiet but firm.

Geta’s smirk faltered. “Brother—”

“She is to watch them fight tomorrow. That alone is enough.” Caracalla’s tone brooked no argument.

Geta clenched his jaw, displeased, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he scoffed, shaking his head. “Since when you are soft on her?”

Caracalla ignored him, his piercing eyes settling back on you. “You will be there when the sun is highest. You will watch Acacius and Lucius fight for their lives, and you will understand that your defiance comes at a cost.”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to look away.

Geta stepped closer, brushing a bloodied thumb over your cheek. “And if they fail…” He let the words hang between you like a blade above your throat.

You swallowed hard, refusing to react.

Caracalla turned on his heel. “Make sure she is prepared for the event.” He glanced back at you once, his expression unreadable. “She will not be harmed further.”

With that, he strode from the room, leaving you alone with Geta.

Your stomach twisted as Geta chuckled under his breath. “You should thank him, you know.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “If it were up to me, my love, you would learn your lesson another way.”

His lips hovered near yours, the taste of blood and power thick in the air between you.

Night had fallen, but sleep refused to come. You lay on the lavish bed, staring at the canopy above, your mind an endless storm of thoughts.

Acacius—alone in a cold, dark cell, preparing for a battle he should never have to fight. Lucius—your brother, alive, but trapped in this nightmare because of you. Your mother—powerless, yet still trying to protect you the only way she could.

You turned onto your side, then onto your back, then your stomach, but no position brought comfort. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Acacius bleeding in the arena, Lucius collapsing to the sand.

With a frustrated sigh, you sat up, rubbing your face. You needed to think. You needed a way out of this.

Your gaze flickered to the door. Two guards stood outside, always watching, always waiting. But you knew one thing about soldiers: they were predictable.

Slowly, you slid out of bed, smoothing your nightdress before padding toward the door. Taking a deep breath, you knocked lightly.

A moment later, the heavy door creaked open, and one of the guards peered inside, eyes wary. M “What?”

You shifted on your feet, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I need to use the baths.” Your voice was soft, meek. “Please.”

The guards exchanged a look. “It’s the middle of the night.” The first one frowned.

You lowered your gaze. “I know, but… I can’t sleep. I feel filthy, and tomorrow I have to—” You let your voice break just slightly, just enough to make them uncomfortable. “I won’t try anything. I just need a moment to clear my head.”

The second guard sighed. “Let’s just take her. What harm can she do?”

The first hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But make it quick.”

They pulled the door open fully, and you stepped out, schooling your expression into quiet gratitude. But inside, your heart pounded.

This was your chance.

The corridor was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long shadows against the stone walls. The guards flanked you on either side as they led you through the halls, their armor clinking softly with every step.

You kept your gaze downcast, your expression carefully schooled into one of exhaustion and resignation. But inside, your mind was racing. Every turn they took, every doorway you passed—you memorized it all. If there was any way to escape, you needed to know the layout of the palace like the back of your hand.

Finally, you arrived at the baths. The steam rose from the water, curling into the air like ghosts. The guards stopped at the entrance, one crossing his arms. “You have ten minutes.”

You nodded, stepping inside. The door remained slightly ajar, just enough for them to watch you.

You moved to the edge of the bath, dipping your fingers into the warm water, pretending to gather your thoughts. In reality, you were searching, searching for something, anything you could use.

A bronze jug sat on the edge of the bath; its handle curved elegantly. Heavy enough to knock someone out? Perhaps.

Your fingers traced the golden pin your mother had given you, still tucked safely in the folds of your dress. A hidden weapon. A last resort.

Your mind worked quickly. The guards were distracted, speaking in low voices. If you acted fast enough, maybe-

A noise.

Your breath caught. It wasn’t from the guards. It was from the far end of the bathhouse.

You turned your head slightly, eyes scanning the shadows. Then, you saw it—a figure, barely visible in the dim light.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you tried to make out the figure hidden in the shadows. The steam from the bath swirled around them, obscuring their features, but you knew—someone was there. Watching. Waiting.

Slowly, you straightened, keeping your movements controlled, careful not to alert the guards.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, barely audible over the distant dripping of water.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a figure stepped forward just enough for the torchlight to kiss their face.

Your breath hitched. Lucius. Standing before you in the bathhouse, when he should have been locked in a cell.

His face was gaunt, bruises shadowing his cheekbone, but his eyes, his eyes burned with the same fire you remembered from when you were children.

“How—?” you started, but he lifted a finger to his lips, silencing you.

“No time,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Listen carefully. I don’t know how much longer I have.”

You stepped closer, heart hammering. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Not as bad as I could be. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is Acacius.”

His name sent a fresh wave of urgency through you. “What about him?”

Lucius’ jaw tightened. “He’s not meant to win tomorrow. It’s already decided. The match is a spectacle, but the outcome? Rigged.”

Ice flooded your veins.

“They plan to kill him?”

Lucius exhaled sharply. “Yes. And I’m supposed to be the one to do it.”

Your stomach twisted. “No. No, you can’t—”

“I know.” His voice was firm. “I won’t. But that doesn’t mean he’ll survive.”

Your thoughts spun wildly. Acacius. Lucius. The fight. The emperors watching with their smug, twisted pleasure. The weight of your mother’s words echoed in your head.

Power is taken, not given.

Your grip tightened around the golden pin.

“Then we have to change the game.”

Lucius studied you for a long moment. “Do you have a plan?”

You exhaled, your mind racing. “Not yet. But I will.”

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. The guards.

Lucius reached out, gripping your wrist. “Whatever happens, don’t trust them.” His voice dropped lower, urgent. “And don’t show them fear.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared back into the shadows, slipping away as if he had never been there at all.

The door creaked open.

“Time’s up,” the guard grunted.

You swallowed down the storm inside you and turned, your face a perfect mask of calm. But inside, you were already preparing for war.

Before you could react, a dull thud echoed through the bathhouse. One guard crumpled to the ground, then another.

Your breath hitched.

Lucius stood over them, his chest rising and falling rapidly, a stolen dagger in his grip. The flickering torchlight caught the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"We don’t have time," he said, voice rough but determined. He crouched, stripping one of the guards of his sword before glancing at you. "Can you run?"

You swallowed, your heart hammering. "Yes."

Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward, stepping over the unconscious guards. You barely had time to gather yourself before you were moving, slipping through the darkened corridor, your bare feet light against the cold marble floor.

The palace was eerily quiet, the usual murmur of servants and the distant sound of music replaced by the weight of silence.

"How did you get out?" you whispered.

Lucius didn’t slow. "A friend."

"Who?"

He didn’t answer.

The two of you rounded a corner, and suddenly, footsteps echoed in the distance, too many.

Lucius cursed under his breath, yanking you into the shadows of an alcove. He pressed you against the cool stone, his breath warm against your ear.

"We can’t go through the main halls," he murmured. "They’ll be looking for me by now."

Your mind raced. The only other way out was through the servant tunnels, but even those weren’t safe.

“What about our mother?” you asked him, holding his hand tightly.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, his eyes flashing with something between frustration and worry. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice low. "She’s probably already been locked down in the lower quarters. Geta won’t want her interfering."

Your heart clenched at the thought of your mother, vulnerable and trapped in the midst of all this madness.

“We can’t leave her here,” you said, your grip tightening around his hand. "We have to get to her, Lucius. She’s the only family we have left."

Lucius exhaled sharply, his eyes darting as he weighed your words. "I know," he muttered. "But going after her means we risk getting caught. If we’re captured..." He trailed off, the implication heavy between you.

You stood there for a moment, heart racing, your mind spinning with all the impossible choices before you. But then, a fire ignited in your chest. You couldn’t leave your mother behind.

"We don’t have to risk it alone," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "Go to the rooms on the left, she is there. Take her out of here. You both know what you will do.”

Lucius’ expression hardened, eyes narrowing with a sharp edge. "What about you?”

You shook your head, your voice resolute. “I’ll entertain Geta”

Lucius’ gaze hardened as your words sank in. His grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenched. “Entertain the emperors?” he repeated, voice full of disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You’ll be walking straight into their trap.”

You nodded, “I’m already part of it.” You paused for a second, “You don’t have to worry about me. Just get her to safety.” Your voice was firm, though inside, your heart was pounding, and every fiber of your being screamed at you to take another path, one that would keep you away from the lions' den. But there was no time for hesitation. “I know what I’m doing. This is the only way.”

Lucius hesitated, clearly torn. Then, with a heavy sigh, he let go of your hand and pulled you into a brief, tight hug. “Be careful,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do if—” He stopped, clearly not wanting to finish the thought. He drew away, meeting your gaze one last time before turning sharply to head down the corridor.

You stood in the shadows for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as the weight of what you were about to do settled upon you. You had made your decisión, now you had to see it through, no matter what.

With a steadying breath, you made your way toward Caracalla’s quarters. He was the more calculating of the two, and you knew he would respond to reason more than Geta ever would. He had his own ambitions, his own desire for power. If you could manipulate that just enough, you might be able to turn the tables.

As you approached his door, you steeled yourself. The guards at the entrance were easy enough to bypass, and soon you found yourself standing before Caracalla. He was lounging in his chair, a goblet of wine in hand, his expression as cold and distant as ever. The moment he saw you, his gaze narrowed.

“You have something to say?” His voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

You approached slowly, trying to control the tension that buzzed through your body. “Yes,” you said, your voice steady. “I need to speak with you.” You met his eyes, unflinching. “I know you’ve grown tired of Geta's games. His need to dominate, to manipulate.”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow but said nothing, clearly intrigued but cautious.

You pressed on. “He doesn’t care about strategy. He doesn’t see the bigger picture. But you do. You’ve always understood the importance of timing, of taking control at the right moment.” You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “You know he’s reckless. And reckless men are easily discarded when their use has expired.”

There was a long silence as Caracalla studied you, his eyes calculating, weighing your words. For a moment, you thought he might reject your attempt outright. But then, finally, he spoke.

“And what exactly are you proposing?” His voice was cold, but there was a flicker of interest.

You straightened, letting your gaze shift slightly, as if contemplating your next words. “You’re the best option for ruling this empire. I know how much you crave power. How you want to be the one in control, the one with the final say. Geta, in his arrogance, will only push you to the edge. And when he does, you will have no choice but to take him down.”

Caracalla was silent for a moment, but the tension in the room seemed to build. “And what do you expect in return?” His tone was low, but you could tell he was seriously considering it.

You held his gaze firmly. “In return? I want Acacius free. Geta’s influence gone. I want him out of the way, for good. You can have all the power you want. But you’ll need to move quickly before he gets his hands any deeper into the affairs of this empire.” You leaned in slightly, your voice low and persuasive. “You know I’m right.”

Caracalla’s expression softened for just a moment, his eyes gleaming with a dark, calculating glint. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” His lips curled slightly, and for a brief second, you saw a flicker of respect in his eyes. “I’ve been growing fond of you”

 

You made your way to Geta’s quarters, each step heavy with the knowledge that this confrontation could be your last. As you entered the room, Geta’s usual smirk was already in place, but when he saw your expression, it faltered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I see you’ve come to play, princess,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair as if the entire world belonged to him.

You met his gaze, not flinching. “I’ve come to ask for forgiveness, you began, your voice soft and almost apologetic, a contrast to the sharpness of your previous interactions. “I never wanted things to get this far. I never wanted to hurt you.” Your words were quiet, almost vulnerable. You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he leaned forward, intrigued by the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“I know I’ve been... distant,” you continued, taking a tentative step closer. “I thought I could control everything, but I see now that I’ve underestimated you. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m sorry for that.” Your voice was sincere, and you made sure to let it carry a subtle warmth, as though you were finally acknowledging the bond that existed between you.

Geta’s expression shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, you could see the edge of doubt creeping into his eyes. He was a man of power, but even he wasn’t impervious to charm when it was carefully wielded.

“You’ve always been too proud,” you added, your voice lowering, seductive now, as you slowly closed the distance between you. “But I’ve always admired that about you, Geta. You’re strong. You’re confident. You don’t back down.”

His eyes darkened as you moved closer, his usual arrogance replaced by something else. You could feel his pulse quickening as you stood before him, inches apart. Without breaking eye contact, you gently placed your hand on his chest, pressing it lightly against his body.

“I never wanted to be your enemy,” you whispered, your lips so close to his that you could feel his breath on your skin. “But I’ve made a mess of everything. I think… maybe I’ve pushed you too far.”

Geta’s gaze flickered down to your lips for just a moment before he forced himself to meet your eyes again, his expression torn. “You think you can just... undo everything now?” His voice was rough, as if trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

You gave a small, almost shy smile, playing the part. “I think I can show you how sorry I am,” you murmured. Your hand moved from his chest to his neck, your fingers trailing just lightly along his jaw, feeling the tension irradiating from his body. “I think you’ll enjoy seeing how much.”

For a moment, there was a dangerous silence, the tension between you both crackling in the air. Geta seemed to hesitate, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anger, confusion, and something darker, something that made him lean just slightly closer.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, princess,” he said, his voice low, but the sharp edge had softened.

“Maybe,” you breathed, your voice a near purr. “But maybe I like the danger. Maybe I like what you can give me.”

Your words hung in the air as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear for a moment, your fingers sliding around to the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “You’re a powerful man, Geta. You’ve always been a temptation. But I’ve always kept my distance, haven’t I?” You stepped back slightly, your eyes never leaving his. “Maybe it’s time I stopped fighting what’s inevitable.”

The tension between you both was thick, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing against yours as you stood there, letting the silence linger. His hands twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, but for once, he seemed uncertain, caught between his fury and the allure of your presence.

With a final glance, you smiled softly, almost teasingly. “I think we both know what needs to happen next, don’t we?”

His breath caught, but before he could say anything more, you turned and walked away slowly, knowing that your manipulation had left its mark. You had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind, making him question his own control, and now you could leave with the upper hand.

As you left the room, you could feel the weight of the moment settling into your chest, but you couldn't afford to dwell on it. Every move you made had to be calculated; every word measured. The emperors might think they had you cornered, but you weren’t a mere pawn. You were playing a much deeper game.

The hallways were dim and silent as you made your way toward the courtyard, where Caracalla had instructed you to meet him. You weren’t sure what to expect, whether he would be angry, wary, or intrigued, but you knew you had to keep him on your side, at least for now.

When you finally reached the courtyard, Caracalla was waiting for you. His silhouette was outlined by the moonlight, the sharp features of his face giving little away. You could sense his attention on you the moment you stepped into the light, but he didn’t speak right away.

“You’ve done it,” he said after a long pause, his voice measured but with an edge that suggested both irritation and curiosity. “You’ve made your move. But it’s not enough, is it?”

You stepped closer, trying to read his mood. The air was thick with tension, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

“It’s never enough, Caracalla,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But it’s a start.” You paused just in front of him, letting the silence stretch between you. “You need to understand, this isn’t just about power. This is about survival. Mine. And Acacius’s. And Lucius’s.”

His gaze flickered, and for a moment, you could see something resembling hesitation in his eyes. But it quickly vanished, replaced by that impenetrable mask he wore so well.

“And what do you think Geta is going to do with you now?” Caracalla asked, his tone sharp. “Do you really believe you can play both sides like this?”

You didn’t flinch. “I’m not playing both sides,” you said softly. “I’m making sure I’m the one left standing when it’s all over.”

For a moment, he said nothing. But then, he stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with a mix of intrigue and something else—something dangerous. “And you think I’ll let you?”

You didn’t answer right away, letting the question linger. Instead, you took a slow step back, your gaze never leaving his. “You have your ambitions, Caracalla,” you said, voice quiet but filled with a quiet defiance. “And I have mine. But they don’t have to be at odds. Not if we work together.”

His jaw clenched as he took in your words. Then, without warning, he moved forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was suffocating, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to strike, to remind you of who held the true power.

But instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the side of your cheek, his touch oddly gentle, almost tender. “You have a way with words,” he murmured, his voice low. “But words aren’t enough. Not in our world.”

You met his gaze, your breath shallow. “I know,” you whispered. “That’s why I’ll show you what I can do.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft rustling of the leaves in the courtyard and the weight of his gaze on you. Then, slowly, Caracalla pulled away, his expression unreadable once more. “Tomorrow,” he said finally, his voice cold again, as if the moment had never happened. “You’ll see Geta fight. I’ll make sure he knows what happens if he tries to go against me. If you want your little games to continue, you’ll need to prove that you can keep up.”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t let the fear show. “I understand.”

The next day came quickly, its early hours slipping by in a haze of preparations and quiet anticipation. The heat of the coming conflict simmered in the air, thick and oppressive. You knew the game that had been set in motion was dangerous, but you had to play it to the end. Caracalla’s intentions were clear, and though you had manipulated the situation in your favor for now, you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing was ever truly as it seemed in their world.

Lucius and your mother were safe for the time being, hidden away, far from the reach of the emperors, that was you had been informed by one of the guards. That was one victory, one battle won. But Acacius was another matter entirely. You hadn’t forgotten what he meant to you, what he had come to represent in this fight for survival.

Caracalla had already informed you that Geta would be the one to face Acacius in the games, an outcome you’d been dreading since last night. He would send him to break Acacius, to make a spectacle. The thought of it made your blood boil, but you had no choice but to let the inevitable unfold. You could only make sure Acacius was prepared for whatever lay ahead.

You paced in the confines of your quarters, your mind heavy with the weight of the decisions you had made. There wasn’t much time, but you knew you needed to see Acacius before the games began. You couldn’t afford to let him go into that fight without your last words, your last chance to ensure that the fight was more than just for sport, it had to be for survival, for something more.

You didn’t waste a moment. Moving swiftly, you made your way to Caracalla’s chambers. The guards at the entrance stepped aside with only a glance, a quiet acknowledgment of your position. You’d never liked the power the emperors had over everything and everyone, but today you had the smallest sliver of it. You’d used it to gain access to Caracalla. Now, you had to use that same influence to see Acacius.

Caracalla sat in the large room, speaking with a few of his advisors, but when he saw you enter, his dark eyes locked onto yours. His presence was as commanding as ever, but there was a subtle change in the air, a shift that told you this conversation would be different. He dismissed his advisors with a wave of his hand, allowing you to speak freely.

"You have my permission to see him," Caracalla said, his voice as cold and calculating as it had been last night. "But make it quick. Geta won't wait much longer."

You nodded, hiding your relief behind a mask of composure. "Thank you," you said, though the words felt hollow. "I need to see Acacius before the games. Just for a moment."

Caracalla studied you for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. His eyes were enough. You had been granted your time, but you knew it was temporary.

With a gesture, Caracalla motioned for the guards to allow you through. As you walked toward the door, you couldn’t shake the feeling that every step brought you closer to the edge of something, whether it would be your undoing or the end of your enemies, you couldn’t tell yet.

The path to Acacius’s cell was a familiar one, but today it seemed different. There was a heaviness in the air, a quiet tension that whispered of the inevitable. When you reached the small stone room, you found him there, sitting on the ground, his posture still and composed despite the grim circumstances.

He looked up when he heard your approach, his expression guarded, but when his eyes met yours, something flickered there, a recognition, a flash of something softer than the warrior you knew him to be.

“Acacius,” you whispered, stepping closer, your heart aching at the sight of him in chains.

You stepped closer to the bars, your breath steady despite the pounding of your heart. The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air between you and Acacius, but there was no time to let them settle. The guards were still stationed at the door, eyes narrowed, watchful. The tension in the air felt suffocating, the shadows of the coming battle creeping ever closer.

“I need a moment with him,” you said, your voice firm but quiet, the command beneath it unmistakable. "A private conversation."

The guards exchanged wary glances, clearly hesitant. One of them stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes calculating. "Your Highness," he began, with a slight bow, “we are under strict orders. No one is to enter the cell."

You could feel the weight of Caracalla’s command behind him, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. You stood taller, a quiet authority radiating from you.

“I understand your orders,” you replied coolly. “But these are my orders now. I need to speak to him without interruption. And you’ll release him from those chains.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment as the guards processed your demand. You could see the resistance flicker in their eyes, but there was something in the tone of your voice—something that made them hesitate. Your words carried more than just the weight of authority; they carried urgency.

Finally, the guard who had spoken stepped aside, signaling to the other two. "We will give you privacy, Your Highness," he said reluctantly. “But be quick."

You nodded in acknowledgment, but your eyes didn’t leave Acacius. As the guards unlocked the cell, your mind raced. There was no turning back now. Each moment was a calculated risk, but it was one you had to take.

The door creaked open, and the chains binding Acacius were undone, each link falling to the ground with a heavy thud. You moved inside, closing the door behind you, feeling the shift in the atmosphere as the last of the guards stepped out. Silence enveloped the two of you, the only sound the faint echo of the chains clinking to the stone floor.

Acacius stood, rubbing at his wrists where the chains had cut into his skin, though his expression was unreadable. You didn’t give him a chance to speak before you stepped closer, close enough that your breath was the only thing between the two of you.

“Your highness?” Acacius asked.

You looked into Acacius’s eyes, steady and unwavering. His words lingered in the air, but you couldn’t afford to hesitate, not now. “Not time for that now. I need you to listen carefully,” you said, your voice low, but urgent. "You will survive today, Acacius. You’re going to fight like you’ve never fought before. And you’re going to win. But you need to trust me—don’t make any moves unless I give you a signal.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion, but there was an understanding there as well. He knew this wasn’t just a matter of survival for him, it was a game of strategy. A fight not just against Geta, but against everything that had led him here.

“What do you mean?" Acacius asked, his voice steady despite the uncertainty. He stood tall, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he searched yours for an answer.

You leaned in closer, making sure no one else could hear. "What I mean is that today isn’t just about strength. It’s about timing. You’ve got to let Geta believe he’s winning, that he has you cornered. Don’t resist. Make him think you’re weaker than you are."

His jaw clenched, his muscles tensing at the thought. "So, you want me to let him hurt me?" There was a bitterness in his words, as if the very idea of allowing Geta to have the upper hand was an affront to his honor.

"No," you said quickly, your voice firm, but soothing. "I’m not asking you to let him hurt you. I’m asking you to pretend—to make him think he has control, just long enough for me to get him into position."

He studied you, his expression hard, as if measuring your resolve. "And when you give me the signal?"

"Then you strike, and you strike hard," you replied, your gaze unwavering. "You’ve trained for this, Acacius. You know what to do. I’ll make sure Geta’s off balance, but you have to trust that it will work. We need him to underestimate you, to believe you’re on the edge. And when he does, that’s when we end this. I sent him into this to end his ruling."

A long moment passed, the tension between you both thickening. Finally, Acacius gave a slight nod. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute.

“I love you so much,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly as you caressed his face. “I would move the entire empire just to save you, Acacius.”

For a split second, he closed his eyes, as if savoring the words. When he opened them again, the intensity of his gaze made your heart race. His hand moved to cover yours, pressing your palm more firmly against his cheek, his touch gentle but unyielding.

“You’ve already moved it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask. You’re willing to risk everything... for me.”

You nodded, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. “I’m not just doing this for you, Acacius,” you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. “I’m doing this for us. For what we could have if we survive this. For the world that we could build together.”

His expression hardened again, resolve flooding his features. “For the peace.”

You allowed yourself a small, sad smile, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world disappeared. There were no emperors, no politics, no games to be played—just the two of you, suspended in this fragile moment before everything erupted.

Acacius moved toward you, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that contrasted with the storm building inside both of you. For a heartbeat, the world around you ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of his lips, the pressure of his kiss, and the silent promise it carried.

It was a kiss of longing, of desperation, of hope—for a future that seemed more distant with every passing second. You kissed him back, your heart racing, knowing this might be the last moment you could share like this. The intensity of his touch deepened, his arms pulling you closer, as if holding on to this fleeting time, not wanting to let go.

But the moment was short-lived.

The sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed down the hall, and a voice called through the door, sharp and commanding. "It’s time. You must go."

Reluctantly, you pulled away from him, your forehead resting against his for a fleeting moment, feeling the heat of his breath mingling with yours. The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Acacius gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression hardening once again with the weight of what was to come. “I’ll make it through. I’ll make sure of it.”

The door opened, and the guards stepped in, ushering you out of the cell. You cast one last look at Acacius, his figure standing strong, determined. A part of you wanted to stay, to fight beside him, but you knew you had to leave. He would fight for both of you now.

As the door shut behind you, the cold reality of what was about to unfold settled in. Your heart raced, but there was nothing more you could do but wait—wait for the signal, wait for the moment that would change everything.

+++++++++++++++++++

You sat beside Caracalla in the imperial box, your body tense, but you masked it with an air of calm. The arena below was alive with anticipation, the roar of the crowd echoing against the stone walls. Gladiators in the far corners were preparing, and the bloodlust in the air was palpable.

Caracalla, ever the showman, glanced over at you with a smile, as if to reassure himself of the spectacle unfolding. “Where is my brother?” he asked, his tone casual, almost playful.

You blinked, surprised by his question, your brow furrowing. What did he mean? You tried to mask your confusion but couldn't quite conceal it from your expression.

"Your brother?" you echoed, your voice uncertain.

Caracalla’s smile grew wider, but you noticed a flicker of confusion cross his face, like he didn’t quite understand your puzzlement. Had he forgotten? Did he not realize what he'd done?

Before you could react further, everything clicked into place. The moment you registered the tension building in the crowd below, the realization hit you: Caracalla didn’t know.

It wasn’t until the gate opened, and Acacius was led into the arena, dressed in his war attire, as he walked with his sword. His eyes scanned the crowd, but he didn’t look up to the imperial box. His focus was entirely on the upcoming fight, the fire in his gaze unmistakable.

And then, the announcer’s voice boomed, “And now, Emperor Carcalla!”

A stunned silence fell over the arena for a moment. You barely had time to process it before Caracalla’s face contorted with disbelief. His eyes widened, and his hand instinctively gripped the edge of the box as he turned toward you.

“Why is my brother there?” he demanded, his voice tight with anger, his smile replaced by a furrowed brow of confusion and rage.

You could see his shock, his inability to comprehend the situation, but your mind was racing. He didn’t understand the depths of his own manipulation. He hadn’t realized that Geta, his own brother, had been sent to fight against Acacius in the arena. The confusion in his voice was genuine.

For a moment, your heart ached for the twisted, tangled web of family dynamics that had led to this point. But you quickly masked any emotion behind a cold facade. This was the moment to play your part, to keep Caracalla off balance, to use his lack of awareness against him.

You leaned slightly closer to him, your voice steady but carrying a subtle undercurrent of disdain. "It seems, your brother is a contender today. Perhaps... he believes this fight is what will prove his worth." You kept your gaze focused on him, even as Acacius and Geta moved into position.

Caracalla’s expression darkened, and his fingers drummed anxiously against the stone. He looked away, eyes flicking between Geta and Acacius, but it was clear that the shock still hadn’t worn off.

"What trickery is this?" he muttered, barely audible.

"Maybe you should ask him," you said, your voice soft but dripping with subtle irony. "Perhaps your brother has his own plans for you today."

You knew your words were like sharp daggers aimed at his pride, pricking at the cracks in his confidence, feeding his uncertainty. He was starting to realize the weight of his own decisions, and that would make him falter.

The crowd below erupted in excitement as the fight began, but Caracalla remained still, his gaze locked on the two fighters below. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind, but it was too late for him to turn back now.

The clash of steel against steel rang out across the arena as the fight began, the crowd’s roar escalating to a deafening level. Acacius and Geta were face to face, the tension between them thickening with every passing second.

Acacius stood tall, his posture unwavering, his eyes fixed on Geta with an intensity that could pierce stone. Geta, in contrast, paced in a circle, a cocky smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the same arrogance you had come to expect from him. He moved with the grace of a seasoned fighter, but there was something in his eyes—something in the way he held himself—that told you he was distracted, uncertain. Perhaps, even now, he was wondering how it had come to this.

"Fight!" The command echoed through the arena, and in that instant, Acacius lunged forward, his blade flashing in the sunlight.

Geta parried the attack with a swift movement, his own weapon raised to meet the strike. Their swords clanged with an explosive sound, a shower of sparks flying from the impact. The crowd roared in approval, the excitement building, but the true fight hadn’t even begun yet. This was just the warm-up.

You watched intently, your heart hammering in your chest as you kept a careful eye on Caracalla, who still seemed to be in a daze, his mind reeling with confusion. He kept glancing down at the fighters below, his brow furrowed, but you knew better than to let him gain control of the situation now.

Acacius pushed forward again, pressing Geta against the edge of the arena. With each strike, it became clear that Acacius was holding back, waiting for the right moment, waiting for your signal. Geta, on the other hand, was using his usual tactics—aiming for the kill, striking hard and fast—but the uncertainty in his movements was starting to show. He had expected a much different fight.

Then, as if on cue, Acacius took a step back, creating a brief opening. Geta lunged, taking the bait.

That was the moment.

You stood, your eyes locked with Caracalla’s for a brief second. His gaze was still filled with uncertainty, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts. In that instant, you gave Acacius the smallest of nods—almost imperceptible.

And with that signal, everything shifted.

Acacius moved with the speed of a predator, his blade slicing through the air. In one fluid motion, he disarmed Geta, knocking his sword to the ground with a clean strike. Geta stumbled back, the shock in his eyes unmistakable. Acacius pressed the advantage, stepping forward, the tip of his sword now at Geta’s throat.

The crowd fell silent. Caracalla’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He hadn’t expected Acacius to come out on top, especially not in such a dominating fashion.

You could feel Caracalla’s gaze shift to you, the realization dawning on him. But you couldn’t afford to let him focus on you now. Your heart was racing as you kept your attention fixed on Acacius, whose eyes met yours across the arena. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the fire burning in them. The fight wasn’t just about survival anymore, it was about ending the twisted reign that had kept you all captive of two tyrants for so long.

Geta, panting and defeated, raised his hands in surrender, his arrogance shattered, replaced by a growing sense of fear. “Enough!” he spat, his voice raw with anger and humiliation.

Acacius didn’t hesitate. He kicked Geta’s sword away, keeping his own blade raised. “Not until your brother orders you to stop,” he said, his voice cold, his eyes dark with intent.

The crowd kept roaring with excitement, their anticipation rising with every swing of the sword. But it was clear from the start that the fight was not as one-sided as Caracalla had hoped.

Geta, though skilled, was rattled. His gaze flicked nervously around the arena, and it wasn’t long before Acacius used that to his advantage. He was methodical, his every move calculated, his body a machine of precision. Geta, on the other hand, fought with desperation, his movements growing more erratic as the match wore on.

The crowd cheered, sensing the change in momentum. Acacius pressed forward with relentless force, his sword gleaming under the sun, his eyes fixed on Geta with a cold, calculated determination. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, and with each strike, Geta’s defenses crumbled.

"Come on, brother” Caracalla muttered under his breath, his hands clenched tightly, his eyes never leaving the battle below. But it was clear now, he was no longer just watching his brother. His gaze had shifted, filled with uncertainty, even fear. The fight was slipping from Geta’s control.

Acacius feinted to the left, and Geta, unable to maintain his focus, took the bait. In an instant, Acacius closed the distance between them. He was fast, too fast. With one swift, brutal strike, Acacius plunged his sword deep into Geta’s side. The blade cut through flesh with a sickening sound, and Geta stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The crowd went quiet. You could hear the sound of Geta’s armor scraping against the stone floor as he tried to regain his balance, but it was clear that the wound was fatal. Blood poured from the gash in his side, staining the sand beneath him a deep crimson.

Geta dropped to his knees, his face pale and stricken with disbelief. He looked up at the sky, his chest rising and falling in desperate, shallow breaths.

Caracalla’s face went pale. He stood frozen, his expression blank, his mind seemingly unable to process what had just happened. The battle was over, but the ramifications were far from clear.

“No!” Caracalla roared, his voice full of disbelief as he reached forward, as if trying to pull Geta back from the brink, but there was nothing he could do. His brother’s fate had already been sealed.

Acacius stood over Geta; his sword raised in a victorious yet solemn pose. His chest heaved with exertion, but his expression was unreadable. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t revel in the moment. He simply waited.

Geta’s eyes flickered for a moment, his last breath trembling in the air. With a final, strained sigh, he slumped forward, lifeless, collapsing onto the blood-stained sand.

The crowd remained silent for a heartbeat, then erupted in both shock and disbelief. Caracalla’s rage began to boil over, his face twisted in fury, his fists clenching. He couldn’t accept it—his brother, gone. He had underestimated Acacius, and now Geta was dead because of it.

You, standing beside Caracalla, watched the scene unfold before you. The roar of the crowd felt distant, as though muffled by the weight of what had just transpired. You knew this was only the beginning. Geta’s death had set the stage for something far greater, something that would shift the power in the empire forever. And now, with Geta gone, there was no turning back.

Acacius gaze found yours from the arena and you could see his relief at seeing you well.

But Caracalla’s eyes flicked to you, his anger now directed at you. “What have you done?” he spat, his voice full of venom.

But you held your ground, a quiet smirk curling on your lips. “I didn’t do anything. Your brother... he was just too weak.” You kept your voice steady, but inside, your heart raced. It was the perfect moment. The empire had just taken its first step into chaos.

Caracalla’s fury was palpable, his hand gripping your arm with a vice-like force. His eyes, wide with disbelief and anger, burned into you as he pulled you closer, his breath ragged and hot against your skin.

“What did you do?” he hissed, his voice low, dripping with venom. His grip tightened, digging into your flesh as if he could squeeze the answer out of you.

You didn’t flinch. You stood firm, despite the storm of emotions swirling around you—fear, anger, and the unrelenting cold that had settled in your chest. You had done what needed to be done.

“I did what you couldn’t,” you said, your voice steady, unwavering. “I set you free from a weak brother who would’ve only held you back.”

Caracalla’s face contorted with rage. His fist tightened around your arm, his eyes flashing with betrayal. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” He sneered, dragging you towards the imperial box.

His hand left your arm, and in the blink of an eye, he seized a sword from one of the guards. The cold metal gleamed under the harsh sunlight, but it was the look in Caracalla’s eyes that made your blood run cold.

With a swift, practiced motion, he drew the blade, the sharp edge glinting dangerously. “You were always a threat. A thorn on his side.”

Before you could take a breath, before you could utter another word, he swung the sword. It moved with lightning speed, slicing through the air in a deadly arc.

Pain exploded through your chest as the cold steel bit into your skin, your vision blurring as warmth spread through your body. You gasped, the shock of the wound seizing you, and your knees buckled beneath you.

Caracalla’s eyes remained cold, as if he had already made his peace with your death. He stood over you, breathing heavily, watching as you crumpled to the ground. The sword was still in his hand, blood dripping from its blade, but he didn’t care. You had played your part, and now, you were gone.

The crowd fell silent in an instant, the air thick with shock and disbelief. Gasps echoed through the arena, a collective breath held as they watched the scene unfold before their eyes. The sword, gleaming with your blood, still hung in Caracalla’s hand as he stood there, as if unaware of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Acacius, his heart pounding in his chest, stood frozen at the center of the arena. His eyes locked onto you, on the ground beneath Caracalla’s cruel grip, your lifeless form crumpled and bloodied. His body went cold, every instinct within him screaming at him to run, to save you—but it was too late.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn't think as his legs propelled him forward, his body moving with a speed driven by a desperation he had never known. The guards tried to stop him, to grab hold of him as he surged forward, but Acacius was a force of nature, pushing them aside with a strength born from pure rage and sorrow.

He reached the imperial box in moments, his breath ragged, his eyes fixed on you. His heart shattered as he saw the blood pooling beneath you, the gash in your chest widening with each breath you hadn’t taken.

"No," Acacius whispered, voice breaking, as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he reached out to you. His fingers gently brushed your face, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid that if he touched you too hard, you would vanish entirely.

He didn’t notice the guards closing in on Caracalla, nor the soldiers who were grabbing hold of the emperor, taking him into custody. All that mattered in that moment was you. He had failed you, and now he couldn’t even protect your body from the cruelty of the world.

“No, no, no...” he muttered over and over, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your still warm skin. His heart screamed for you to wake up, for the impossible to happen, for you to rise from the blood-soaked ground and tell him everything would be okay.

Acacius’ heart skipped a beat when he saw the faint flutter of your eyes. It was barely a movement, a breath, but it was enough. His hands, shaking with a mixture of disbelief and hope, hovered over you. His breath was shallow, as if the very air he needed to breathe was escaping him.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, barely able to speak the words, as if saying it out loud might break the fragile thread that tethered you to life.

Your eyes flickered again, barely open, and Acacius leaned in closer, his voice urgent but tender. “Please, don’t go. I’m here. You’re going to be alright. I won’t let go.”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, and all you could manage was a weak breath, the pain too overwhelming to let anything more escape.

Acacius’ hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing the bloodstained skin. “Don’t speak,” he said, his voice breaking, “I’m here. Stay with me.”

For a moment, there was a silence, as if the world had paused for you both, everything hanging in the balance. He could feel your pulse, faint and fragile under his touch, but it was still there. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

"Please," he pleaded softly, "hold on." His own voice cracked, revealing just how much this moment meant to him, how much you meant to him.

But the sounds of chaos in the arena—the shouts of the crowd, the clattering of armor, the commands being shouted in the distance—began to creep into his awareness again. Yet, all of that faded as he focused on you, his entire being centered on you, praying you would survive this, that you would come back from the edge of death.

"Please," he whispered again, his voice hoarse, the weight of everything crashing down on him as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. "I can’t lose you. Not after we had reached the peace”

A weak, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it was fleeting. Your hand, trembling with the last of your strength, reached up to touch his face, tracing the lines of his jaw, the warmth of his skin still so vivid beneath your fingertips.

“I’ll find you in another life, my love,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words barely escaping your lips as the darkness began to close in once more.

Tears slipped from your eyes, falling silently, tracing paths down your bloodied cheeks as you gazed up at him. The connection between you, the deep, undeniable bond that had been forged in fire, in pain, in love, and in loss, seemed to transcend time itself in that moment.

Acacius’ breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully as your words echoed in his ears. “No,” he rasped, voice breaking, unable to accept what you were saying. His hands held you tighter, though he feared it was already too late. “No… don’t leave me.”

But as your hand slipped from his, your eyes flickering closed, the silence enveloped you both. His world went still as the final breath left your body, the warmth of your skin fading away as he clutched you to him, his tears falling like rain over your still form.

A deep, guttural sound, a mixture of grief and fury, tore from his throat as he collapsed beside you, holding you desperately, unwilling to believe that this was the end. That he could never hear your voice again, never feel the soft touch of your hand, never look into your eyes.

The arena around them seemed distant now, the chaos of the crowd, the voices, the noise, all irrelevant. All that mattered was that you were gone. His heart, his world, his very reason for fighting, slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

Acacius' voice cracked with the weight of his grief as he spoke, his words coming out barely above a whisper. "There is no more battle to fight for me if you're not here. You were my heart, and I… I would sail to the ends of the world to have—" His voice faltered, his throat tightening as his emotions overwhelmed him. "To have one chance to meet you again, properly, to love you from the very first time."

He pressed his lips to your cold forehead, the gesture full of longing and heartbreak. His tears fell freely, mingling with the blood that stained your skin. The kiss was tender, full of unspoken promises, but it shattered him all the same. The reality of your absence, the knowledge that he would never hear your voice again, felt like a suffocating weight.

"In every life I have, I'll find you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, "and I will love you as you deserve. I will give you everything I couldn’t in this one."

He held you tighter, unwilling to let go, his tears slipping from his eyes like a river of sorrow, each one a silent testament to the love that would never be. Time seemed to stand still, the world around him forgotten, as all he could do was hold you in the only way he knew how: with everything he had left in him.

There was no more fight for him now. The greatest battle of his life had already been lost, and all he could do was mourn the one person who had meant everything to him, the one person who had brought him hope in a world that had long since taken it away.

Gods were never kind with lovers like you.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The familiar scent of lavender surrounded you like a soft embrace, calming the flutter in your chest, even though you couldn’t explain why it stirred something deep inside. It wasn’t the fragrance, but the memories that seemed to follow it. Memories that were not of this life, not of anything you could recall with certainty, but they lingered nonetheless. They whispered to you, pulling you toward something you couldn’t grasp, something you could only feel in the deepest part of your soul. A pair of soft brown eyes. Outlines of a face you could trace with your fingertips in your dreams.

You tried to brush it off, shaking your head slightly as you adjusted the strap of your bag. It was the first day at your new job as a history teacher, and the nerves felt foreign. You had been a teacher for four years, passionate about sharing the stories of ancient civilizations, especially the Roman Empire. This should have been just another day, just another classroom to walk into. But there was something about this place, this school, that felt different.

You didn’t know why, but the air felt thicker here. More intense. As you approached the school gates, the nervousness you had tried to push away returned tenfold. Maybe it was the significance of this particular position, teaching alongside one of the most respected history instructors in the field. Maybe it was because you hadn’t yet had the chance to meet Marcus, though his reputation preceded him. Maybe you just couldn’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

As you walked through the doors of the school, the familiar hum of the hallways didn’t bring comfort as it usually did. The sound of students laughing, chatting, running to their classes felt distant. You couldn’t shake the sensation of déjà vu, the feeling that you had been here before. A quiet whisper lingered in the back of your mind, telling you this was no ordinary beginning.

When you finally reached the staff room, you saw him. The history teacher. Standing by the window, lost in thought, his gaze distant as though the present world couldn’t quite hold his attention. His brown eyes were the first thing you noticed, the way they were so soft, yet intense, as if they could peer into the very heart of you. And then it hit you, the lavender. The sweet, calming fragrance that seemed to fill the room. It was unmistakable.

You froze for a moment, unsure if you had walked into a dream, or if the universe had suddenly conspired to bring you face-to-face with something from another life, something that shouldn’t have been possible.

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down around you. The noise from the hallway, the faint murmurs of colleagues gathering elsewhere, all of it faded into the background. The air felt heavier, charged with an energy you couldn’t quite explain. Your heart raced, as though you were on the precipice of something monumental, something that had been building in the quiet spaces of your soul for far too long.

You knew him. You didn’t know how, but you knew him. The pull was undeniable, like an invisible thread connecting the two of you through time and space, tying you to a past that seemed just out of reach. Your pulse quickened as your eyes met his.

His gaze flickered to yours, and it was as if the world came rushing back into focus all at once. He blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—an emotion that caught in his chest. Recognition. But also confusion, as though he was just as unsure as you were about why this moment felt so familiar, so intense.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. He was already walking toward you, his steps slow, deliberate. His presence was overwhelming, like a force that commanded attention without even trying. As he approached, the lavender scent seemed to grow stronger, and for a moment, it felt like you were standing in the midst of a memory, a memory that was somehow yours, yet not.

“You must be the new teacher,” he said, his voice low but steady, as though he was trying to ground himself in the present moment, as if saying those words could dispel the strange tension that hummed between you. “I’m Marcus. Welcome.”

Your throat tightened, and you had to force the words out. “I’m… yes. I’m the new Roman history teacher.” Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. How could you have forgotten to introduce yourself first, to speak like a normal person? But the words felt inadequate in the face of what was happening. You were supposed to be teaching history. You were supposed to be starting a new chapter in your life. But standing before him now, none of it mattered.

The silence stretched between you both, filled only with the hum of distant voices in the hallway and the soft rustling of papers on the desks. But it felt like more than that. It felt like the silence before a storm, before everything would change.

For a moment, Marcus didn’t speak, and you couldn’t tell whether he was waiting for you to say something, or if he was lost in the same strange feeling that you were. The air around you seemed thick with something unspoken, a connection you couldn’t quite understand, but it was there, undeniable and present.

“I don’t suppose you’re feeling this,” he said after a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was a tentative smile, as if he, too, was struggling with what was unfolding between you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I think… I think I’ve met you before.”

His eyes widened slightly, and his expression shifted, though it was brief. The smallest flicker of recognition flashed across his face, but it was gone before you could fully grasp it.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now. “Maybe we have.”

In that moment, the world outside the staff room seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the weight of something far older than either of you. You both stood on the edge of something, and neither of you knew what would happen next.

But you both felt it. The undeniable pull that connected your souls, the inexplicable bond that no words could explain. His eyes softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper flashing in them. He didn’t say anything more, but in that moment, you knew, you weren’t just colleagues. You weren’t just two people thrown together by fate. There was a bond here. Something ancient. And no matter how many lifetimes had passed, this connection, this feeling, had never truly gone away.

As the rest of the staff filtered into the room, the moment passed, but neither of you could forget it. You went on to introduce yourself, to go over the basics of the course. But all the while, you could feel his presence beside you, like a shadow, a whisper of the past. You weren’t just teaching history anymore. You were living it. And you both knew it would only be a matter of time before everything else fell into place.

Tags💌: @picketniffler @sptbear @heartpatch @immyowndefender @nobodyssfool @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @idkwhylou @jasminedragoon @ro-nahime-things @hduuc56 @mamustreads @itsafullmoon @tuquoquebrute @ccmoonshine @fvispunk @here-briefly @elisha-chloe @geekandbooknerd @guelyury @dlwrish @legoemma @scrappyskin @orcasoul @kluvspedro @onlythehobi @stormseyer @spideybv28 @spacelatinos4life @hduuc56 @foledean @negrita2345 @capswife @missadangel @spencercmlover @leahwwinchester @areyoutheretoru @nosebeers @discowitchyy

You had met before. And now, you were meant to find each other again in this life.

in this life, Gods would be kind to lovers like you.

[3m0t10nal-cr1s1s]

How does the relationship between Ao Bing and Nezha looks like right now?

Do they even talk or at least tried to talk?

Yikes Anon. Strap in cause this is a long one. (THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME YAP ABOUT THEM)

After Ao Bing was revived, there was an a hundred or so year period where he stayed with the Demon Bull Family, in hiding. It was after Red Son was born, after the Samadhi Fire had been sealed, but before DBK had been imprisoned by Sun Wukong. During that time, Longnü, Zhenying and Nezha all visited him frequently and in secret.

Nezha's teacher had actually brought Nezha to Ao Bing's revival. He was pretty upset about being pulled away from his work on guarding the Samadhi Fire Map until he entered the Demon Bull Residence, seeing Ao Bing being helped out of the sunken-in tub filled with lotus paste and water by his sister.

Longnü had been working on Ao Bing's revival for years, to the point where Ao Lie had actually died before he got to see his favourite cousin alive again. The whole time, Nezha had no idea.

That hundred year period was spent apologizing and rekindling their lost friendship. Because still, even though it's been thousands of years, Ao Bing was still Nezha's best and closest friend, and in turn, Nezha was his. They love each other, they've never said it out loud, but some things don't need to be said to be known.

They've never put a label on the relationship. But one thing is for sure, Ao Bing is the one who initiated everything.

"Nezha, can we hug?"

"Nezha, I want to kiss you."

"Nezha, spend the rest of my life with me."

Their current relationship? They're partners! Life partners. Not exactly married or dating but you know, partners of the I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you-and-only-you-it-has-only-ever-been-you type.

After Longnü's actions were found out, Ao Bing had been trapped in ice as a sick joke by the Jade Emperor. He gave the imprisoned Ao Bing to Macaque and Princess Iron Fan and said, "I'll let the little dragon continue to live if you can free him from this cursed ice."

Nezha was forbidden to help in any way, shape or form. Longnü had actually begged him, at an earlier date to not say anything about knowing about Ao Bing's revival, so that when the Jade Emperor found out, and she knew that it was when and not if, and he decided to sentence Ao Bing to death again, Nezha could be there to plead for him. After the sentencing, his guilt just doubled tenfold because once again, he could do nothing but watch as Ao Bing suffered through something unfairly thrust upon him. Only this time, he couldn't hold him through it.

By this point, DBK had been imprisoned by Sun Wukong. After countless attempts to try and free Ao Bing, Iron Fan turned her attention to freeing her husband, and Macaque decided to focus on planning his revenge against Sun Wukong. It was nothing personal, they just... Didn't know what else they could do or what could even be done.

It was only after everything that happened with the Lady Bone Demon, Bai He was able to free Ao Bing from the ice with what was left of LBD's powers.

Does Nezha know?

Yes. Ao Bing had been imprisoned in the ink scroll when Azure and his crew came to wreak havoc. Nezha was surprised that Ao Bing had been freed and spent as much time with him as he could before he had to go back to the Celestial Realm and protect the Jade Emperor's power.

During the events of Season Five, Ao Bing had mostly been busy protecting Bai He from everything that was happening. Yes he scolded Macaque when he returned because "What the hell you can't just up and leave me and our daughter like that!" To which Macaque said, "Stop talking as if we're married?!"

That leads us to current times, where Ao Bing is patiently waiting at the Demon Bull Family's residence for Nezha to visit, though, he should really get his own place soon.

Nezha's been busy, which Ao Bing is not happy about. It's not like he can just waltz up to the Celestial Realm either, so all he can do is wait.

Ao Bing: Husbanddd :( Visit meee :( I miss youuu :((

Nezha: I'm literally rebuilding the Celestial Realm rn

Nezha: Also when did we get married I was not informed

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[ashuribbon]

droppin' a request in here if it's still possible! bit silly, but any of the sea beasts meeting their original counterparts? you can skip this if ya want, but it came to mind and i thought it'd be funny. hope you're doin' fine in these trying times! - ⚓

Anon, I think you're gonna like the scenarios for each image, cause I ended up making all four of them! c:

All under the cut! Slight warning for blood at the end!

If Captain Caviar Cookie ever met Salty Shark Cookie, or SeaBeast!Caviar, I imagine the two would be buddies... to an extent! Captain Caviar would be really happy to know that his Beast counterpart kept his mershark parts instead of being fully a Cookie and is enjoying ruling the Black Caviar Kingdom where Salted Cookies can enjoy their lives freely! Salty Shark is the most chillest Sea Beast in the group despite him being the Beast of Anarchy (or in a better sense, the Hollyberry of the Sea Beasts), but he is notorious for leaving out details of things that happened and trying to sweep things under the rug.

In this case, Salty Shark Cookie would make sure that Captain Caviar Cookie sees him as his good counterpart despite, well, also being complicit in trying to track down the Soul Jam of Volition that led to Mystic Flour Cookie's demise and Saint Whiskey Cookie taking in her child, Rye Flour Cookie. >m>

I definitely imagine Icy Tundra Cookie, or SeaBeast!Ice, being in neutral terms with Captain Ice Cookie. Her ideology of Isolation because of the corruption warped her entirely, and she isn't afraid to admit her faults as ruler. Captain Ice Cookie, being one of morals, tends to find that they both at least share a lot in common, but knowing Icy Tundra Cookie's actions makes her question her own values as well, that if she also isn't a saint.

As much as she wishes to apprehend her counterpart for also being complicit in Mystic Flour Cookie's death... She'll let Icy Tundra Cookie wallow in her guilt and face accountability. That is a more fitting punishment than just jail time.

Abalone Cookie meeting Emperor Abalone Cookie is like two mariners forming an alliance. Both would be damn impressed by each others' successes, and Abalone especially would be surprised he is literally ruling a good chunk of the Abalone Kingdom and conquered Tearcrown with ease, and thus claiming the land and sea. The two would definitely team up to get the last Soul Jam, all in hopes of earning a fortune, perfectly split for the both of them.

Little does Abalone Cookie know, however, that Emperor Abalone Cookie is a backstabber as he's the Beast of Greed... And he won't stop at nothing to get what he wants, even if it means screwing over his OG counterpart. He killed Mystic Flour Cookie, a death blow to make her disappear forever, but failed to retrieve the Soul Jam, but he isn't going to make that mistake again with the new holder...

Pirate Cookie meeting Saint Whiskey Cookie, aka SeaBeast!Pirate? Well... Let's just say that as merciful and kind as he is, Saint Whiskey Cookie isn't so merciful to rogue sailors.

Pirate Cookie laughs at the face of death... but he won't be laughing once he sets foot in the church.

[irisintheafterglow]

Hiii! Im obsessed with your coparenting megumi series. You write all the characters so well!! Are you planning on writing more for it? No pressure just curious! <3

hi anon, thank you for the love !!! and i absolutely will continue writing coparenting megumi, so here's a new little installment :)) hopefully it's not too late in the winter for ice skating <3

cw: swearing, fluff

in hindsight, you didn't expect them to get so invested in the winter olympics. you'd turned on the channel for megumi and tsumiki to watch while you made dinner, unaware of tsumiki's sudden fascination with the world of ice skating. megumi, ever the little brother he was, begrudgingly watched with his sister but took note of how her face lit up as the skaters danced across the ice. when she burst into the kitchen, slipping and sliding across the floorboards with her fuzzy snowman socks, she could barely sputter out what she wanted this weekend's adventure to be.

"i want to go ice skating," she declared after she caught her breath, grinning so widely that it'd probably hurt her cheekbones. "please." a moment later, megumi slides into the kitchen with half as much grace as his sister but still nodding as enthusiastically.

"where'd this come from?" you smile and tap the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. "you wanna go to the olympics like the people on tv?"

"that's in the future," tsumiki says matter-of-factly. "first, i need to get more comfortable with balancing on one foot, like a ballerina."

"ballerinas also take classes," you point out. "do you wanna start taking skating lessons? i can talk to satoru and see if-" you're immediately cut off by frantic shouts of please! and i'll do the dishes for a year! that echo off of the cupboards and disturb the peace of your neighbors.

so here you were, freezing your ass off and crisscrossing your laces over the front of your ankle, tying it into a tight bow before checking on the kids. it'd been a few weeks since tsumiki started her lessons, and you were finally able to line up you and satoru's schedules for a free day to take the whole 'family' skating. tsumiki, as expected, is practically bouncing from excitement with her skates already laced and ready to go; megumi, on the other hand, stares at the supposed shoes of death and looks as apprehensive as an emperor penguin hiking an active volcano. though he was willing to watch skating with his sister, you found that getting him to step onto any uneven surface was nearly impossible. your boyfriend is nowhere to be found after mumbling something about dinner not sitting right in his stomach and racing to the bathroom, leaving you to help tsumiki drag her little brother onto the ice.

but, she's gone as soon as her blades hit the ice and it's like you threw a caught tuna back into the ocean. there's no hesitation in the flow of her feet as they propel her forward, carefully crossing over one another around a tight turn. she'd improved astronomically since the first lesson you brought her to, even going so far as to lift one of her legs slightly off the ground and continue to glide.

"are we sure this is safe?" megumi's mumbles are barely audible as he white-knuckle grips the edge of the walls, his feet slowly making unsteady progress. you skate alongside him, not as confidently as tsumiki but not as shakily as megumi. "how many people have died while ice skating?"

"i don't know, but i guarantee you will not be one of them," you reassure him while his left hand finds a home in your right glove. a quick glance around the rink reveals satoru nowhere to be found and tsumiki cautiously practicing a spin in the middle of the ice. "you're doing great, bud. just focus on yourself and don't worry about anyone else."

"what if they knock me over?"

"i won't let them knock you over."

"but what if they try?"

"megumi, you have survived scarier things than assholes at an ice rink. just-"

a whoosh! of cold air flies past your left shoulder and you're about to curse out whoever sped past you when you catch tsumiki with her hands raised in celebration, cheering. your eyes adjust and finally recognize the shape of your boyfriend speeding around the rink, weaving between couples and eventually coming to a hockey-stop right next to you. you're shocked, to say the least, and the first thing that comes out of your mouth after you laugh surprises him.

"what the hell are you wearing?"

"it's my skating gear," he replies, giving you a lopsided smile. "surprised?"

"incredibly," you snort, taking note of the way the long-sleeved compression shirt hugged his muscles and highlighted the shoulders you ever-so-lovingly liked to bite. you knew he'd skated when he could during high school, saying something about wanting his aesthetic to match his hair, but you'd dismissed the idea without a second thought. you guessed he was counting on you to doubt his skating ability. "i can't say i don't like it, though."

"ew," megumi mutters from behind you and satoru peeks over your shoulder to find his unofficial son continue to struggle on the ice.

"hey, bud! you doing okay?" satoru's question is met with another grumble and he shrugs, undeterred. "want me to give you a little bit of help?"

"absolutely not," megumi says adamantly, tightening his hold on your hand as one of his skates veers backward for a split second. satoru disappears without another word, finding tsumiki in the middle and bending down to whisper something in her ear.

you can't hear what they're saying, but whatever satoru says makes her gasp and race over to you and megumi. she hurriedly pries megumi's fingers from your hand and replaces it with hers, quickly saying something about taking over for you. before you can question it, satoru's hand is grabbing yours and lurching you forward, faster than you had ever skated before.

"holy shit! what are you doing?" you half-laugh, half-panic with no choice but to hold on to your boyfriend for dear life. it was exhilarating, moving so quickly with such ease, but you couldn't negate the dread of what would happen if you fell. "i can't skate this fast!"

"i'm making you skate with me, so we're gonna go as fast as i want us to," he replies with a smirk over his shoulder.

"i'm going to kill you if i trip," you swear, but he laughs it off immediately. "brutally."

"like i would ever let you fall," he murmurs. he positions himself at your side while you steady your shaking skates, slowing to a halt in the middle of the ice. with no wall of safety to be found, you maintain your death grip on satoru and hesitantly push yourself forward. "look at you go, pushing off all on your own." the tease in his voice was evident, but you were too busy trying not to eat shit to scold your boyfriend.

"shut up, satoru. i'm focusing." you let go of his hand and feel his patronizing gaze burn into the back of your neck, flinching when he suddenly cuts right in front of you. your flinch throws you off balance and you jolt forward, but he immediately grabs your forearms and sets you back on your feet.

"see? told you i'd never let you fall," he says quietly with a tiny smile that breaks through your frown of concentration. your expression softens and he notices, like he always does. "there you are. think you can forgive me for pulling you out on the ice?"

"as long as we don't go as fast as last time." he grins and locks his fingers in yours. "speed up and i'm gonna hide all your favorite compression shirts."

"oh, so it's serious," he chuckles, pulling you forward and letting you mirror the glide of his skates back and out, side to side. "that's okay," he concludes, leaning over briefly to peck your cheek. "i love you more than my compression shirts."

"what a statement," you deadpan lightheartedly and he shrugs.

"honestly, it's a pretty close competition-"

"alright, that's enough. shut up and skate," you interject and start to move a little faster, his hand in yours warm and safe. "we have to get good at this if tsumiki's headed to the olympics."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[mistereerie]

Thinking about actually posting on here, so heres the first little bit I have. Idk how to use this app, so forgive me lol

The ever loyal dragon of the Ice Emperor, it haunts the people of the Never-Realm from far above. It's rumoured to communicate with the Emperor himself, thus able to carry out his might and will. Boreal's icy flesh shatters any weapon and kills any fire with it's icy breath, making it a truly terrifying force to reckon with.

<---------------------------------------------------------------------------->

Ok, this section is just here for me to dump a bunch of info on why i made certain design choices, so here we go.

I kept the general head design of the original because I thought it looked cool lol.

The jagged edges of the scales are supposed to mimic hardened snow, as if Boreal flying around had shaped those scales onto it. The same goes for the markings on it's face and horns, which unifies Boreal's look with the Blizzard Samurai's frostbitten appearance, which this was mainly about.

Boreal is completely made of ice, and it's underbelly is made from that blue ice you often see when a glacier (haha) flips over. It's much darker here, but the idea remains.

Another big change is the circuit board printing on Boreal's belly and tail. This was inspired by a post that someone (anon) had made on spinchip's tumblr, where Zane's robotic nature played a much bigger role (hence the mention of ice towers). Here is the original post:

Another change is the existance of Boreal's core. I thought it would be neat if it had one, as a way to be more "independant" from the Ice Emperor. It also glows.

Boreal in this redesign has no tongue or teeth. If it did, it was frozen over a long time ago.

Finally (for now), Boreal has wings inspired by a gyrfalcon (which i headcanon to be the species of Falcon) and in this rewrite Zane has lost himself to the staff, but somewhere deep inside, he still remembers and misses Falcon.

*Falcon specifically has darker feathers, but you get the idea.

[ninja-confession-go]

I hope you all visualize me as the Ice Emperor wearing the Anon sunglasses

-Ice Emperor Anon

i guess

[kit-williams]

Sentience Husbandry Black Templars Thoughts plus more about Brother Arnault

ya'll want unhinged ramblings about Black Templars in Sentience?

And plus Black Templars are such an INTENSE chapter I feel the need to go over how they handle bonds as well as talk about Arnault and Roland.

@sleepyfan-blog and I had a small chat about Black Templars and I decided to share some of it.

@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

If these sort of deep dives into chapter specific behaviors helps feel free to ask me for another

So I will first of all say it will probably take the Astartes awhile to figure out where they are when they first get here. Given how stars will (from my understanding) will shift in 30 and 40 thousand years respectively.

Sure they will look up into the night sky and see the utterly beautiful sight of the milkyway's arms... they all have probably seen it. But then they get a hold of some maps of the milkyway and when they ask where they are in relation of course the human will be helpful and point to where we are... right. at. holy TERRA.

When more powerful telescopes are made and the Astartes... borrow the facilities they do in fact check the eye of terror (because a lot of them are "oh god who is going to stop the demons from coming out) and they are very surprised it's not there (and wont be for awhile because the Eldar haven't fucked up yet)((HEHEHEHEHE Puns)) so that is how they are able to provide evidence to new arrivals that "yes this is ancient terra"

Every. Single. Astartes. Is. N O R M A L about this. (No no they are not. Know who is SUPER normal about this? Every single Imperial Fist and successor) So when they find out they are on Ancient Terra this is when a large number of resistant loyalist space marines actually accept their bonds and when a LARGE number of Imperial Fists integrate (a small play on the Last Wall Protocol)

However Black Templars do not wish to bond. Black Templars are not human killers but they literally seem to only have two bond types... weak or intense and while some might try to sever a weak bond with killing their human Black Templars are sons of Dorn and have a sacred duty to protect Terra and her people. However, Black Templars see bonds as very warp related (deny the witch and all) and do their best to break bonds.

For brothers with weak bonds this is easy as the "warband" (basically nomadic groups of Astartes are just called a warband though the Black Templars are trying to get their called a crusade) will travel a couple hundred miles away/get the battle brother away. At some point the bond snaps and he feels the minor backlash which is just sweating and some anxiety for a bit but usually its all very calm.

However intense bonds do not break as Arnault and his brothers discovered. But first a bit about Arnault.

Arnault is the Black Templar author from this. Arnault is from M40 and by the time he died he became an Emperor's Champion (as that resulted in the end of his life). Arnault has ice blue eyes and striking white hair. Arnault is a renown duelist amongst his brothers and later brothers know of techniques that he had utilized. He has his sword always by his side even in civilian clothing it is wrapped around his waist with a chain that he can easily wrap it around his arm. Arnault like many other Black Templars rejected the concept of a bond, he had a few weak bonds before his current bond and of course broke them...

Bonds are precious things don't you know...

Arnault got struck by an intense bond and simply walking away wasn't helping... in fact it was killing him. The further away he got the more he deteroriated violent fits of vomiting... tremors... sweating... basically he was being punished for rejecting his bonds. But because his later brothers knew he was destined to become an Emperor's champion they couldn't let him die; which is what the fear was if they didn't bring him back... to what he would call his angel. (Funny enough her name is Angela)

Arnault was not an author before he met his bonded. In fact the only reason he started writing and eventually (under a pseudoname) published his first series called "of the flesh" (there are 4 books Sins, Desires, Healing, and Redemption) ((This is the series written about a human and a CSM)) he started writing to try and process his feelings for Angela. As because he tried to break his bond with her... when he was reunited the bond violently "snapped" or solidified into a very intense bond (also into a carnal bond). Before his first series he wrote a novella and some reason got it published and it was VERY popular.

He felt initially disgusted with himself for writing and sharing his writings. The publishers that he works with are Astartes and one is a Dark Angel so they keep his secret very tightly of who their prized author is. But Arnault eventually would start his "- of the Flesh" series writing it twice basically as one would be for mortal readers (this is the "edited" version) and the other would be for Astartes.

SIDE NOTE on smut written for Astartes. Besides it being written in gothic it is written very differently. There are a lot of scenes that when translated sound completely unappealing... example like describing the mortal in what we would think would be unflattering terms like how their scent is... near medical text descriptors of their skeletal structure... using chemical formulas to describe scents and tastes... it reads very clinical at times. Which I see as being far more... stimulating for them because Space Marines interact with the world very differently... because saying that their mortal's lips had a sweetness akin to C12H22O11 does something to them than simply saying Sugar.

Back to Arnault... eventually when he actually got comfortable enough to admit his feelings for his bonded is when the guilt went away and he started another romance "series" (loosely related novellas) involving a Black Templar and a mortal. Somehow someone found out that the prolific lurid author was a black templar and told the higher ranking Black Templars that it was Arnault.

Arnault and Roland were already social outcasts because they had embraced their bonds. Roland's other sin was that he also had sex with his bonded. Arnault's additional "sin" is that he writes tawdry Slaanshi novellas (which would be a death sentence for any Brother normally) HOWEVER because Arnault hasn't become the Emperor's champion yet and for later Black Templars he still does become the champion they argue that Arnault clearly makes up for his sins if the Emperor still chooses him to be his champion.

So Arnault might have accidentally caused some conflict amongst the several different warbands. (His and Roland's standing is vastly different depending on which warband you ask) And that for the sake of other lower ranked brothers who look up to Arnault's eventual sacrifice for the Emperor to not tarnish that image they have of him they keep it under wraps and simply say because he embraced his bond in an impure way he is a social outcast.

Which is how amongst the majority of the Black Templars Roland and Arnault are simply known for their sins of not being able to break free of the warp bond and also human fucking (serious crimes). Arnault is pissed that someone tried to get him executed and declared a traitor but what he does is a secret between him and the heads of the black templar warbands at this point. (That lovely Dark Angel at the publishing house helped in finding the traitor marine that tried to get Arnault killed and everyone had a great time.) ((except for the traitor))

So what are Black Templars in Intense bonds like? Like most other space marines in intense bonds. Again it doesn't have to be a carnal bond (aka the sex bond) but for black templars they basically love their human in a same way as they love the Emperor of Mankind. (Some say that a Black Templar bond is akin to an intense Word Bearer bond) There is no in between for them it's either a weak bond (which they go about breaking) or an intense bond.

They are doting towards their human but the real change comes from how they are willing to interact with Traitors and Renegade marines if their human is willing to (Oh they are more than happy if their human doesn't like the filthy traitors also!).

[morro-guardian-of-the-departed]

Yeah, I haven't told you the whole thing, so....

After the Oni invaded Ninjago, the ninja stopped training for a couple of months since there was nothing to do, no crime at all. So when a new structure of a pyramid is discovered by Clutch Powers, they go to explore it with him. But, while they were looking around, they accidentally released Aspheera, and Kai had his powers drained by her. Aspheera then goes out to look for revenge on "the great deceiver" (Wu) and one of the scrolls of forbidden spinjitsu. She finds it, other stuff happens, and Zane takes a shot from the staff for Wu and is sent to the Never-Realm.

In the Never-Realm, Zane has to reboot (he's a Nindroid), but as he does this, Vex, a former formling, unplugs him and gives him amnesia by doing this. Vex convinces a very confused Zane that he (Zane) is the emperor of this realm, whose throne has been taken from him, and that he (Vex) is his royal advisor. Zane takes over and freezes over the realm, is corrupted by the scroll of forbidden spinjitsu, takes on the title of the Ice Emperor, and causes the mass genocide of the formlings. The ninja eventually enter the realm to try and find Zane, but since time moves faster in the Never-Realm than in Ninjago, they arrive to the frozen wasteland version. Eventually, Lloyd finds Zane and reminds him of who he is and was, Zane becomes good again, the realm unfreezes, Vex is exiled, the old emperor is restored, and they return home. (Kai also found his powers again)

There's more, but dwell on this for now.

-Lore anon

Thank you in advance for informing me, Lore Anon.

Okay. Taking a break is completely reasonable after such an ordeal. I just can’t see Master Wu allowing it, though. Maybe he’s mellowed out?

Wait wait wait. The NINJA RELEASED ASPHEERA??

AND SHE STOLE THE ELEMENT OF FIRE??? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!??

Oh shit. She’s gonna go for revenge on Wu, isn’t she?

“revenge on "the great deceiver" (Wu)” yep.

SHE GOT THE STAFF OF FORBIDDEN SPINJITZU???

And Zane went to the NEVER REALM??

…I will have to thank him for saving Master Wu, though.

But the Never Realm? That realm was so unforgiving that even the First Master warned Wu and his older brother to never visit it.

I know Zane’s a Nindroid.

A Formling? Even if he’s no longer one, Formlings lead honorable lives…

Unless that’s why he was banished from his clan/village.

Wait. ‘Vex’. That name sounds familiar…

SERIOUSLY?? MORE AMNESIA??? Okay this is getting REALLY old.

THE NINJA HAD THE SECOND FORBIDDEN SPINJITZU SCROLL??

ZANE BECAME A DICTATOR??

A GENOCIDAL DICTATOR???

Wait. If time moves faster, how long was Zane there for?

Y’know what. I’m not even surprised that the Power of Friendship returned Zane back from a genocidal emperor to his usual self—after what was probably decades of life as the Ice Emperor.

After all of that, Vex got off with a simple exile? Are you kidding me??

THERE’S MORE???

Well. At least it can’t be as bad as the Never Realm incident.

…right?

Oh shit. Did just fucking jinx it.

NO WAIT LEMME GO BACK

LET. ME DELETE. IT. TUMBLR.

UGHHH WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING??

NO WAIT NONONONO DON’T POST—

[tournament-of-ninjago]

Still mad that Ice Emperor and my beautiful wife Vex got out on the first round

*loud dramatic sigh* such is fate, anon. such is cruel fate :(

u cld always enter them in the next tournament tho!!

[abysscronica]

Hi! I've just finished to read "Small"!

There were only 3 chapters but they were quite intense: it's heartwarming to see here a Birdie that is an official member of the crew, doesn't hesitate anymore between her being prisoner and marine. She walks proudly as a Kid's pirate without mask (and as the captain's lover) and to make things cooler, she gave the herbs seller a big scare (i bet he was a scammer) and then procedeed to shot a talkative Maki and taught her a life lesson (damn, Birdie was so cool here)

Killer and Kid are so cute!!! In particular Kid!! (the creepes and ice-cream scenes...)

It's fun to see the interaction between them and Birdie.

Birdie had her own small revenge throwing Killer in the sea (i wonder how will he get revenge hahahaha) and also gave a bath to little Kid (obviously Kid made her pay for her insolence hehehe).

Pity to see John Dockyards being sank by the marines, i wonder if Ross managed to escape, just like the other prostitutes. It's a pity that we didn't get to see a scene of Birdie being jealous towards Ross while Ross is heartbroken seeing Kid in a serious love relationship (i feel evil).

It's funny to see that whenever Kid pirates goes to John Dockyards, they always end up running away from there ahhaahah.

Will you ever make a little story with Birdie becoming a child? I bet Heat would be happy to be a big brother, Wire would think "oh no, trouble incoming", Booka and Mohican would mock her, Killer would be amused to see Birdie pouting and Kid would probably bully her.

ps- now i need to eat some ice cream with stracciatella and nocciola.

❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭

Thank you so much, Anon!!

"Small." was soooo much fun to write. As fascinating as it is to write birdie torn in her sense of belonging, it's also quite liberating to make a scenario in which she fully accepted who she is for a change. As for scaring off the seller and shooting Maki, welp... that's just regular birdie. 😂

The idea of having Kid & Killer turned into children by Bonney has always been super cute. Small angry Kid and awkward shy Killer for life. ♡

I imagine that a few locals managed to escape the Buster Call, maybe Ross was one of them? I do hope so for her, she might have been a somewhat rival of birdie in the past, but she was never a bad person and she already had her heart broken. In "Emperors" it's mentioned that birdie "almost shot Ross at John's Dockyard", so they had an encounter at some point, although I didn't go into detail. I picture Ross starting the confrontation on that occasion, possibly in an intoxicated state, driven by hurt - birdie would not have actively sought her out. Either way, she survived then and I hope she's still alive.

I'd love to make a parallel story where birdie is turned into a kid instead. Several readers have asked for it. ❣️ I think Heat and Killer would probably be the best at handling her in that form, Heat being the protective one, and Killer the sensible one. Kid would try his best, but I see him making an awful job.

Wire will go MIA the moment he hears birdie is a child now, not to be seen until the end of the story.

I hope you enjoyed your stracciatella ice cream. ❤️🍦

Here's the link to the story if anyone is interested: Small. [child Kid & Killer + reader]

[a-big-chicken-nerd]

Hi it's me, the Anon you gaslit into thinking would be fine if I entered the Movie!Ice Emperor's enclosure (throne room)

Yeah I'd like to sue for missing limbs and frostbite.

(/jk, hope you have a great day. the brainrot over this au is real)

(happy star wars day)

maybe if u had started it out with "happy star wars day" he wouldve spared u....... he loves star wars........... but now he just thanks u for the cool new wall stylish mounts