#octavia x hope

[birdy-babe]

Oh my god they’re going to be best friends one day aren’t they

[juliepaws]

hey… i rly dont like this like at all but i needed to draw it out before i lost the idea LOLLL

[gayandbasic]

He wants her in their life too 😭😭😭

[poisonedace]

Breaking Point

3446 words | Teen | One-Shot Author's AO3: PoisonedAce Story Link: Breaking Point Summary:  Blitzø is at his breaking point. Stolas is spiraling, and  Blitzø can’t hold him together alone. Desperate and exhausted, he turns to the one person who might still be able to reach the former prince: Octavia. But convincing her to listen isn’t easy when she’s holding onto her own anger and pain.

Blitzø heaved a sigh as he finished tucking his favourite horse blanket around Stolas. A frown etched with worry and something uncomfortably close to guilt grew on his face as he looked down at the former prince. Stolas’s face was slack with exhaustion, tear streaks staining his usually pristine feathers. He’d finally fallen into a restless sleep, the aftermath of several hours of a meltdown. He lingered for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of Stolas’s chest before he turned away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Blitzø muttered, rubbing his hands across his face and groaning loudly. His tail dragged behind him as he crossed the room and collapsed onto his beanbag by the window. The plush fabric cradled him, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. His red eyes flicked back to Stolas, his mind racing. He’s falling apart. I’m trying to hold him together, but I’m not enough. He needs Via.

He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his knees, and let out a shaky breath. “I need to talk to her,” he murmured, the words as much an admission as a decision. He knew he’d be risking Stolas’s wrath, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Stolas wasn’t just hurting himself—he was dragging everything and everyone down with him, including Blitzø.

Blitzø gave one last look at Stolas before taking a deep breath and activating his Asmodean crystal, a portal swirling to life in front of him. He stepped through, the hum of magic briefly washing over him before he landed on the plush carpet of Octavia’s room.

The room was dark, bathed in the faint moonlight that spilled in through the tall windows. Octavia’s figure was a lump beneath the covers of her bed, her breathing soft and even. Blitzø hesitated, his nerves kicking in, but there was no turning back now. He crossed the room, his boots barely making a sound as he approached her bedside.

“Via,” he called softly, his voice gentle but insistent. “Sweetie.”

“Dad?” Octavia mumbled, her eyes fluttering open. As she adjusted her gaze, she was greeted by Blitzø standing awkwardly beside her bed, a large, strained grin on his face. She squinted at him in the dim light, her expression shifting rapidly from groggy confusion to wide-eyed alarm.

“AAAAH!” Octavia screamed, scrambling upright and clutching her covers to her chest. 

Blitzø flailed his arms, his voice a frantic whisper. “Sweetie! Via! It’s just me—Blitzø! Your dad’s favorite disaster!” He cast a panicked glance toward the door, knowing full well how many guards patrolled the castle. “Please, for the love of all things unholy, keep it down!”

Octavia glowered at him, her feathers bristling as she lowered her voice. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

Blitzø visibly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he shrugged and tried to appear casual. “Oh, you know. The usual. Breaking and entering, casual home invasions. Thought I’d stop by for some late-night bonding. You’re a teenager—uninvited emotional chats are your thing, right?” He grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Octavia scowled, her tone flat. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” Blitzø leaned against her nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, his usual bravado starting to falter under her glare. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, I need to talk to you about your dad.”

“What about him?” she asked cautiously.

Blitzø hesitated, his tail curling nervously around his leg. “There’s… some stuff you need to know,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “And if I don’t tell you, I don’t think anyone will.”

Octavia frowned, still wary but unable to ignore the seriousness in his tone. “You’ve got five minutes before I call security,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“That’s all I ask,” his voice low but firm. Blitzø shifted awkwardly, his hands twitching as if unsure what to do with them. He looked out of place, like a stray animal that had wandered into a royal banquet. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding Octavia's sharp gaze.

Octavia’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked him over. His usual cocky swagger was gone, replaced by hunched shoulders and a weariness that clung to him like a second skin. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than she’d ever seen, and his posture wavered like he was one wrong move away from collapsing altogether. It was a sight she wasn’t used to—Blitzø looking small.

“Hey…” Her tone softened despite herself, and she tentatively reached out a hand. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Blitzø blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard by her concern. “Wouldn’t be the first time today,” he muttered under his breath, his tail flicking nervously behind him. He caught himself quickly and waved her off with a forced grin. “Don’t worry about me, Sweetie. Let’s focus on your dad."

She withdrew her hand, her concern shifting into suspicion again. “What about him?”

Blitzø exhaled slowly, his grin fading. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing over the edge of his collar as though grounding himself. “Your dad’s… uh, going through some stuff right now,” he said vaguely before shaking his head and correcting himself. “No, scratch that. He’s been going through it for a while, but now it’s… worse.”

Octavia folded her arms, her sharp eyes narrowing. “And what does that have to do with you barging into my room in the middle of the night?”

Blitzø hesitated, his tail curling tightly around his ankle. “Because I can’t… I can’t keep doing this alone. He’s a wreck, Via. He won’t sleep, he won’t eat, and the massive, hour-long meltdowns? Honestly, they scare the hell out of me. He won’t listen when I tell him he needs to pull himself together. But maybe… maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Her frown deepened. “Why would he listen to me? He doesn’t care about what I think. If he did, he wouldn’t—”

Blitzø cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “Stop. Don’t go there. I know it feels like that sometimes, but your dad… he cares about you more than anything. More than his power, more than his status, and—yeah, more than me, if you truly want to keep score.” His voice softened, the exhaustion creeping into his words. “He’s just too wrapped up in his head to show it properly right now.”

Octavia stared at him, the sharp edges of her expression softening just slightly. “Why are you telling me this?”

Blitzø rubbed the back of his neck, his usual bravado replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. “Because he needs you, Via. He’s hurting, and I think you might be the only one who can get through to him.”

Blitzø sunk to the floor and slouched forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as if that were the only thing keeping him upright. His limp tail lay beside him.

“What do you know about Goeetian marriages?” he asked, his tone cautious, like he was tiptoeing around something sharp.

Octavia froze, her mouth pressing into a tight line. “They’re the same as any Hellborne marriage. Some are for love, some are contractual,” she said flatly, her tone clipped. Her sharp eyes stayed fixed on him, wary of where this conversation was heading.

Blitzø nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Right. And your parents? Which one was theirs?”

The question gave her pause. Her talons twitched, and she pressed them into her lap. “Theirs was a love marriage,” she said after a moment, though her voice wavered slightly.

Blitzø let out a long sigh, sitting up straighter and meeting her eyes. His tone softened, but his words hit hard. “Sweetie, your dad’s gay.”

The air seemed to leave the room. Octavia’s eyes widened, her feathers puffing up slightly as the words sank in. “What?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Blitzø threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “I mean, come on, have you seen the guy? Feathers, capes, glitter? That’s not exactly ‘straight demon chic.’ Honestly, the outfits alone should’ve tipped you off. Rainbows, Via. Rainbows everywhere.”

Octavia blinked, completely dumbfounded. “That’s… not funny.”

Blitzø’s grin faltered, and his tail flicked as he looked away, the humor draining from his voice. “Yeah, probably not,” he admitted. “But it’s true. Your dad’s known he was gay pretty much his whole life.”

Octavia stared at him, her mind spinning. “But… he married mom. They…” She trailed off, her breath catching as realization began to creep in.

Blitzø’s expression softened, his voice quieter now. “Yeah, I know. Paimon told your dad on his tenth birthday that he’d be marrying your mom. Said they needed a ‘precautionary heir.’ That’s how it works with royalty, Sweetie. It’s not fair, but…”

Octavia’s face twisted, her feathers flattening as anger flared in her voice. “So I was just an obligation to him!” she snapped, her voice rising. Her hands shot up to her head, gripping her feathers tightly. “He HAD to take those pills because of me. If he’d just left—”

“NO!” Blitzø interrupted sharply. He jumped to his feet and grabbed her wrists before she could tug at her head feathers any further. His touch was gentle despite his firm voice. “Stop, Octavia. Don’t do that.”

Octavia froze, her hands trembling in his grip. Blitzø leaned closer, his tone softening as he met her eyes. “Listen to me, Sweetie. It’s not like that. You are the utmost important thing in your dad’s life. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe that. I need you to believe that.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap, her shoulders slumping as his words sunk in. Her voice was shaky with lingering anger and confusion. “But if he loves me so much, why did he…” She trailed off, shifting her wrists in his hands in a silent request for him to let her go.

Blitzø sighed, releasing her hands but staying close. His voice took on a weight she wasn’t used to hearing. “He’s tired, Via. Tired of the insults, of the fights, of pretending—tired of everything. He tried for so long to give you a normal life. He thought it was the right thing to do. For you, for his family, for Hell. Then he saw a chance at happiness, and he took it.”

Octavia’s feathers bristled slightly, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t interrupt.

Blitzø pressed on, his gaze steady. “But he never would’ve done it if he thought it would hurt you this much. He thought that you could be happy with us, be happy with him. The last thing he wanted, ever, was for you to get hurt and for you to not be in his life. You’ve got to know that.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “But, Via… doesn’t he deserve to be happy? Just a little bit?”

She opened her mouth to respond but found no words. Her talons dug into her blanket, her gaze darting away as she processed his words. The flicker of doubt in her expression deepened, clashing with the anger and hurt still swirling inside her.

“He needs you to remind him why it’s worth it. Why he’s worth it.”

Octavia shivered, her hands loosening their grip on the blanket. The words landed heavy, but this time, she didn’t try to push them away. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, struggling to unravel the mix of emotions tightening in her chest.

Blitzø’s words stirred something in her—a painful mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to confront. Memories flashed in her mind: her father holding her close after a nightmare, his gentle voice soothing her fears, the way he’d subtly step between her and her mother’s sharp words, absorbing the brunt of the anger to shield her. The warmth of his lullabies as he sang her to sleep. Those moments of love and safety stood in stark contrast to the pain she felt now—the pain of abandonment, of being left behind.

Her gaze moved to Blitzø. For so long, he seemed like a big monster, someone who stole her father from her. But now, standing by her bed in the dead of night, he looked small. The weight of exhaustion and worry clung to him like a heavy cloak.

“I…” Octavia’s voice faltered, and she rubbed her arm nervously, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her feathers shifted slightly, betraying her unease. “I’m not saying that I would have rather you died, but… things would have been so much easier if you weren’t here. Everything was okay when—”

“It wasn’t!” Blitzø snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. Octavia flinched, and he immediately softened his tone, running a hand over his face. “Sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t mean to yell. But… it wasn’t okay. Not really.”

He leaned back against the nightstand and hummed as he thought about how to tell her the next bit. “Via, your parents’ marriage wasn’t a good one. Surely you see that,” he said, his voice gentler now. His hands, clenched into fists, trembled slightly, and he let out a long, slow breath to steady himself. “I know Stolas tried his best to give you a normal childhood, but… there’s no way you overlooked the arguing. The tension.”

Octavia hesitated, her feathers shifting as she finally met his gaze. “Of course, I noticed,” she admitted. “But that’s what couples do. You and Dad fight, I’ve heard it.”

Blitzø smiled faintly, a humorless expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, Sweetie, we do,” he admitted. “But we’re working on it. Your parents… they didn’t have that chance. They were thrown into a mess neither of them wanted, but they tried for you. They did their best to make it work, even if it wasn’t enough.”

Octavia frowned, her gaze dropping again. “But that’s not my problem to fix,” she muttered, her voice defensive but lacking the usual edge.

“No,” Blitzø agreed softly. “It’s not your problem. But it is your dad’s, and he needs your help, Via. Now, it’s your turn to try for him.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Octavia pulled her knees up to her chest, but she didn’t respond. For the first time, she didn’t have a sharp retort or a bitter comment. Instead, she sat quietly, Blitzø’s words softening the bitterness she’d clung to so tightly.

Blitzø let out a heavy sigh and fell to his knees, his head lolling to the side. His shoulders slumped, and his usual energy completely drained. The heaviness of the conversation and everything that had brought him to this moment seemed to press down on him all at once.

“Blitzø!” Octavia exclaimed, her voice tinged with alarm as she jumped out of bed and knelt beside him. Gently, she reached out, grabbing his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head slowly, not meeting her gaze. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Via, I… I’m just so tired.” He closed his eyes, his tail curling weakly around his leg. “He won’t sleep, he won’t eat. I’m trying so hard to keep him going, but I can’t do it alone.”

The confession hit Octavia harder than she expected. She squeezed his arm gently, unsure of what to say.

Blitzø took a shaky breath, his words coming out in a stuttering rush. “This is so unfair of me to do, barging in here and putting this on you. I know it is. And he’s going to be pissed when he finds out I said anything.” He finally looked at her, his red eyes glassy with exhaustion and something that looked almost like desperation. “But please, Via. Please just speak with him.”

Octavia stared at him, her hand resting on his arm. The anger that had shielded her from hurt began to crack, replaced by something softer—something harder to deny. Could she really help him? She didn’t know what to say, but the sight of Blitzø—this usually untouchable force of chaos—looking so small and defeated made her chest tighten.

“I’ll think about it,” she said hesitantly, her voice softer now.

Blitz’s nod was slow, his lips curving into a faint, weary smile. “That’s all I’m asking, Sweetie.” He leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his hands as if he might fall over otherwise. “Just… give him a chance.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke; the room filled only with the quiet sound of their breathing. The weight of what had been said—and what still needed to happen—hung heavy between them.

Octavia hesitated, her gaze lingering on Blitzø as he slumped forward, his exhaustion written in every line of his posture. For the first time, she saw him not as the chaotic whirlwind that had barged into her family’s life but as someone trying his best in an impossible situation.

Her mind shifted to her father—how tightly he would hold her after a bad dream, his arms a sanctuary against the dark. She remembered the haunting melody of his soft lullabies, each note wrapping around her like a promise that she was safe. But more than that, she recalled the quiet moments, the ones he probably thought she hadn’t noticed: the way his shoulders sagged when he thought no one was watching, the distant look in his eyes as he stared out the window, and the sadness that seemed to seep from him, heavy and unshakeable. Those glimpses of vulnerability—of a father doing his best even when it wasn’t enough—made her chest tighten, the memories as comforting as they were painful.

She swallowed hard and nodded, almost imperceptibly at first. Then, with more resolve, she spoke. “Okay,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ll talk to him.”

Blitzø’s head snapped up, his red eyes widening as relief washed over his face. A genuine smile, faint but real, broke through his grimace. “Thanks, Sweetie,” he said, his voice hoarse but warm. He pushed himself upright, straightening as much as he could despite his obvious exhaustion. “And, hey, if he kills me for this… at least tell him to make it quick, huh?”

Octavia’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through her defenses. “No promises,” she said, her tone dry but not without affection.

Blitzø chuckled softly, a sound that was more tired than anything else, but there was something lighter in it now. He stood, albeit unsteadily, and patted her shoulder with a surprisingly gentle hand. “You’re a good kid, Via. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise.”

He rubbed at the crystal on his wrist, conjuring a portal to his living room. Its swirling energy cast faint light across the room. Just beyond, she could see her father, scrunched up on a tiny, ripped couch, fast asleep, his face twisted as if he were experiencing a nightmare.

Just before stepping through, Blitzø glanced back at Octavia and gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “You’ve got this, Octavia,” he said quietly. Then, with a final, tired smile, he disappeared into the glow.

Octavia stared at the shimmering portal. The room felt strangely still without Blitzø’s chaotic presence. She stayed frozen in place for a long moment, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The words he’d said lingered in her mind, heavy yet somehow reassuring, as her talons idly traced the lines of her palm.

She rose slowly, her movements tentative as she approached the portal. She stopped and stared, watching her father through it, her heart racing. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I make it worse? The anger and hurt she had held onto felt easier than confronting her father’s pain head-on. But beneath it, there was something quieter—an ache to understand, to try. She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. He’s been trying all this time. Maybe I can, too.

The hum of magic filled the silence, a faint, steady pulse. Octavia hesitated at its edge, staring into its swirling depths. Her chest tightened as her thoughts warred within her—hurt and anger battling against the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

“I’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, her voice steady despite the uncertainty twisting in her stomach.

And before she could second-guess herself, she stepped through the portal, driven by the fragile hope of forging a stronger, more honest bond with her father—and perhaps even finding her own place with Blitzø.

[minteetho-art-archive]

how do we feel about this possibility 8:11 fandom

[coleramse]

i will meet you on another planet if the plans change

be on your own way, daughter.

[teawizard]

The Madrigal Lopez family (big and small)

Incredible family presented in the Love and Fury verse created by @foggyfanfic

Beautiful OCs left to right: Leandra Madrigal Lopez, Octavia Madrigal, Bruno Madrigal (not an OC), Gabriel Madrigal, Amada Madrigal

I love them dearly and I would kill anyone for them without hesitation. Go read the fics right now 🔫

[dreamingofthewild]

Oc Meme

Thank you for tagging me @messiahzzz

B A S I C S

- Full name: Octavia Shayra Bintalzari

- Gender: Female

- Sexuality: Heteroromantic Pansexual

(Meaning she's sexually attracted to all genders, but mostly romantically attracted towards men or masculine presenting people. She only gets romantic feelings for females or female presenting people after a deep emotional connection or bond has been established).

- Pronouns: She/her

O T H E R

- Family: She has an ex-husband (arranged marriage) and a deceased long-term girlfriend (a tiefling Paladin who was also her dream guardian).

Father: A human sultan (estranged)

Mother: Politician (estranged)

Siblings: Three sisters (estranged)

- Birthplace: Calimport, Calimshan

- Job: Mercenary/ Vigilante Knight

- Phobias: Claustrophobia, Aquaphobia, Coulrophobia

- Guilty pleasures: People watching, drinking, climbing roofs to see cities from a height (especially at night), walking barefoot, experimenting in the kitchen.

- Hobbies: Playing the lute, drawing, lance board, adventuring, archery, writing, swimming.

M O R A L S

- Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/ Chaotic Good

- Sins: Lust

- Virtues: Honesty, courage, compassion, integrity, liberality, reliability, humility, preserverence, unity.

T H I S O R T H A T

- Introvert / Extrovert/ Ambivert

- Organized / Disorganized

- Close-minded / Open-minded

- Calm / Anxious / Restless

- Disagreeable / Agreeable / In between

- Cautious / Reckless / In between

- Patient / Impatient / In between

- Outspoken / Reserved / In between

- Leader / Follower / Flexible

- Empathetic / Unempathetic / In between

- Optimist / Pessimist / Realist

- Traditional / Modern / In between

- Hard-working / Lazy

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

-OTP: Gale/ Ocatavia

-Acceptable ships: Octavia/ Wyll is also acceptable. She likes and admires Wyll, but it is Gale who won her heart.

Octavia/ Shadowheart is also acceptable.

-OT3: None. She enjoys casual relationships, but when she falls in love with someone, she is monogamous.

-BROTP:

Astarion/ Octavia - Oh boy, they hated each other on Act 1. Octavia saw right through his lies and was frustrated that he wasn't truthful about anything. But when he opened up she realised that they have things in common, and she swore to protect him at all costs.

Karlach/ Octavia - Best friends from day one Karlach lights up every room. Octavia admires her opmitism, and their morals align perfectly.

-NoTP: Octavia/Halsin (She sees him as a parental figure)

Octavia/Lae'zel (they don't see eye to eye (I like Lae'zel personally, but failed to get good approval from her in this playthrough))

Tags: @klkirbles @elspethdekarios @hotnerdywizard @an-excellent-choice @the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep @sparquesblr (your excuse to info dump about seleia if you wish)

I just scrolled through my following and followers list for people who I was interested in learning about/posted their Tavs. Do not feel obliged to participate, I am happy to remove your Tag if you would like 😊

And if I didn't tag you, feel free to participate! I love reading about people's OCs. With any pairing.

Also, I know nothing of DND. So it may be a but loose lore wise.

Edit: I forgot to add the photos, duh

[fandomnerd9602]

Mikaelson sibs with a shared soulmate pls

-if you're comfortable only☺

Octavia and Hope surround Y/N with a little shared purr...

Octavia: I can't believe they're all ours, wouldn't you agree sis?

Hope: oh yes. all ours. you're lucky we like to share everything.

Y/N: well you don't see me complaining. school may be hard but the study sessions are great!

Octavia: i'm thinking we should have one now.

Hope: I'm in charge this time.

The girls push Y/N onto their king sized bed...

[oruali]

[murdcrofcrows]

who: @bclletragedie ( octavia )

where: ralph's boxing gym

despite not having an affinity for violence, frankie seemed to be immersed in it everyday. whether it was creating the next hot item in the arms world, seeing any of her enhancements or prototypes tested, or observing any of the many fights happening at ralph's. no one was ever forcing frankie to show up to a fight night or to see the fighters sparring in the interim. she more did it out of a solidarity for the little criminal organization she'd become quite fond of over her tenure as trusted advisor and resident problem solver. either way, she certainly wasn't there to see anyone specific - not frankie - she didn't seek out that kind of consistent attachment dictated by the laws of attraction. but as she turned away from one of the fighters to see the owner of that fine establishment make her way to, what frankie was positive was the only office in the building, she bid her farewell to the soldier to follow after her. after a few minutes of course, she didn't need to seem desperate or lucifer forbid, needy.

"aye there gorgeous, i uh, i thought that was you," she let herself into the office with a wide and devilish grin. "smoked the lab out again so i have to wait until tomorrow to return, you should see the poor idiot who passed out during testing - almost got stuck in there." she was rambling, frankie knew full well that she was and yet she continued on. no use changing who she was now. "so I was thinking," both hands tapped the corner playfully. "maybe you want to grab food with me or a drink? What do ya say, toots?"

[beauarlenswife]

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these are the only characters i can think of atm, it will be updated if i think of more. if you have a request then go head and send it even if the character/fandom isn’t up here, i’ll respond either with an imagine or something.

[ay0nha]

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue,  etc. 

A/N:  I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability. 

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor. 

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention. 

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas.   “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.  

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?” 

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

 “Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind.  “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry.  Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold. 

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.  

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well. 

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness. 

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.  

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses. 

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around.   “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute. 

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you. 

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited. 

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.” 

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.  

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome. 

That was not to say you were birds of a feather. 

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them. 

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life. 

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

 “We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult. 

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!” 

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit. 

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience. 

“Time?” Lucius looked to you. 

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!” 

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night. 

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow. 

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space. 

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room. 

Prosperity and posterity.  This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification. 

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.  

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one. 

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself. 

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands. 

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response. 

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.  

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed. 

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.” 

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset. 

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face.  He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.  

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.  

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other.  “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.” 

“Able or willing?” 

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat.  You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer.  “You must decide where you belong.” 

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning.  Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam. 

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner. 

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry. 

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

 “You have my word.”

[kabuki-writes]

The Laugh of Nero

chapter: 4 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 5

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius faces the consequences of his conspiracy, while his daughter unexpectedly meets Emperor Caracalla alone for the first time.

warning(s): mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: -

word count: 3.6k

Romans loved the story of old philosopher Seneca. He was once the teacher of Emperor Nero almost 200 years ago and although body was dead, his life continued through writings: one of it being the drama 'Octavia'. It was a popular play in the amphitheaters of Ancient Rome and beyond. And it was a favorite of yours.

The plot focused on three days during which the Emperor divorced and exiled his wife Claudia Octavia and married another, his lover Poppaea Sabina. It was indeed a tragedy, that gave the audience a glimpse into the madness of Nero, the wisdom of Seneca and the tragedy of Octavia. Oh how you could relate to Octavia. The divergence between her fear, hatred and sadness against her will to withstand and be wiser than what was thrown against her, it intrigued you. Somehow you felt the same in your current situation. On the one handside you feared the future and displeased the attention of the Emperors on you, yet you wanted to do everything to persevere. In a way, the stoic nature of Seneca's character in this play gave you some kind of guidance too. Stoicism, maybe you needed to stick to that even more as you were not able to control your surroundings as it seemed?

You took your seat in the upper-ranks of the amphitheater, accompanied by two of your closest friends. Cicero was one of the grandsons of senator Gracchus and now served as one of the senate’s transcriptors for as long as he was not old enough to candidate for a political mandate himself. The other one was Lydia, the daughter of General Britannicus, who fought alongside your father countless of times and was now fighting with his legions in the far north of the Empire. "Oh, i hope Scato is going to play Octavia this time! The last time i saw him in the role of Electra - it was just mesmerizing. He is just so handsome", Lydia sighed, as she always seemed to be that actor's number one supporter. You and Cicero laughed in response before you gave your friend a small pat on the shoulder. "I already heard that you approached him after the last play. Beware actors, Lydia. They might be charming, but they're also free spirits," you explained with a smirk on your lips, before Cicero added. "Oh everyone would run, when they hear about her father."

"Come on! Stop it! I am just daydreaming! I know he will never let me spend time with someone that isn't a boring military officer!" Lydia turned her face away because she turned completely red, but as she did, she noticed the black armory of the Praetorian guards, who escorted one of the Emperors to the royal box of the Amphitheater. "y/n, Cicero, look!"

You quickly turned your eyes to the scene and your face went pale in an instant, when you saw the luxurious decorated robe, the blonde-ginger hair and the golden laurel wreath. That profile, the curved nose and the make up... you instantly noticed, which brother was here to witness the play of 'Octavia'.

Nero.

In that very moment, he turned his head in an attempt to take a look at the crowd and you tried your best to keep your head low, while your sight was locked to the stage in front of you.

"Is everything alright, y/n?", Cicero asked irritated, while he tried to make sense of your sudden change of behavior.

"Yes, yes i just... i've never seen Emperor Caracalla here."

"Really? He comes to the theater quite often to watch plays", Lydia managed to say, before the crowd slowly fell silent as the first actor slowly walked on stage. The young woman next to you blushed and you could feel Lydia's hand clinging on your arm as if she needed something to hold on - the actor was indeed Scato and the costume he wore was 'Octavia' - a flowing robe with a long, curled wig and extravagant make-up that captured the sadness of her character perfectly.

But you couldn't really focus. Your eyes went to the royal box, the best place to watch the play in a comfortable isolation from the rest of the spectators. Here he sat, accompanied by an entourage of 'friends' and a little monkey which sat on his lap. Suddenly his eyes went from the stage over the crowd and suddenly, he saw you. Your heart sunk to your feet and you instantly turned back to the stage to witness Scato's monologue. He had seen you... and what you were not able to witness now was how he turned to one of his Praetorian Guards, to which he whispered an order.

You tried to keep calm as you stared at the stage, where Octavia was now accompanied by a chorus, who wept for the terrible treason she had to endure when Nero decided to take another woman as his wife. Meanwhile your fingers clinged into the fabric of your toga-styled dress as you gathered your thoughts. You still recalled the words you'd talked with him at the Collosseum - the way you had his attention. Women would kill for what you were able to get if you just continue - but then you heard the words of your father, you saw his worried eyes in front of you and you knew something was terribly wrong.

You were so encaptured in your own thoughts that Lydia grabbed your arm again, but this time it was not because she was about to fall for the man on stage, but because a Praetorian Guard was standing right at the side of your seats and pointed at you. "You. Follow me," he ordered in a very demanding tone, while your friends looked at you in shock. They didn't know what you'd witnessed before, so you grabbed their hands and just gave them an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about me, we see each other soon, alright?", you whispered before you stood up and followed the guard upstairs to the place where Emperor Caracalla had his seat.

_________________________________

"y/n, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here! Please, take a seat!", you heard the voice of Emperor Caracalla as you stepped into the royal box of the amphitheater and bowed to him.

"Leave us, Go!", he hissed quickly to his entourage, who - without a word - got up from their seats and left as quickly as they could, but not without giving you a two-faced look. It was almost as if they already knew something you didn't, as if they both pitied and envied you at the same time. You hold their glances to not give in to any mockery they might've had in their minds and would speak out to each other when they were gone. Then it was only you and the young Emperor,... and his pet monkey, which was seemingly busy eating grapes from a bowl of fruit.

With slow, careful movements you approached the seats in the front and sat down beside Caracalla, his eyes never leaving you as you did. "A funny coincidence, is it not? I remember that we talked about 'Octavia' and here we are now", he chuckled, while he leaned back and for a moment, he watched the stage, where Seneca approached Nero about the divorce of his first wife.

"A coincidence, indeed", you answered and followed his glance. There he was, the mad Emperor, who complained about the unfair treatment of him through his own mother, which he cursed over and over again. At that point she was already dead - believed to be murdered by an order of Nero himself.

"You haven't fully answered me back then, when i asked why you see yourself as Nero". The question came from your mouth while you still followed the actor's movements in his luxurious decorated robes, a red wig on his head - it somehow reminded you of Caracalla.

"The play is written to portray him as a monster, am i sitting next to one?"

Maybe it was almost too bold to ask that. You already regretted speaking those words out loud, when his view instantly switched to you, his blue eyes digging into you like a sharp blade. Suddenly, he simply burst into a resounding laughter, that made your lose your breath for a moment, as you stared at him with irritation.

"Gods, you're really amusing", Caracalla grinned wide, showing off his gold tooth. Nonetheless he gave you an answer. "It depends..."

He raised his hand and let his little monkey climb on it. When he reached his shoulder, Caracalla took a grape and fed it to the animal, before it started to groom his wild hair. Not caring about it, he continued. "Everyone views Nero as mad for breaking the chains that his mother and his predecessor layed on him. He never loved Octavia, yet he had to marry her. He never wanted to be Emperor, yet he became one. His mother tried to control him, so much so, that he needed to get rid of this old hag." The last words were almost a hissing tone, as if he was speaking of something he could truly relate to.

"Now everyone is plotting against him, the Gods, his damned first wife, his teacher, all of Rome, only because he started to follow his own path and married the woman he loved. A tragedy, truly - not just for Octavia, don't you think?"

He looked straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer and you sensed that this was a key moment, where you could say something wrong. In a way, you could see what he meant, but there was something he didn't see. Nero broke the chains, yes, but he broke them with cruelty, murder and terror.

"Isn't everything in our lives a tragedy?", you asked and it seemed to please Caracalla, as his bright grin returned, before he turned to the stage once more, crawling his pet monkey while he followed the next scene.

Oh how he could relate to those words. No one could understand the tragedy of his own life, always being seen as the underestimated, 'weaker' and younger brother. But he enjoyed this talk more than he was willing to admit. And he was sure that you were able to understand him to a certain degree, the first woman to do so.

Suddenly, his pet jumped over to you, climbing onto your shoulder and taking a strain of hair to look at your curls.

"Dondus, no! Don't hurt the fair lady!" In an instant, Caracalla jumped from his seat, but before he tried to take the monkey again, he noticed your sudden yet beautiful laugh and how you reached out to pat Dondus carefully, softly, with your filigran fingers. How he wished that those fingers would touch him in that very moment, while his hands stiffened.

"It is fine, please - don't worry", you said quickly, since the monkey didn't hurt you in any way - in fact the way he climbed on your shoulders, touched your hair with his tiny fingers and groomed them with interest in his dark eyes, was very cute. And your reaction was honest.

"I think, he likes you", Caracalla mumbled, while he returned to his seat, still watching you how gentle you were with Dondus, one of his only 'real friends'. It was his own pet, his alone and caring for him often calmed his mind. Just as you did in this very moment since no word came from his mouth - he just watched. Why, just why does he have to share you with Geta soon...

Slowly he reached for his cup of wine and poured it down in an attempt to numb his thoughts over this damn fact.

"You said you see yourself in Octavia, but you could be Poppaea", he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

"I could be," you responded, the focus laying on 'could', while you were still playing with the little monkey. In a way you started to find your path in this game. "Either way my fate would end in death then."

Caracalla laughed boisterous once again in response to your words, while he raised his cup. "And yet you would live in delight instead of agony. Let us toast to the inevitable death of us all". You took your cup and followed his toast.

"To the tragedy of us all." As you drank a first sip of your wine, you still saw how he looked you straight into the eyes. It was clear that he just waited for the next chance to say something and this time he was closer than before, leaning over the armrest of his throne. The Emperor was close enough for you to smell the scent of his perfumes and the wine on him.

"I just know we will have a lot of fun, once we see each other more often," he chuckled. His words hit you, but you tried your best not to drop your mask of neutrality. You'd almost began to enjoy this conversation up to this point. What did he mean by that?

Should you ask? No, it would be terribly impolite to question something like that in the presence of an Emperor. Only your lips parted, while you searched for your next words. Caracalla was the one to grin again, his gold tooth shimmering in the lights that came from the stage of the theater. And his next words rang through your ears like a bell.

"Don't forget to thank your dear father, once you're back home."

_________________________________

Marcus Acacius walked through the hallways of the Imperial Palace, escorted by the Praetorian Guard. He was not in chains, but wore his dark brown leather armor with the wine red whool cloak and his helmet under his arm - the armor of a General. In fact, he didn't really know why he was even here in the first place. It was quite early for a new war campaign, but he stopped to question them long ago anyways. It wouldn't be a surprise, if the Emperors had already found a new target for their obsession. The mere hunger for expansion was enough to never satisfy both Geta and Caracalla, who simply took military like Acacius and moved them on a map as if they were simple toy figures. The glory of Rome was what they promised the people, yet all the older man had seen was death and despair over and over again - even though he always came back with a victory laurel wreath on his head. What an irony.

The fact that everything was like the last times he was called to the palace, made him unobservant to the fact that he was walking straight into a trap. He was sure that his secret was still a secret - that he and the senators were safe in a way. Maybe safe enough to carry out their plan once the time was ready for it. How wrong he was on this...

When he stepped into the throne room, the guards behind him closed the door and he greeted Emperor Geta according to the protocol in situations like these. "My Emperor", he said with his fist on his chest and his eyes locked on the young man, who stood in front of one of the two elaborately designed thrones, which were placed on a platform at the center of the room.

"General Acacius! It is good to see you again. Come forward...," Geta called and his waving hand was a signal for him to move, to come closer. As he did, Marcus noticed that the other twin was missing, but this wasn't a surprise too since Caracalla was often 'occupied' with other things. In reality, he simply hated politics and rather threw himself into diffent forms of pleasure in an attempt to escape the stuffiness.

They were not alone, a couple of Praetorian guards stood at their distinct positions as they always did and therefore the general simply ignored them.

Meanwhile Geta had to force himself to keep a straight face, when the traitor approached him as if nothing happened at all, as if he was not about to put a sword into his neck with those filthy senators - just as Julius Caesar got betrayed by his kin and the senate as well. The young Emperor would not let this happen again.

"Tell me, General, why did i call for you?"

Acacius brows furrowed, while he looked to the map table, which was standing alone in front of the great window. It was untouched.

"I thought you might answer me that, your Grace. The last time we talked, you granted me a pause before i will regroup my legions in Ostia and start the next campaign in Numidia."

Geta's laughter filled the room in response to the General's words and it took him even more strength to not scream at him.

"Oh, don't worry, Acacius. This plan hasn't changed yet."

Yet. A feeling of unease creeped up his body, as he stood still, his eyes locked on the pale, gingerblonde royal, who stood in front of him in a toga of black and gold.

"But let us be honest now, shall we? I question your loyality to me and my brother, to Rome. As i know, you're meeting with members of the senate," Geta called out and even though this was true, Acacius kept a straight face, hiding his fear in trained perfection.

"As you know, my dear wife is the daughter of senator Galba. Is it now regarded as treason to meet with my father-in-law?"

Geta stepped forward, closing the distance between him and Acacius in an instant, while his jaw clenched in anger. His mind was like a volcano, ready to erupt at any second.

"Do you think we're fools!?", he hissed with an even more aggressive undertone that grew louder with each word. Marcus had to tackle the urge to say 'Yes', in fact there was even so much more he wanted to say right now. That they were tyrants, mad, arrogant and overall spoiled little brats, which he cursed at every given second of his life.

"We know what you're up to Acacius - a snake amongst the men we regarded as the most loyal to our father and to us. How dare you turn against us and plot with those maggots from the senate, even though you've seen that they were not able to rule an Empire for yourself! Have you no respect for Emperor Septimius Severus, who gave you all what you're now!?"

It was too late, he obviously knew. And Acacius was not even able to put in words how much he hated himself for not being able to keep it as a secret long enough. It not only put his own life in danger but the rest of his family too, his wife... his daughter. His jaw clenched at the mere thought of the consequences that might errupt in the aftermath of this audience. Yet he couldn't hold back what was laying under his tongue for so long: "You father still holds my greatest respect and loyalty even after his passing... may the gods grant him peace in elysium. But i've seen your shortcomings many, many times. You lack the wisdom and restraint he had, yes maybe even the love he had for Rome and its people. You and your brother are not worthy of the crowns he placed upon your heads."

Geta's eye twitched and he grabbed a dagger, placing it right in front of Acacius' throat. His whole body trembled in pure wrath at the audacity of that General's words.

"I should kill you now Acacius! I should kill you and all those filthy senators for that treason!", he screamed at him, while his opponent only responded with a cold and collected gaze. This look alone made him Geta even more aggressive and hateful towards Marcus, but killing him would only create another problem - so he went with the path he had already planned in his mind.

"My brother was right, you are a Brutus. But we're not Julius Caesar", Geta hissed against Acacius, leaning his head to the side for a moment, as he studied his stern facial expression. Oh how much he hated it that he didn't fear him. The Emperor wanted to change that.

"We should start all over again, shall we? As a hero of Rome, the people won't be pleased with you being crucified publically... But we can still kill your wife... your daughter?", he started and noticed how - even for a second - the corners of Acacius' mouth twitched, as if he wanted to say something against this. Now there was fear, something Acacius tried desperately not to show, but Geta still noticed.

A wide, knowing smile appeared on his face and he nodded in silent agreement. "Ah, now you see the consequences. Yes, i am not above killing you kin and let you watch... but it would be such a shame, such a waste... especially for your beautiful daughter. I wonder how you will explain to her, that you threw her young life away because of your pride"

The blade of his dagger was dangerously close as the tip touched his skin at his neck, while Acacius stood in an almost frozen position.

"I have a proposal for you, Acacius...it is the only option to safe your own life and the ones of those you love the most - wed your daughter to me."

Geta's word hit Marcus like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened in response to the request of the Emperor in front of him. And his heart broke in that very moment.

"I will not sell out my daughter like this", he answered with a firm tone in his voice, but Geta only smirked and leaned forward, whispering in his ear with an amused undertone. He knew that Marcus wasn't able to say 'No' in any way. He loved his daughter too much to watch her die.

"One option, General. She either becomes my wife - and i will make her Empress of Rome. Or she will be crucified alongside your pathetic senators..."

He would always choose her life, but at what cost.

_________________________________

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quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon justnobodynothingmore fandomblogs-stuff justnobodynothingmore superblyspeedydragon deliciousfestsalad moon-390 lv9su harmfulb1tch apollonshootafar zalera8310 sweetffcts lvspedri soltik capitanostella weepingfashionwritingplaid labellapeaky

[d4yl1ghts]

pretty

bellamy blake x fem!reader

summary: you’re trying to learn words in trigedasleng (grounder language) and the cocky yet attractive man, bellamy blake, decides to help you

A/N- sorry that this is so short and sorry that i haven’t posted in so long

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You were sat in the cafeteria in Arkadia with Octavia as you waited for Clarke and the others to get back: they were looking for a way to reduce the radiation that would lead to everyone’s deaths. With that in mind, you had decided to attempt to learn some Trigegasleng because, surely, it would be helpful in the near future. Octavia had- somehow- already became familiar with the language and it had proven to be useful.

On the Ark, you had learnt Spanish and French with ease (even though it has never come in handy) but you just couldn’t seem to adjust and appreciate the stems of the grounder’s language. You simply stared at the list of words that Octavia had written down for you and zoned out as you imagined how the mission was currently going.

You nervously bounced your leg as you dreamt of the worst possible outcomes: you had always been an over-thinker. It was one of your many flaws. Octavia glanced to you as she sensed that you were no longer focused on the words. “Y/N.”, she mumbled, hoping to disrupt your daydream. Snapping your head to the side slightly, you turned to look at her. You hummed in response. “Keep your mind on the words. They’ll be useful and they’ll also distract you from the- judging by the look on your face- bad thoughts in your head.”, Octavia assured. You nodded. “Thanks, I’ll try to be fluent by the time they come back, just so I can prove Bellamy wrong.”, you smiled in anticipation. Bellamy and you had a bet going- if you couldn’t learn the words Octavia had given you by the time of their arrival, you’d have to clean his room.

As if on cue, Bellamy casually stepped through the door and into the room.

“Bel!”, Octavia let out in relief. She gently ran up to him as they both wrapped their arms around each other. He then marched over to your table. “Hey, Y/N. How are you getting on with these words?”, he questioned with a smirk on his gorgeous face. “Well, um, I actually know them all. Don’t I, Octavia?”, you looked to her for confirmation as your cheeks blazed at the lie. She shook her head slightly and chuckled. “Yep, she knows them all off-by-heart.”

“Let’s test you, then.”, Bellamy offered as he took in your flushed cheeks. “Okay, translate this sentence: Yu are meizen.”, he stated. Octavia’s lips curled upwards as her eyes shone with a knowing glint. Cautiously, you took a careful peek at the list before Bellamy caught you and hastily snatched it away. “No cheating.”, he teased. You sat there as you were swallowed by your own silence due to your lack of knowledge.

“Guess you have to clean my room for a week.”, he joyfully trudged off, finally showing his exhaustion from his mission. Once he had left the room, you glanced at the piece of paper. After staring at the word for a moment too long, you couldn’t believe it- miezen meant pretty. Was Bellamy hitting on you for the whole time?

From beside you, Octavia stifled her laugh as she analysed your shocked state. “You read it right. He’s been secretly pining for you ever since we arrived on that drop ship.”, she confessed and, if it were possible, you felt your cheeks heat up to a frightening temperature.

[misscherry-26]

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low, pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further. Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care, you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.