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kabuki-writes · 1 month ago

Text

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

chapter: 6 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

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

summary: The wedding ceremony with Emperor Geta gives you a first glimpse of what you are going to face, once the title 'Empress' crowns you. Meanwhile Caracalla has to deal with the thoughts about his twin owning you now.

Note: I am wishing you all a 'Merry Christmas'! Sorry that this chapter took so long, i wanted to finish it faster, but i was ill for quite some time and had no head for writing. No worries though, i am feeling better now! A small reminder: Due to the holidays, the next chapter might take a bit of time.

word count: 3.6k

Gods expected rituals and nothing in Rome was more important, more holy and more strict to certain rules than a wedding - especially the wedding of an Emperor. A whole series of necessaries had to be prepared in advance to this special celebration before the bride and the groom were able to stand in front of the altar. From the preparation of the dowry to the sacrifices made to the gods. It all began with the most formal part: engagement ceremony, where the exchange of promises between the groom and the bride's father hold more significance than the words of the soon-to-be-wed woman. In Roman society, being born a female was still strongly bound to ownership. First the ownership of the father and then the ownership of the husband. And even though rich Roman women had more freedom than others, it was still a life in societal chains.

Now that you sat on the floor to your mother‘s feet, you instantly thought about the eyes of that lamb your family had brought to the temple of Juno as a sacrifice. The innocence in its eyes slaughtered by the dagger of the priest. One Life for another Life - yours. Did Juno have her blessing? How could you know right now.

„Mother…?“, you spoke out as you noticed the shaking hands and the tears in your mother‘s eyes.

She was pale as marble, trying her best to keep her face, but you were well aware of how much it destroyed her and your father to let you go - especially when the arms of your soon-to-be-husband were Emperor Geta. As a daughter, you tried your best to comfort your mother, as much as it hurt you too. Your hands took hers, gently squeezing them, while your eyes found hers. "I shouldn't cry, i know...", she whispered and placed her hand on your cheek through the thin fabric of the flame-coloured veil that covered your face. Your body was clothed in a beautiful white tunica dress, embroidered with golden depictions of different flowers. You were shackled by the amount of jewelry - engagement presents of Emperor Geta for his bride -, expensive golden necklaces and bracelets that should depict the status you will have standing by his side. Although you were no Empress yet, you wore a bridal crown on top of your carefully braided hair. One of woven fragrant herbs and flowers, Rosemary, verbena, marjoram, roses, violets, and lilies, to represent fertility.

"My beautiful daughter, even Venus would envy you now. But i had wished that... that you would not have to marry a man like-"

"Don't", you stopped her, knowing fully well, which name she was about to say and you shook her head. It was meaningless to express any form of sorrow or hatred, even if this wedding was a forced one - a trade for your own life and that of your parents. Terrible or not, it would bring honor to your family and in the end, it would make you Empress. A gift as well as a heavy burden, especially given the man that will be your husband - your Emperor. Geta.

A marriage ceremony always followed specific rules, that were meant to please the gods. A scacrifice in the temples of Juno and Jupiter was mandatory, but soon you'll face another significant part of your wedding. As Romans believed the only bride of value was a virgin who had to be stolen from her family, they simulated the bride being abducted from her family as part of the ceremony. You were able to hear the chants and chattering of the big entourage of guests arriving to you parent's home outside - accompanied by a large amount of Praetorian Guards and the Emperor himself. Usually the large wedding feast and celebration would take place at the bride's family home, but given the significance of an Emperor's wedding and the amount of guests, it was agreed that it would take place in the palace after the procession.

Even if you tried to face it with a stoic mask, your heart pumped against your chest - a mixture of excitement and fear. Your eyes closed for a moment, as you heard the footsteps and voices of the Praetorian soldiers and amongst them Geta's, who was the first to enter the room. You were still facing your mother, holding her hands tight, while tears ran down her face. "I am here to claim my bride", the Emperor called out with a triumphant smile on his face, dressed in a golden, heavy decorated armor and a white groom's toga - a depiction like a god. Unusual for a wedding ceremony, but it was a symbol. A symbol of the power and wealth of the twin's reign, a symbol of his triumph over General Acacius, who had no choice anymore than to give him his most precious belonging - his daughter.

Seeing you there on your knees was a sight we might never forget. Even if your back faced him, he could see your curves under the garment you wore and he immediately thought about the wedding night, which was the highlight in his mind for today. But right now he had to calm himself, as he stepped forward and suddenly took you at the waist to pull you from your crying mother's embrace. "Mother!", you screamed as the groom forced you to go with him, tears dripping down your cheeks under the flame-red veil. The tradition dictated that the bride would cry out in pain to fool the gods of the home that she was taken away, 'stolen' before you would have to walk the procession without the protection of any god until you stepped into the home of the groom.

All of Rome had gathered in the streets to witness the procession of the Emperor's wedding. You stood at his side on a richly decorated chariot carried by two pale-white horses. The big amount of wedding guests accompanied your path by singing the Hymenaeus and carrying a whitehorn torch, a spina alba, to honor the goddess Ceres. Normally you would simply walk to the palace, as it was the core of such a parade, but nothing was normal about an Emperor's wedding and especially not Geta's. He wanted to show-off, he wanted eveyone to know how powerful he was and that he was now marrying the daughter of one of Rome's most successful beloved generals. It was all calculated and everything followed a plan, he viewed as perfect. This union was not only a definite way to get you, it formed an even closer bond between his and his brother's reign and your father's role as a military general. Would he ever betray them again, it will also be a betrayal against you. And another calculated side-effect was the use of Acacius' popularity through a marriage with his daughter.

The masses cheered for you and for the Emperor, they wished you "feliciter" - "good luck" for your marriage, some of them even shouted your name. It felt surreal and you were glad that the veil covered your face, while you bit your tongue. The palace, your new home, on the palatin hill looked even more oppressive than the last time you'd faced it. Your heart was heavy and you could practically feel the stare Geta gave you, but also the one of Caracalla, who followed you two alongside your father and mother as part of the wedding procession. There was something lingering in his eyes, something you didn't notice as you were focused on what lied ahead. Geta leaned towards your ear and whispered.

"Isn't it exciting, my dear...? You will soon be the wife of an Emperor, my wife." He accenturated his last words, almost as if he had to point out that your life center will soon be him and him alone.

"How could i forget. Just as i may never forget the true reason, why i am here. A threat is still a threat", you answered in a low tone, provocative.

But the groom simply chuckled and turned his face towards the cheering masses again, waving to the common folk. He didn't really care about them in any way, but he knew well about the power of such events in the eyes of the plebs. And to accompany this wedding, he'd already ordered games in the collosseum and many festivities around Rome in honor of his special day.

"Let me tell you that i rather enjoy those little outbursts of hatred. I will ask you again, once you enjoy all the privileges an Empress has. I can be a generous man, as long as you're not testing my patience. For now, i simply expect you to smile and show those peasants the beauty of their beloved general's daughter. Let them see that the sun is shining upon them in the presence of Venus."

Words like honey and yet they tasted bitter to you, while his hand was locked on your back, not only to stabilize you on the chariot, but also holding you tightly against his own body. You belonged to him now and he wanted everyone to see that.

_______________________________

“Ubi tu Gaia, Ego Gaius.”

“Ubi tu Gaius, Ego Gaia.”

The words still rang in your head, again and again, even as the music and the chattering of the feast surrounded you. And you still felt the kiss of Geta's lips on yours, even if it was only the beginning. You were considered married now.

Fire and Water. The symbol of life. The moment you stood at the main door of the palace, a matron of honor hold a candle and a bowl of water, as both you and Geta traced your hands over it. He was able to lift your veil at that point, kiss you and carry you over the doorstep - it was that simple in the end. And it had sealed your life forever.

It was necessary and yet the kiss was longer than it should've been as it was the first symbolic union of groom and bride in front of the wedding guests, who cheered and honored them with chanter and congratulations. And even though it was just a kiss on the lips, nothing more, you could practically sense the hunger of Geta, the hunger for more. Of course it had to wait until he got you in his bed the first time, but this would soon become a reality and you didn't know if you were ready for it.

The music and the voices of the people were still a numb background sound as your eyes glanced over the room, while you were sitting right next to your now husband on a lectus, receiving one personal congratulation after another. The palace was richly decorated, even more than the last time you were here for the victory celebrations of your father. Hordes of servants ran around to assure that all the guests had enough of the expensive wine and expansive food, luxuriously presented on a long table with tons of fruits, vegetables, fish as well as expensive, rare meat such as ostrich, peacock and wild deer.

Roman generals, politicians, rich merchants, every patrician from Rome’s upper class had gathered here to celebrate the union between Emperor Geta and his new wife. The wedding gifts ranging from gold, jewelry and silk to exotic animals were piling up in another room, as servants had to walk in and out, every time another guest paid his respect. You gave them your smile and your words of thanks and yet none of it really reached your eyes, as you were still trying to cope with the fact that they now adressed you as 'Empress'. Your eyes went to your parents, which were part of the guests, who participated in the feast and celebrations. But you could clearly see the pain in your father's eyes and the pale face of your mother, who could barely eat something even though she tried to hide her sorrows behind her rehearsed mask of charm and politeness. Their eyes find yours in certain moments and it hurt you the most to see them like this as you knew very well, that your father gave himself the blame for your current situation. But you had already moved on, as it made no sense to cry about the past in any way.

But you were pulled from your thoughts, when it was Emperor Caracalla, who stepped forward to pay his respect to the new wed couple. The twin of Geta with the golden laurel wreath crown on his head was dressed in an ornate that depicted his wealth, expensive embroidered silk in dark blue and purple colors, a stark contrast to his gingerblonde, wild hair. Even though he smiled, you could see that it was a forced one, a bitter smile, hiding his true thoughts. "Brother, i congratulate you and your beautiful wife on your wedding. May the gods bless this union," he spoke out, while Geta already stood up and you followed him.

"Your words mean the most to me, Caracalla. Thank you," his twin answered with a happy smile as he took him into his arms and hugged him tight.

Even though Geta came off as a crual human being sometimes, it was undeniable that he hold nothing but a strong brotherly love for his twin, despite them sharing the power. After Geta, Carcalla turned to you and placed his hands on your cheeks.

"I welcome you to the family," he whispered, before he placed one kiss on each side of your cheek.

It was not an uncommon gesture to do so, especially not as a way to welcome someone in a new household - but Geta's eyes were locked on you two as his brother did so. And you were very aware that something was off in this very moment, as you could feel the slightly trembling fingers of Caracalla on your skin, as if he had to hold himself back. He quickly stepped back, staring into your eyes, while a servant rushed to him, giving the Emperor a small wooden box, carved with all sorts of flowers.

"I thought, ... since you'e now the new Empress of Rome, the only present worth your grace would be a crown that truly underlines your beauty," Caracalla explained and opened the box.

In it was a golden half-round Roman-styled tiara with ornamental decorations, well-crafted with every little detail that catched your eyes. It was stunning, even given all the expensive jewelry with which Geta had hung you, it was still breathtaking. A soft smile appeared on your lips, before you spoke your words.

"This is a wonderful and very generous gift, my Emperor. I thank you dearly". Caracalla's lips shuddered, before he forced an almost innocent smile on them too.

"This tiara is made after my personal request. The artist was assigned to model it after the crown that Empress Poppea wore once. The wife of Emperor Nero. I thought you might like the... historical connotation to it".

Your face grew pale, while you tried your best to keep your smile in place. Geta didn't seemed to realize what his brother meant with that - but you did. You instantly remembered the conversation you had with him at the amphitheater, you remembered the way he looked at you, the desire in his eyes, that was still present in this very moment. And even though his brother did not understand the true meaning behind Caracalla's gift, he did sense the tension that lingered in the air.

"Thank you, brother", he instantly cut the air with his voice, his hands softly taking the tiara out of the box before you could do anything.

Geta positioned himself between you and Caracalla, a very clear symbol that even if he tolerated his brother in your presence and might even be willing to allow him much more freedom than a husband would, it was still Geta, who called you his wife now. You were his. So it was him, who placed the tiara onto your head, where it perfectly fit with the half-bridal hairstyle you wore. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment, before his fingers touched your skin as he pushed one of your straints of hair back in place before leaning down to your ear.

"Just a little more time and then I'll have you all to myself", he whispered, before he turned to his seat again.

There was only one step for this marriage to be fully recognized in the eyes of the gods and it was the wedding night - Geta's prize, which he longed for and Caracalla's hell. The reminder he will not be the first to have you, but his twin.

_______________________________

"Say it! SAY THAT YOU LOVE ME!", he hissed over and over again, pounding harder with each word.

His fingers pressed against the neck of a concubine, while his golden rings tightly pinched into the soft flesh. She wore quite a similar attire than you did today, her hair styled like yours, her face at least reminding Caracalla of you. But that concubine was nothing like you, a dull replacement, a vessel the Emperor needed to get the heat and anger off his mind as he fucked her senseless under the eyes of his entourage of male and female slaves. No one said a word, fear was written in their eyes, because they knew it was one of their owners 'outbursts'. They could see how the young woman tried desperately to get a catch of air, while Caracalla strangled her in his psychotic state, tears running down his cheeks as he did so. Instead of his brother it should've been him to marry you, to fuck you, to love you like you deserved. A goddess amongst the common humans, a Venus. He was Nero and you were his Poppea. At least here in his own chambers, he could play out this fantasy, while the wedding celebration still went on and you were probably on your way to the chambers of his damned twin brother Geta. It needed a lot of sex and a cocktail of ancient drugs to numb his thoughts over this injustice.

"I love you-..., my Emperor", the young woman under him moaned with all the strength that she could find in a situation like that, the fear of losing her life all written on her face.

But those words were the ones Caracalla needed to hear. With a couple of heavy thrusts, he came inside of her, spilling his semen into that concubine like he would've done with you - if he just had the chance. His eyes were still shimmering wet with his tears, while he pulled back, catching his breath for himself in this moment. The young woman layed on the mattress in front of him, still alive, but in a state of bliss and shock, her eyes wet in tears as well. She wasn't able to say something, and even if so, she were not allowed to do anyways. Caracalla's ice-blue eyes stared cold at her naked body, freezing in the moment as he tried to still pretend to himself that it was you laying in front of him. But it wasn't you and it hit his mind now. This woman was just another whore he tried so desperately to numb his thoughts with. Yet the voices in his head grew louder and louder. "Get her out of my sight!", the Emperor ordered.

"I don't want to see this girl ever again. She is nothing compared to her - throw her away, i cannot stand this waste any longer!", he screamed with a hoarse voice, still sobbing.

"Where is Dondus!?"

No one dared to speak up in a situation like that, no one even dared to look at Caracalla. Everything that might anger the young Emperor could end in an immediate death right now. Even the slave that always carried his pet monkey around, simply rushed to the Emperor and handed him over Dondus in silence, before retreating as fast as possible.

"Oh Dondus, all of this is so unfair. Every time i desire something, he has to take it from me. Nothing truly belongs to me and me alone... it is alwas us", he mumbled with a shake in his voice, while he carefully took his monkey and placed him on a pillow as if it was his child.

Caracalla never treated anyone as careful and caring as he treated his pet monkey. In fact, he could be quite cruel, depending on his mood that changed rapidly between weird happiness and irrational anger. This little animal had more importance to him than any human life - well, except for yours of course. And everyone here knew this. The Emperor would never hurt Dondus, but it only took one outburst of hate for a slave or even a patrician to lose their head in an instant.

"I want her, my Poppea ... i cannot stand the thought of not having her...i cannot. I love you her you understand this, Dondus, don't you? No one understands me the way you do. She is an incarnation of Venus."

But Dondus just looked at him with his dark button eyes - how could a monkey understand love? And how could he understand, how much it pain it left in Caracalla.

____________________________

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #general acacius #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #pedro pascal #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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snazzynacho · 7 days ago

Text

— Sick Side

Part 1/?

Emperor Geta x female original character (x Caracalla (one-sided)

Summary: Florentia is betrothed to Geta, but Caracalla is dangerously obsessed with her.

Warnings/tags: 18+ Mentions of STD, mental illness, disease, Forced proximity, forced kissing, referenced/implied past sexual abuse, violent urges, obsessive thoughts, delusions of a disordered mind. No non-con s3x, but it's close. She/her pronouns used. Slight canon divergence. OC is a bit naive and way too nice. Tags may change.

Words: 5k Read on ao3. Masterlist.

A/N: Let’s explore Caracalla’s sick side together (he’s still my babygirl). I initially planned for this to take place in a sort of au/pre-gladiator ii, but then it started making sense to take place during gladiator ii, when Macrinus is being manipulative…so yeah. I've only been able to see the film once so sorry if I get some things wrong. I don't have an editor so sorry if there are typos etc.

Please check the tags before reading.

It is often that Florentia finds herself immersed in the magnificence of the imperial gardens.

She feels it is an honour to walk among the beauty of the statues of the Roman gods and goddesses, and the flowers blooming for all to see. She remembers the Imperial Gardens being talked about with her, before she became wedded to Geta. Everyone has said how wonderful it is, and she can understand why now.

Usually, when she is invited to the palace, Geta’s brother happens to be in the gardens and they walk together when Geta is busy. She likes his company, no more than Geta’s, but he seems sweet. Troubled, but sweet.

Today, they are doing just that.

The air is thick with blooming flowers such as roses and lilies. Caracalla follows a few steps behind her, rambling about nothing in particular, his words spilling out in his usual, disjointed manner.

Caracalla suddenly beams at her, expecting agreement. Having not listened, Florentia does not respond immediately. She does not dislike him, per-sey, but he is so oblivious and his childlike enthusiasm worries her. How is he, Emperor? She knows that his father pleaded with Geta to be Co-Emperors with him, but being in person with the ill emperor is—and she hates to admit it—quite jarring. Her platonic love for him does not diminish, though. Caracalla is going to become her brother-in-law and she will become another one of his carers, as Geta is to him already. Maybe she’s the missing link between them.

“I suppose,” she says, her tone cool, as if she knows what he is talking about.

He nods eagerly, clearly pleased. He believes her lie. “I knew you’d get it. You’re not like the others. You actually understand me.”

Florentia shifts her attention to a butterfly that has fluttered past, its wings reflecting in the sunlight. It lands on a nearby rose, and she absently follows its flight.

“It’s pretty,” she murmurs, more to herself than to him.

“It’s not as pretty as you.” He is serious, his bright blue eyes train on her with an intensity that is both surprising and unsettling.

Florentia blinks, unsure whether to laugh or change the subject in its entirety.

“Yes,” he continues, his gaze softening. “You are like…the sunniest daffodil, the brightest narcissi—though unvain…The smartest rose in the garden. Beautiful, but also clever…A sharp edge to the most elegant sword.”

Florentia is stunned. He is rambling, yet there is an earnestness in his voice, a sweetness beneath. She opens her mouth to respond, but finds herself at a loss.

Caracalla flushes slightly, misinterpreting her silence as disappointment. He feels somewhat dejected. “I…I mean- not that you are weak without a sword, or too harsh like one-”

For the first time, Florentia truly realises that, despite his maddening disease, he is trying. Underneath, there is a sincere man.

Florentia holds his hand carefully. She can feel him trembling. “What you said was beautiful, Caracalla. Don’t go back on your word,”

Caracalla’s eyes widen, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. He has not expected her to respond this way. “You…you think so?” he asks, almost shyly.

“Yes,” she says. “It was…quite sweet.”

His face brightes, a smile grows on his lips. “I knew you’d get it,” he echoed, sounding like a child who had just received praise from a teacher he admired.

Florentia squeezes his hand gently, before letting go carefully. She studies him for a moment, noting the eager light in his eyes, the almost nervous way he was fiddling with the fabric of his toga. Her heart softens. She is so happy to have such a generous brother-in-law already—a new friend.

An orange blur flutters past the corner of her eye. “oh, I think it flew away,” she says sadly.

Caracalla turns to follow her gaze, his expression turning almost boyish. “I’ll catch it!”

He dashes forward, his footsteps heavy on the cobblestones, trying to keep up with the elusive butterfly which seems to take pleasure in taunting him, fluttering away just as he reaches for it, only to settle on a flower just out of his grasp.

“Caracalla!” she giggles as she tries to catch up with him, holding her stola to aid in running.

“I got it! I got it!” he exclaims, lunging forward, arms outstretched. Just as he thinks he has the butterfly cornered, it darts away again, leaving Caracalla grasping at thin air.

Florentia reaches him, catching up with his pursuit. She tries to hold back her laughter, but a chuckle escapes her lips. “You’re scaring it!” she speaks a hint of glee in her voice. “If it wants to fly away, let it. That’s what it does” she calmly says.

Caracalla stands there, slightly out of breath, a dejected expression on his face. “But I wanted to hold it,” he mumbles, his lower lip almost quivering. Florentia cannot help but find him strangely endearing in that moment. He is an emperor, a powerful man, yet he is pouting like a child over a butterfly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, gently caressing. “I am sure you will soon,”

His breath hitches at her touch, his eyes widening at the unexpected affection. He leans his weight into her hand, soaking up her comfort like a flower in the sun.

“You think so?” he asks, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. For once, he sounds almost insecure and vulnerable.

“Yes, I believe so,”

He smiles, a small, genuine smile, his earlier disappointment forgotten. For a while, he simply stays there, savouring the touch of her hand on his face. It is such a stark contrast to the usual spoilt swagger and boldness he usually displays, it catches Florentia off guard.

“It can sense a great friend, as I have with you!” she beams.

A tinge of uncertainty occurs at the pit of his stomach, but he smiles nonetheless.

“Look! There it is again!” she spots the butterfly up ahead again. “Wait here, it’ll slowly come back” she interlocks her arm with his gently, so he doesn't run after the butterfly and scare it away.

He obeys, keeping absolutely still, almost holding his breath, as the butterfly returns. Florentia's strategy seems to be working. The tiny insect flutters closer, seemingly unbothered by their presence now, drawn in by her gentle coaxing.

Caracalla gapes, wonder in his eyes, as the butterfly lands delicately on a nearby flower.

It then flies back up in front of their faces and then lands somewhere they do not expect…her nose.

The butterfly perches calmly on the tip of her nose, its wings gently flutter. The moment is almost magical, the world around them fades away as they focus on the tiny creature on Florentia’s nose.

Caracalla’s eyes widen in surprise. Pure glee on his expression. A small gasp escapes his lips. He tenses to move, to try and grab the butterfly, but one look from Florentia holds him in place.

“Don’t move!” she whispers tersely.

She cannot stop grinning as she looks cross eyed, staring down at the butterfly. Caracalla chuckles softly, his eyes are glued to the scene before him. He’s seen Florentia smile and laugh plenty of times—at parties the emperor’s have thrown and dinners they've presented, which is where Geta and her first met—but this is different. There is something nearly childlike in her wide, joyous smile, in the way her eyes sparkle with wonder—like he.

He can't resist marvelling at the sight before him: a beautiful woman, standing in a sunlight garden, a butterfly perched delicately on her nose, making her look for all the world like a nymph straight out of mythology. A true goddess.

He is simply a man, sharing a serene moment with a captivating woman.

“You look positively adorable,” he murmurs, barely able to keep a laugh at bay.

Florentia gulps but blushes deeply, as the implications of his words sink in. The butterfly stays on her nose.

He cannot stop himself from stepping closer, unable to tear his eyes away from her smiling face. She looks so happy, so unguarded in that moment, and all he wants is to be closer to her.

“You are… lovely,” his voice low, reverent. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers hovering just above her cheek, as if afraid to touch the fragile moment and shatter it.

The butterfly, seemingly unbothered by Caracalla’s movement, remains perched on Florentia’s nose, oblivious to the tension between them. It continues to flutter softly, its wings a flurry of orange, black and white colours.

Caracalla’s hand hovers a moment longer, the desire to touch her is practically overwhelming, but he hesitates. The reality of their situation crashes back into his mind. She is promised to his brother. There are rules, traditions, duties…

Still, he aches to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

“Florentia,” he whispers, his voice almost hoarse. “I… I…” He does not know what to say. He wants to confess his feelings, and his growing liking for her. But the words seem to catch in his throat, trapped in the knowledge that he should not feel this way, not towards Geta’s betrothed.

The butterfly suddenly flies away, snapping them out of this trance. Caracalla’s outstretched hand drops to his side, the moment lost. Florentia steps back, clearing her throat.

He blinks, suddenly self-conscious, his heart still pounds in his chest. He wants to say something, to bring the magic back, but what can he say? He almost confessed, almost crossed a line he knew he shouldn’t.

Instead, he clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “Ah… that was… quite the experience.”

“I’m sorry Caracalla, I do apologise, but I must go.” she abruptly declares.

“What?” Caracalla’s brows furrow as his eyes widen, a pang of panic hitting him in the stomach. “Go? Where? Why?”

He has not expected her to leave so unexpectedly. Just moments ago, she looked so carefree, so happy, and now she was rushing off, her face tight with tension.

“Florentia, wait,” he calls out, reaching for her, a desperate edge to his voice. He cannot let her go, not now, not when he’s just had the smallest taste of the closeness he’s been yearning for.

“It’s uh— a lady thing!” Florentia blurts as she practically sprints away. It is a lie to her but she does not have time to care.

“A… a Lady thing?” Caracalla stands there, dumbfounded, as he watches her hasty retreat. She is obviously flustered, her cheeks rosy and her steps quick. But a ‘Lady thing’? Caracalla did not know much about the female mind, or their struggles, but he did know a thing or two of something they go through every month…

He frowns at the thought of her being in discomfort. He stands there for what feels like ages, hesitating. He listens to the conflicting voices fight in his head. The more primal voice, the one that cannot forget the way her skin had felt under his fingers, the one that craves her touch again, urges him to follow her, to demand answers. But the other part, the rational voice of imperial duty which understands propriety and etiquette, wills him to remain where he is and tells him to let her go, to forget about her and move on.

He is Emperor. He has a reputation to maintain, an image of absolute power and control. Chasing after a woman, especially his Co-Emperor’s—his brother’s—betrothed, is beneath him. Is it not?

Yet, he cannot unsee her soft and joyful face under the butterfly’s touch, like a painting he can admire but cannot touch, for fear of his hands being scolded.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, he spun on his heel and stalks back towards the palace. He will not follow her, not right now. But he will find her, and he will get answers.

As he walks, his head is a tangled mess of unresolved questions, of unfulfilled desires. He cannot shake the persistent image of her face from his mind, the ghost of his fingers on her skin. He wants to deny his feelings, to bury them under the weight of imperial duties, of concubines. But they remain, stubbornly lodged in his heart. Whether he likes it or not, he has found something he has not experienced: a connection, a longing, for a woman he should not even be thinking about.

Caracalla knows this is dangerous territory—a minefield of political intrigue and familial duty. But he has never been one to heed his own instincts, especially when it comes to women and others he desires. He is an Emperor, and he usually gets what he wants. So why not pursue this forbidden desire?

His ill mind is rapidly regurgitating this greedy sequence of craving, need and want. One minute, he is telling himself he needs to stop thinking about her, and the next, he is already inside the palace, his mind still wrestling with these questions.

Every solution he comes up with raises more obstacles. His duty as an emperor, the politics of the empire, the delicate balance of the imperial family… All of it stands in his way, like unconquerable walls. He scowls, his frustration making his steps heavy as he paces the corridors.

And then, a thought occurs to him. A wild, treacherous thought…

What if he removes Geta from the equation?

The idea is almost shocking in its boldness, its audacity. But the more he thinks about it, the more it begins to carve a twisted sort of sense. Geta, his albeit more stronger brother, the one always better than him... He is a hindrance, a thorn in Caracalla’s side. What if he can eliminate the obstacle, and have Florentia all to himself?

He knows such a thought can be seen as treasonous. but then again, who would dare to accuse the emperor? Geta’s vulnerable, sick, brother? Poor poor Caracalla, to be left with such a weight to bore on his back alone...

The idea continues to take root in his mind, its ugliness blossoming into a twisted plan. Kill Geta, claim Florentia, and secure his line of succession. It is rash, it is dangerous, but it is also thrilling.

Rome’s people are already starting to hate Geta. To turn on them. Macrinus says so himself. So what can be worse?

Caracalla allows himself a small sinister smile, his mind already spinning, devising the first steps of the plan. He makes his way deeper into the imperial residence, nodding curtly at the passing guards and slaves. He will need to keep his growing preoccupation hidden, for now. No one can know his intentions, especially his brother. Geta would certainly know something was askew…he has always been annoyingly perceptive.

He eventually reaches his chambers, closing the door behind him. The room was glorious and luxurious, fit for any majesty. Massive, lavish, and impersonal.

He stalks over to a table, his shaky hand immediately reaches for a bottle of alcohol. He pours himself a goblet of red wine, the quality stuff which is normally reserved for high officials and special occasions, but he thinks this is special enough, right? He needs something stronger for today. The liquid is rich and dark. It doesn't quench his thirst for a particular woman, though.

Drinking deeply from the goblet, savouring the bitter taste, he doesn’t realise he has drunk it all until he’s left slurping air. It was certainly a good drink. He feels the wine spreading through his body, warm and invigorating—a dangerous addition to his already unstable state.

He refills his goblet again and slumps onto a plump chair, swishing the dark red liquid around in the golden goblet, watching the swirls and bubbles forming. He leans back in the chair, his mind is still reeling with his decision. He wants Florentia. He wants her with an intensity so strong, that even he is surprised. And if getting her means doing something as reprehensible as killing his own brother, his own flesh and blood, the one he shared a womb with, then so be it.

He will finally have something of his own, and solely his own. He will have Florentia. One way or another, she will be his.

Caracalla entitles himself to bask in thought. He imagines Florentia by his side, in his bed, under his control. No more coy glances, no more stolen moments. Just her, completely his.

He chuckles darkly, how twisted his mind has become.

He pushes himself up from the chair, pacing across the room. He halts when he walks past his large ornate mirror. He turns to face it, studying his reflection. He looks every bit the Emperor: regal, strong, powerful. More, there is something in his bright blue eyes—a madness that has been festering for a long time. It is a look of a man who has incurably lost all tether to the world, cast to inhumane territories, whether he wants or not.

The enormity of what he is planning to do sinks in. It is not just an act of lust or obsession, it is a betrayal of the highest caliber. Killing his own brother, his blood, just to have his wife.

Yet even as he struggles with the magnitude of what he is about to do, his heart still thuds harder in his chest, his blood grows hotter in his veins. He craves Florentia more than he cares about his own brother.

His gaze never tears from himself. It is the look of a man who is willing to do anything to get what he wants.

“Anything,” he mutters to himself, his voice hoarse with determination. “Anything at all…” He wants Florentia, and he will have her. And nothing, not even familial ties or the wrath of the gods, will stand in his way.

The silence of the room is interrupted by a knock on the door. Caracalla snaps out of his thoughts, his eyes narrow in irritation. Who is foolish enough to disturb him when he is in such a brooding mood?

“What?” he barks out, turning from the mirror. He watches as a slave boy - one of the younger ones - timidly pushes open the door, his eyes lower to the floor and his hands quiver by his sides.

“What is it?” Caracalla repeats, his voice gruff. He can already feel his anger rising. He has no patience for this boy’s cowardice. “Speak up when you’re addressing your Emperor!”

The boy gulps visibly, clearly terrified by the thunderous tone of the emperor's voice. As if the God, Jupiter, has possessed him.

The young servant’s voice comes out in a meek whisper. "The…the Lady Florentia is here, Dominus. She…she says she must speak with you. Urgently,”

Caracalla's eyes widen fractionally in surprise. Florentia is here? In his chambers? It is almost too good to be true. But he quickly composes himself, schooling his features into a neutral expression. "Send her in."

The boy nods quickly before scuttling away, the door closing behind him. Caracalla takes a sudden deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. He is about to be alone, in his room, with Florentia. The very thing he has been craving.

He watches the door expectantly, his hands clenching and unclenching are his sides. Please, he silently prays. Please, come in.

There is a moment of silence, it feels like a century, and then the door swings open. His heart lurches before him. Florentia stands there, silhouetted against the brighter lights of the hallway, her figure in her purple stola, elegant and enticing. Her hair is loose, falling past her shoulders, unbraided unlike it was earlier. Has she arranged it down, especially for him? This enchantress…This Goddess… She might as well be holding his heart in her hands, as that is where it belongs.

Clearly, Caracalla does not see the emotion on her face at first—or rather, unemotion. He's too pre-occupied by the woman he wants in his chambers. Does she feel the same way? Has she heard his plea and come to confess her feelings? Her happy face from earlier is replaced with a tense seriousness he has rarely seen from her.

He stands there transfixed, unsure of what to say.

"Caracalla," Florentia begins softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "May I come in?" Her words come out more like a statement than a question, and Caracalla finds himself nodding “yes” without even thinking, as if under a spell. He watches as she steps fully into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

This is it. This is the moment…

“What brings you here at this hour, Florentia?" he asks, egging on her feelings for him he thinks she will admit.

He watches as she moves further into the room, her movements graceful but purposeful. She stills, her back to him for a moment, then she turns around. She meets his gaze, her eyes still serious. "We need to talk," she says simply.

Caracalla senses his heart skip a beat at her serious tone. Whatever she has to say, it is clearly important. He tries to keep his features controlled though the urge to reach out and touch her is nearly overwhelming.

“Talk about what?” he questions.

“Please sit with me, Caracalla. I don’t want this to be more difficult than it already is,” she speaks softly, like a parent to a child.

Caracalla frowns, biting his lip, except her soft soothing voice sends shivers down his spine. He feels so conflicted, a mix of dread and anticipation at her request.

Obliging, he settles on a large chaise nearby, gesturing for her to join him. He scrutinises as Florentia settles across from him, sitting straight, her hands tucked in her lap. She is supposed to sit next to me.

For a moment, neither one speaks. The air is thick with tension, each waiting for the other to break the silence first. Finally, Caracalla cannot bear the suspense any longer. “What is it, Florentia?” he asks, his voice gruff. “You say we need to talk. So speak.”

As their eyes lock, he catches a fracture in her serious expression—a flicker of hurt—and it hits him like a punch in the gut.

He tries to steady his features, to keep the turmoil within him at bay. But he can feel his composure slipping. Where is Dondas?

“Flora—” he says, his voice softer now. But she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“This is difficult enough, Caracalla,” she lets out, her own voice catching slightly. “Please, let me speak. I need to say this.”

He bites back a retort, falling silent. He has never seen her quite like this before…so serious, so vulnerable. It makes him strangely unsettled. He gestures for her to continue, his gaze never leaves her beautiful face.

Florentia takes a deep breath, clearly gathering her thoughts. When she speaks again, her voice has regained its stoic determination.

“Caracalla, I know you have feelings for me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you act around me. And I…” She pauses, a flicker of indecision passing over her features. “I cannot reciprocate those feelings.”

Caracalla leans back, his back hits the chase, as if physically blown by her words. He feels the color drain from his face, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. Is she saying what he thinks she is? She cannot be. Florentia…she is his. How can she not want him?

He attempts to speak, but the words are lodged in his throat. All he can manage is a strangled, “what?”

“Caracalla, this does not mean I do not love you, nor care about you.” she leans forward to carefully hold his hands “I do deeply. Just…not in the romantic sense.”

Caracalla senses her grip on his hands, but he cannot bring himself to look at her. Her words echo in his ears, each syllable is a fresh spike in his heart. She is rejecting him. She cares for him, but only as a friend. Not as a lover, not as he wants her to. It is worse than any physical blow he has ever received.

“But… why?” he manages to croak out, the sound pathetically pleading. His mind shows him flashes of all the times they have spent together these past few months. All those walks in the garden, the polite smiles in passing, the shared memories of the feasts he and his co-emperor have put on. How can she not love me?

“Why?…I…Well, because. Because the gods have someone else for you. Your true love. They’re out there somewhere, just not…here,” Florentia tries to tread around the topic carefully, as she squeezes his hands gently and lovingly.

Her words only fuel his disbelief, his confusion. “The gods?” he echoes, his voice thick with skepticism. “They’ve decided for me who I should love? After deciding to give me this disease?!” his nostrils flare as his anger grows, his expression quickly turns sinister. He can no longer control his unrest.

He cannot fathom how the whims of the gods can dictate something as personal and primal as love. Let alone gift him a lifelong struggle with his disease, which is increasingly becoming more deteriorating day by day, Florentia fears. It seems arbitrary, cruel even.

What have I done to deserve this?

“What I mean is…That, I am not the one for you, and whoever that is will love you so much, as you so deserve. I cannot do so, I am sorry Caracalla.“

He laughs mirthlessly, a hollow sound that reverberates around the room. Love him, as he deserved? He does not care about any other love. He wants HER, and no one else!

Caracalla leans closer, gripping her hand now. Tightly. The pain of her rejection is beginning to give way to something else. Kill Geta. Take Florentia.

“That’s not good enough,” he says, his voice now low and dangerous. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you, Florentia.”

“Want?” she careens back, looking at him in an unreadable expression.

“Yes, want!” Caracalla snaps, his patience wearing thin. He rose from the chaise, pacing restlessly back and forth in front of her. “You say the gods have decreed that there is someone else out there for me. But what do the gods know of love? Of desire?” He stops, turning, pleading. “They are immortal, unfeeling. They do not understand the concept of yearning for someone, to desire them with every fibre of your being.”

Florentia swallows harshly. Her mouth goes dry, and her chest feels heavy. She stares at where he was sitting only a moment ago. “I have desired you from the moment I first laid eyes on you,” Caracalla admits, though Florentia has quickly pieced that together after earlier’s event. His voice is quiet but intense. “Your laugh. Your intelligence. Your beauty. You have invaded my every thought. I cannot think, I cannot sleep, and when I do you are in my dreams. You are all I want, all I fantasise about.”

Tears are brimming his blue eyes, threatening to fall. He takes a step towards her, leaning over to look into her eyes. His eyes burn with an intensity that makes her involuntarily bend her neck away from him. “How dare some gods decide that I cannot have you?” he concludes his speech. His breath is hot on her face, and his possessive words start to scare her.

Her lip wobbles, but she keeps it steady. Her tears cannot fall. Not yet. His passion shocks her and if she were in different circumstances, she may have swooned, but, she is not. Florentia is betrothed to his brother, the one she loves. She stands tall, glaring at him “I have a say in this too, you do realise? Not the Gods, ME. If you loved me as much you claim, then you would do anything for me to be happy,”

Her firmness and strength stuns him momentarily. He did expect her to back down, to be overwhelmed by the force of his passion. But there she is, standing strong against him, her eyes blazing with a fire to match his own.

He takes a step closer, their bodies almost touching. “I would do anything to make you happy,” he says. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Anything at all. You know that,” he repeats. His shaking hands want to reach out for her.

“Then let me go.” she whispers as her hand reaches for his trembling ones, as if reading his mind, which only makes his delusion of her secretly loving him thrive. We are so in sync, as lovers become one.

His breath catches in his throat. Let her go? It is the last thing he wants to do. But her words hold him in a peculiar sort of trance, as if he is physically incapable of disobeying. “I cannot,” he manages, his voice rough, cheeks rosy and wet with tears. “You cannot ask me to do that, Florentia, you are…” He trails off, his eyes search hers desperately. “You are the only person who makes me feel alive. You cannot ask me to give that up.”

“I will still be here for you. We will still walk together in the garden, see each other over meals, be friends…and when I am married—”

He cuts her off, shaking his head as his hands grip hers tightly. “That’s not enough. I want more than that! I want more of you!”

He steps even closer, their bodies are now pressed against each other. He can feel the heat of her, smell the sweet scent of her skin. The nearness only intensified his need, his longing, his hunger.

“Please, Caracalla, I do not know what to say—”

“Do not speak, then.” He cuts her off again, his voice harsh. Then, his lips are on hers, bruising, possessive. He kisses her with desperation and a need that borders on feral.

Her stomach drops, plunging into a deep uneasy feeling. Her eyes widen as his lips are pressing against hers. She whimpers, not in pleasure, but in shock and hurt.

He does not notice her whimper, deafened by the pounding of his own heart, the roaring in his ears. He only feels the softness of her plump lips, the heat of her breath. He presses forward, his hands moving to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Florentia finally comes to terms with what is happening and grips his shoulders, pushing him away. The unexpected resistance snaps him out of his haze of desire. He lifts his head slightly, meeting her gaze with a mix of surprise and irritation. “What are you doing?” he demands, his voice strained. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“I am scared,” she voices subconsciously, her thought spills out of her, her voice wobbily. “You are frightening me,” It is not the first time a man has acted this way around her. Disturbed her. It has never occurred to her that Caracalla could be the one to continue that cycle, until now. Perhaps she has been naive…

She has to flee before it twists into a situation she never wants to experience again.

Caracalla’s gaze softens at her admission. The anger that has flared up at her resistance fades, replaced with a mix of confusion and tenderness. “Scared?” he recites incredulously. “Why? It is only me, Florentia. I am not going to hurt you.”

Florentia motions backwards, looking at him stunned. But Caracalla doesn't quite understand why. He follows her stare, his confusion deepening. He glances behind him, but sees nothing there that would possibly unnerve her. “What is it?” he asks, his brows furrowing, and his leg taunts, wanting to stamp it down like an irritable child. His impatience is returning, his desire for her opposing with his bewilderment.

“You…” she shakes her head, holding one hand on her chest as she braces a sob. “You are…different.” she takes a deep breath and blinks, hoping to see the sweet side of him from earlier rather than the sick side when she opens her eyes again.

Caracalla takes a step back, withdrawing slightly. Her words hit him like a cold splash of water, sobering him. “Different? How?” he asks gruffly.

His heart is still pounding with a mixture of desire and frustration, but her apparent fear is giving him room to think.

Florentia opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out before she practically leaps out of the room. Her legs working faster than her thoughts

He watches her go, confusion and anger warring within him. “Wait...” he manages to let out, but she is already gone. Caracalla is frozen in place, left alone with a whirlwind of emotions. Confusion, desire, hurt, anger—he feels them all intensely. But over everything is the caving feeling of rejection. Florentia was so close, the taste of her still on his lips, yet, she pulled back as if horrified of him. Everyone always sees me as a monster.

He ran a trembling hand through his red hair, his breathing ragged. What has just happened? How did everything go so wrong, so fast? He wants to go after her, to force her to explain why she has run away. But he also fears whatever it is about him that has frightened her.

Feeling restless and agitated, he paces his room again. He tries to tell himself that it was her uncertainty that made her react that way, not disgust or fear but the thought refuses to take root. Every time he reaches for it, it slips through his fingers like smoke while her terrified expression flashes in his mind as clear as day. “I am scared,” The scene replays over and over in his head, analysing every moment. It is like a neverending waking nightmare.

Her flowery scent still lingers in his chambers, and instead of calming him down as it usually does, it is starting to give him a headache, taunting him as if she is still in the room with him. He pictures how the scene could have happened—how it should have proceeded…with Florentia kissing him back, with equal desire and passion. Her hands gliding along his body, his chest. The flutters of his stomach when her hands cradle his cheeks, sliding them down to disrobe him before setting him down on his bed. Then, he feistily tosses her over so he is on top, rips her clothes off, and greedily takes her there and then, feeling how tight and wet she is. All for him.

Gods, he cannot even think straight. His cock reacts to his dirty thoughts which leaves him flustered and irate at the situation. No concubine can cure this.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated. <3

Part 2 soon. 🤞

THIS WAS TENSE ASF. (it gets worse)

#snazzynacho fanfics #emperor caracalla #caracalla #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor geta #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta fanfic #emperor geta x reader #fanfic #minors dni #fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator ii spoilers

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m1sa-w1sa · 9 months ago

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Can you do all the fatui their react to that y/n was hiding traumatised past and that blaming them self and hide it all , and of course they comfort y/n beaxuse they always help the fauti with their problems

(Okie dokie! Coming right up!)

You are mine and I am yours

Pierro

•He probably found out if you told him upfront or he found you crying someplace

•when he told you spit it out he was shocked it would’ve been torture to go through that

•even if he might not be the best he would try everything that he has to make you feel better

•If it you were dating he would hold you close by your waist whispering nothing but sweetness in your ears

•If platonic he would make you a cup of tea or your favorite dish letting you cry on his shoulder

“Everything is alright dear..”

Capitano

•He would know somethings wrong when you started acting distant, maybe slightly sloppy on missions, more sleepy

•If he saw you crying he would quickly ask whats wrong his mask covering his slight worried expression

•If Romantic he would pull you close wrapping you in his coat with him sitting on his lap or just standing with him

•If Platonic he would take you for a walk maybe get you ice cream or something to eat after to make you feel better making sure to check in with you time to time

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

Dottore

•So you guys had little meet ups when your not with the other harbingers but if you miss that meet up he would go find you himself

•If he saw you in your room he would tilt your chin up as you tell him everything

•If romantic he would stay with you laying your head in his lap while doing his paperwork

•If Platonic he would hug you just really that patting your back soothing you slowly

(Your gonna have to know him for a really ling time for him to act like this towards you)

“Your foolish for not saying anything”

Columbina

•If you two were by each other sides alot she would quickly notice your different personality she would confront you

•When you tell her either platonic or romantic she would sing you a soft lullaby with your head on her lap as she would just caress your cheek softly

“Poor little you why didnt you say anything?”

Arlecchino

•Arlecchini works with kids so its noticed rather quickly

•It doesnt just go away lightly Alrecchibo sits and talks to you

•Romantic she would hold you on her lap letting you talk

•Platonic she would make your favorite food or drink

“You know I care..”

Punichella

I think I spelt his name wrong

• I dont really know how to write for him so ill try my best

•He is kinda like the cool grandpa that gives you good advice so im not going ti do a romantic for him

•He would make you tae and sit and chat with you letting you cry on his shoulder

Scaramouche

•Hes more colder than the others but if your with him most of the time hes going to notice

•When he finds out he would make you speak trying to get every single thing off of your chest, If romantic he would sit and cuddle you, kicking out anyone else that comes in

•A little same with Platonic hut your just next to him holding his hand tightly

“Idiot..”

Sandrone

•Again with her going in depth is a little hard for me but anyways!!!

•She would confront you immediately asking you questions about it

•Both romantic or Platonic she would carry you with her on her robot holding your hard caressing the back of your hand with her thumb softly

“Quite stupid to not say something..”

La Signora

•She loves you lots Platonic or Romantic

•she knows what pain feels like same with Scaramouche

•Either Platonic or romantic she would play with your hair brushing it out, doing different styles, adding accessories anything just to clam you down

“Your hair is tangled”

Pantalone

•So when he found out he would be worried for you

•He would ask you to tell him every single thing you like to tell him

•Both Romanic and Platonic he would take you shopping, spoiling your rotten only difference if romantic he would also take you on dates aswell

“Pick anything you like darling..”

Tartaglia

•He has siblings so he also notices quite quickly so he would find you as soon as possible to sit you down to have a chat

•He would cuddle you for maybe more than a hour as you talk patting your back, caressing your hair

•He would spoil you aswell and if romantic he would take you on dates aswell!!

(Finished!! This was fun but also pretty hard to write but i uope u enjoyed!)

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the-kr8tor · 7 months ago

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May I have Bitter Orange in a ⭐ bottle please? The start of R and Hobie being handcuffed together before they turned, with R succumbing to the effects of the virus much faster than Hobie due to his spiderpowers, so for a bit he just watches his love become a husk of who they were before he too is a zombie?

*laughs evily* Yessss I've been waiting for a request exactly like this hwjsjwijsjaj hope you like it!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k (whoops)

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), description of illness, TW blood, CW injury, TW death, zombie AU, Zombie apocalypse AU. Angst, Hurt/comfort

A prequel to this one shot

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The air is nice and cool on your face as you walk hand in hand with Hobie in the barren street. There's rows upon rows of abandoned houses, all in different stages of decay from both scavengers trying to survive and time itself proving to be the worst enemy. But it's on your side for now for it has given you infinite time to be with him.

Hobie's hand is suddenly on your scarf, fingers gingerly sliding the fuzzy material up to your chin. He smiles at you, the sun blindingly light behind him. Despite the apocalypse, he still looks just as handsome. He has new shallow scars on his chin where a stubble is slowly growing, hair a bit of a mess but beautiful nonetheless. You've once told him after a lucky find of one whole pound of chocolate pudding that he's apocalypse chic, that he makes the end of the world look good. To which he laughed and shoved a spoonful of chocolate pudding in your mouth. Compared to him you probably look like a mess, you wouldn't know, you've ignored mirrors ever since you ran out of shampoo a few days ago.

“What are you thinkin' ‘bout, gorgeous?” He tugs you closer to him, the crowbar hanging from his backpack clinks against the machete next to it.

“That I really need shampoo, and that you look unfairly handsome in this light.”

Chuckling, he intertwined his fingers around your own. It could mean death for the both of you if the undead suddenly lunges and he doesn't have enough time to take his hand away from you. But he thinks it's alright for him to do, to indulge himself to your touch since the entire place is empty save for a few dead cars and scattered luggages left by people.

“You should see yourself in my eyes, lovie, the greasy hair is doin' a lot for me.”

“Oh yeah? You like it when you pat my head and you get petrol on your hand?”

“We need petrol, d’you think if I bunch up your hair and squeeze it I can collect the oil?”

You nudge him playfully, “you're an ass.”

“Yeah, well, you're stuck with this arse.”

Your mind goes back to your friends and family you've left behind. “Do you think they're okay?”

“'m sure they are, Yuri's got them, and they have Ned, he'll whip them into shape. ‘sides, we're almost at James’, if I was them I'd stay there.” He adjusts his hold on his pack and guitar. “We'll find them.”

You smile, nuzzling his bicep for his own reassurance, knowing that he also worries for them. “You're right. They're probably doing better than us.”

“Yeah,” he pecks the crown of your head. “They're living like kings, I bet.”

You two stop in front of a large house, complete with white marble steps and tall roman columns. “James' dad never had taste, huh?”

Hobie snorts, “his son took all of it. C’mon, then.” He leads you on the porch, trying the door, wishing that it was locked because if it is it means that someone's inside, that they're surviving and waiting for the two of you. To his despair, the door opens without a problem.

Hobie looks back at you having the same expression. “It's okay,” you try to be optimistic, “maybe they left a message for us.”

He nods, “yeah, maybe.” Crossing the abandoned space, he takes his guitar from his back to strum a tune. When he doesn't hear stumbling or any rattling from anywhere inside the house, he continues forward, but his guard is still up. “We might as well get some supplies while we're ‘ere.”

“Yeah, there might be some left in here.” You give him a small smile. “How about we split up? This place is too big, it'll take us forever to comb over this place.”

Hobie considers it for a moment. The place seems pristine except for the furniture and cabinets that are picked clean, so he deems it safe. “Okay, just…” you walk to his side, rubbing his arms, smiling sweetly at him even though he probably doesn't smell the best. “...keep your knife close.”

“I will keep my knife close,” you repeat his words, “and I'll stay alert.” Poking at his chest, you peck the frown off his lips. “And you keep safe.”

He's still apprehensive, but he knows you can hold your own. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fully, smooching until you're giggling. “We’ll meet back ‘ere in fifteen.”

“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” You mock salute. “Any special requests?”

“Chocolates.”

“I said a request, not wishful thinking.” You tease, he has an urge to kiss you again.

“Towels, the nice fluffy ones.” You slide your hands away from him, to which he already longs for.

“Got it! I bet James has a ton of them.” You wink, knife in hand, walking away from him.

Hobie watches your retreating back, tamping down his anxieties. He searches upstairs, grinning at James' familiar room. His posters and messy floors remain untouched, the bed still looking like it was tossed around by a tornado. He almost cries at the picture frame on the bedside table containing his band's smiling faces plus you who's embracing him.

Turning the frame around, he takes the picture and pockets it to show to you. After rummaging James' room, he takes a few shirts and pants for him and you. He even finds a pair of silk pajamas that he knows you'll love. A piercing scream echoes around the house, he immediately bolts downstairs, heavy footsteps thudding across marble floors.

You're on your back, fighting for your life while the undead on top of you tried to get a chunk out of you. It all stops when Hobie's guitar connects to the corpse's skull in a sickening crunch of metal and bone.

You scramble away, neck and arm in pain. Hobie's wide eyes meet yours just as when the back door bursts open, revealing a whole horde of the undead. Panicking, he yanks you up, holding your hand, running outside to more of the shambling dead.

“Fuck!”

“Hobie!”

“Just hold on!” His hand is tight around yours, you try to run at his pace, panic in your veins, adrenaline in his.

It feels like you've been running forever, Hobie sees an opening hidden in an alley. He can climb on his own without a ladder but you can't. So he leads you towards the empty alley while the rotten, decayed corpses of once human beings run after you at full speed.

Hobie jumps to take down an emergency ladder, without missing a beat, he grabs your waist and throws you on the ladder. You climb, but the pain in your arm gets worse so you're slower but you still try for him.

The undead finally gets to the alley, you don't dare to look down. Once you're on the rooftop, you peek below to see him struggling to get up the ladder, he's halfway with a handful of zombies dangling on his leg.

You scream his name but it's too late, one of the undead has bitten a chunk of his leg as he tries to kick the former human off the ladder where he's desperately trying to climb to. You wish he didn't run out of web fluid, you wish the world didn't end, you wish the throbbing pain on your arm is just muscle spasm, but the warm crimson seeping out of teeth marks says differently.

With a sickly crunch, the zombie falls down the ladder and into the rotten horde. Hobie climbs up quickly back to you, hands immediately grasping on to you.

“Did it get you?!” You yell, still in denial, frantically checking in hopes that his boot saved him. Your heart falls into your stomach at the sight of broken skin, blood staining your fingers where you hold the hem of his trousers away to get a better look. You're frozen on the spot, tears clinging to your lashes. “Hobie,” you gasp, taking off your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet around and above the bite. “Fuck—!”

“You okay?!” He does the same to you, heaving, ripping off your sleeves like a madman trying to find the secrets hidden in your skin. He prays that he finds none. His eyes widen, terrified, broken hearted, shaking his head, refusing the fact that you're infected. “No,” he shakes his head again, closing the torn up cloth around the slowly rotting wound. “It's just a scratch, love, y-you’re not—”

“Hobie…” you smile bitterly, eyes mirroring his own. He rips the hem of his shirt, using the cloth to wrap it around your arm, just above the wound in an attempt to stop the spread. He ignores the stinging pain on his leg. “Hobie, stop, it's—”

“We can still stop it!” He yells desperately, tying the cloth tightly. “It's just a scratch.”

“Hobie, please.” You hold his trembling hands, “it has been ten minutes.” He refuses, you squeeze his hand weakly, the virus already taking hold. Slowly killing you. “And—” with trembling hands, you show him the gaping bite on your neck, oozing dark decaying blood. He choked on a sob. “B-but there's a chance for you, your abilities might've made you immune—”

“No, if you're goin’, ‘m goin’” He stands up, not giving up on you. “There's a chemist’s ‘ere, maybe if w-we…” he puts on a brave face amidst the impending doom and rotten flesh that stings his nose. “Maybe there's somethin’ there.” Hand reaching down, you smile up at him, orange and pink hues from the sky dancing around your face. “C-can you get up?” His voice breaks, chest heaving. “I can carry you. Don't make me carry you, love.”

You slide your hand onto his own. “Hobie,” your voice is soft above the mindless groaning below. His eyes beg you to move. So you do. “Okay,” with a single word, you bring him hope.

With divided effort, you both make it towards the roof of the pharmacy. He was uncharacteristically silent the whole way, but his hand never left yours. His eyes never met with your wounds that's slowly festering. You feel it inside you, the fever, the virus that's eating at you, spreading throughout your body, gnawing at every bit of your warmth like a seed taking root. Hobie feels it too, he's terrified that you're experiencing it too. It's his worst fears came to life only because he wasn't fast enough.

Opening the creaky door, he hopes that it's devoid of the undead. Like he's not on the brink of eating flesh, he does his usual prep. He strums his guitar softly to attract any walking corpses waiting behind doors, when none comes out, he cracks the door wider. With his torch, he lights up the way. But he doesn't feel your presence behind him.

Looking over his shoulder was a mistake, he finds you hunched over the doorway, groaning quietly, nails clawing at the throbbing wound around your neck. That's the moment he knew that you'd go out before him. For the first time, he curses his gifts.

Slowly, he crosses the distance towards you, shaking hands grasping your shoulders. You're warm, incredibly warm. “Love?” He could cry, but he doesn't want you to see his sorrow.

You sniff, tears streaming down your face from the pain and the tragedy of it all. You've accepted that you were infected, but not him, you'd take the virus from him too if you could. “I'm s-sorry, so fucking sorry. I should've—”

“Oi, none of that, yeah? You're gonna be fine.” He says it to convince himself. “You'll be back on your feet tomorrow and by then we'll see Yuri and the others.” Nodding, he takes you by your arm, careful of making your wounds worse. There's blood sticking to his clothes, seeping through his clammy skin. He hates the fact that it was yours. Bringing you behind the counter, you almost keep over. “I've got you, I've got you.” He says it against your temple like a prayer.

“H-Hobie.” You sob, salty tears marring your pretty face. “I can't— it hurts.” The gnawing feeling gets worse, as if a chainsaw is ripping you apart from the inside. “It's so hot, I–I can't breathe.”

“O-okay, I'll set you down ‘ere, get you comfortable. There's some fever meds over there. It'll help.” His hazel eyes pleads for anyone, anything that'll help you. He helps you sit down, and you immediately lie down on the cold tiles. “Do you want a blanket?”

“N-no,” you're hot and cold at the same time. “I don't know.” You look up at him, he sees the light in your eyes fading. “I don't feel so good, Hobs.”

Hobie could only look away from you, inhaling, exhaling but it doesn't feel like he's breathing right. He kneels down, setting his guitar next to you, palm placed on your forehead. “This is nothing, love.” He tries to smile, but fails. “Remember when you had the flu?” You nod weakly, “you were a fuckin' beast, you beat it on your own in just a few days.”

Even though you feel your heartbeat going faster and then slowing down in a weird rhythm like a heartbeat monitor going haywire, you smile for him. “I was, wasn't I?”

He rubs your bicep, under his touch, he feels your muscle twitch. “Yeah, you still are.”

You chuckle softly, tears sliding down your cheeks and into the cold tiles. “Okay, get me the meds.”

“That's my girl,” laying his forehead atop yours, he hopes that he'll take your pain away with the simple gesture, but it's futile. “I'll be back, I promise.”

“Don’t make me wait.”

Smiling, he squeezes your arm. “Never.” Standing up, he rummages through the entire place for the pills you need. Crouching down to check under the broken shelves, climbing up on the walls to get a bird's eye view, and all the while ignoring his own pain. It's slim pickings, but he manages to find a single bottle of tylenol that has rolled under a shelf, it's not enough, but it'll do.

With a victorious sigh, he quickly makes it to the counter, rounding the corner, he sees you wheezing, catching your breath and with blood leaking out from your eyes and ears. “No, no, no!” He takes you in his arms, making you sit up. “I've got the meds, love. Oi, open your eyes for me.” You crack one eye open tiredly. “That's it, good job.” He almost cries when you smile at him through the thick fog of illness.

“G-good job,” you murmur, he doesn't know if you're delirious or you're congratulating him for finding the medicine.

“Bottoms up.” He brings two pills to your mouth, to which you gladly take. Giving you his canteen, you drink most of it, downing the tepid water. “That's good, see, you're already gettin' better.”

You shake your head weakly, barely opening your eyes. “Thanks to you, Hobie.”

“Yeah, thanks to me.” He tries to joke but it comes out choked when blood still leaks out of your tear ducts. Sitting next to you, he now feels his temperature rise so he takes the same amount of pills as you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, hand shakily reaching towards his own. “I'm sorry.”

He almost breaks down at your apology. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.” Meeting your hand halfway, he intertwined his fingers with yours, you're cold now, frozen under his hold. “D’you want that blanket now?”

“Please,” you wheeze out.

Hobie obliges, taking a thick blanket from his pack and then draping it around you as if it'll protect you from the infection. “There, nice and cozy, eh?”

“Thank you,” he feels your crimson fall down on his collar. “For everything.”

“None of that, Y/N, please. None of that.”

“I still want to talk to you.” Your voice is soft and small. “I still want to stay with you.”

Hobie brings your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle softly. “And we will be, after this—” a sob escapes from him. “After this, we'll be together, yeah? Just like how we talked about.”

“Forever and ever?”

His tears flow freely, “yeah, forever and ever.” After a beat of silence, he fears the worst. “Love?”

You cough, he sighs in relief. “Still here, Hobs, not leaving yet.”

“Not yet,” embracing you, he lays his chin atop your head, you're made comfortable in his hold. Home, you feel like you're back home in his houseboat, watching a shitty romcom while he rambles on about his patrol. You want to be back there again. He wants to be back there again. “Can I say somethin'?”

You hum into his chest, squeezing his hand tighter but your sickness, he barely felt it.

“I don't want to…” he could barely say it. “I don't want to kill you. ‘m sorry, I know we talked about it—”

You lean up, he's met with milky eyes, he knows you can barely see him now. “Then don't, I don't want you to—” you pause, clinging to humanity. “— to feel that before you go.”

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, crying, weeping into your skin. “I couldn't save you, ‘m so fuckin' sorry, love, ‘m so sorry.” He shakes, you gather enough strength to embrace him and bury yourself in his chest, letting his scent waft around you for comfort.

“Don't apologize, nothin' to apologize for.”

He sniffs, peppering your face with heavy weakened kisses. “Oi, don't use my own words against me.”

You smile against the rough leather of his jacket. “Can I say something?”

“Go,” he can practically see the countdown. “We have all the time in the world, love.” There's something warm leaking out of his eyes and ears. He's catching up to you.

You'd laugh but you can feel your life slipping through your fingers. “When we turn, I don't want us to be separated.”

“What do you propose?” He tries to inhale but he could only let out a sickening cough.

“Tie our hands together…really tight.” Your words fade away, but you still hold on.

“I've got rope here, I can do it now.”

“But I'll turn first, Hobie, I-I might—”

“It'll be my honour to be your first meal.”

“I'd laugh if we weren't dying right now.” Eyes too tired to open, you feel the rough rope around your wrist, and the unmistakable sound of a knot getting tied. You smile for the last time when you feel his fingers wrap around your own. “I love you.”

“How's that? Too tight?” He whispers close, he feels you slipping away, “Y/N? Love?” he breaks down when your hand falls limp around his own. “Not yet, please, not yet.” He holds you, rocking you back and forth like a babe needing to be held. Your heart doesn't beat in sync with his anymore. “C’mon, not yet, we still have to find the rest of the band, right?” His eyes cloud over, cold taking root inside his entire body. “Say somethin’, fuck!” He yells with all his might, “I love you, fuck, please wake up.”

Closing his eyes, he wraps you in what's left of his warmth. “Don't go, please.” Hobie pleads and cries until he can no longer breathe the same air as you. His last thoughts were of you.

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stfreekeddie · 13 days ago

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Traitorous || An Emperor Geta Fanfic

《21+ || Sexual themes, violence, mentions of abuse》

"I would burn this empire to the ground and bathe in the ashes-"

The breath caught by the Emperor was sharp.

"If it meant I could cradle her face in my blood-covered hands."

8 months earlier...

A tense hand rubbed over his mouth in thought, aware that the very foundation of Rome and everything he and his brother - Caracalla - had built was being threatened. Something; no, someone, was leading a rebellion against their rule. Who? That was the very thing keeping Geta up at night. Tossing, turning, writhing with the idea that he could lose his power. His purpose.

That could not stand to be threatened.

The last month had been a series of small attacks from this rebel group, dwindling the guards of the palace. Chipping away at the barrier that kept the twins safe. Just that alone was enough for concern on behalf of the brothers. If their defenses crumbled under these attacks, what did they have to keep them from succumbing to their fate? Geta's thought was to figure out who the leader of this coup was, eliminate from the top so those who follow would bow without anyone to give their orders. Yes, that would have to be the case. Much like a hive - destroy the queen, and the workers perish. A wry grin now upturned his lips, mentally patting himself on the back for such a strategy. A stroke to his own ego.

"I do not understand why you worry yourself sick, brother."

Caracalla's voice had broken the trance he was unaware of even being in until his eyes refocused, landing on his eldest brother, "We have had riots break out before." Geta's words were edged in hesitation, "But this.. this feels different." The words fell hushed from his lips. Even so, Caracalla looked unphased, "I do not understand how this is any different. We take people and make them guards, we strengthen our forces even it requires the sacrifice of desperate men to fight." His smirk was jeering, something that made Geta narrow his eyes. How could his brother think it was so simple? Of course, his illness did cripple his mind. Perhaps he could chalk it up to such a case. Still, he would be lying to himself and the gods if he said it didn't infuriate him to some degree.

"This threat lingers much thicker than previous conflicts, brother." His words began with heavy tenebrous to his voice, "It is not as simple as seeking lambs for slaughter in the form of roman men desperate for some kind of change or purpose. I sense this holds greater merit." He reaffirmed to Caracalla, "Much greater. One our lives may depend on."

Again, Caracalla was dismissive, illustrating as such with a wave of his bejeweled hand, "Nonsense. Rather you should be focused on the orders of the senate. Did they or did they not say you needed to seek a wife?" The words from his lips were followed by a wicked grin, "And there are many roman women to test the.. eligibility of." A sound that was nothing short of a cackle left him seconds after. The way Geta's brows knitted together was clear he was the furthest from amused at his twin's blase attitude towards this very real situation.

Of course, the senate did make it very clear that Geta was to begin his search for a wife. A woman worthy to bore a child that would one day be his heir. That is, if the empire still stood with this group so hellbent on seeing its downfall. Well, at least the downfall of Caracalla and himself. Geta couldn't help but feel like he was in a race against time. Against a war on his own doorstep. Looming the very threshold he grew to take for granted as safe. The senate still had their demands. Requirements to be met. A wife and an heir was just a necessity in the Emperor duties.

"The last thing I am worried about is the fertility of a woman." Admitting that aloud was foreign on his tongue, but it simply showed just how much this issue was taking his mind away. Tapping into a fear he never truly vocalized. A fear of being powerless. Forgotten. In this case, fear overrode any semblance of lust or that akin to it. Maybe that was the curse of having a mind far more stable than his sibling's though not by much.

A slow but shaky exhale left his parted lips, his jaw setting in a harsh line after, "Very well. If the senate craves the union and legacy of an Emperor, I have no choice but to oblige." Geta conceded much to the protest of his paranoia. The conflict will have to be laid to wait. At least for now.

"I will find myself a suitable bride."

#writing #author #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #joseph quinn #joseph anthony francis quinn #fanfic #romance #smut #follow

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ijustreallylikepirates · 5 months ago

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DCASE20 !!!

-“this episode has sensitive topics” that’s not concerning at all odd nation cartoons not concerning at all

-TEAM JAKE LETS GO

-yall don’t wanna hear me cheering for Jake rn

-bruh Emily stop dragging Trevor like that

-EMILY WTH ARE YOU DOING

-WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO THROW TREVOR OFF THE CLIFF???

-bruh Emily I can’t like you girl

-Ally and Jake actually getting along what a miracle

-Riya you don’t deserve that fucking breakfast

-NO WHAT

-JAKE TRIED TO KILL HIMSELF???

-POOKIE WHY

-“very sus of you to say Riya” EEWWWWW

-I can’t stand Riya

-TJ I SEE YOU

-WE LOVE YOU TOMJAKE FANKID

-Riya having a tiny fanbase is wild 💀

-Jake having the biggest fanbase is so iconic

-THE JAKE CHEER???

-LET ME GET IN ON THAT

-LET THEM DO THE FUCKING JAKE CHEER OML

-YEAH JAKE WE LOVE YOU

-OH YEAH ROMAN COLOSSEUM

-WE LIVE WE LOVE WE LIE

- LMAO ALLY GETTING CUT OFF WITH THE BAG IM GONE

-AW DEREK REMINISCING ON HIS TIME WITH TREVOR IN SEASON ONE

-TREVEK PARALLEL???

-I’m so normal about them (I’m not)

-NOT TREVOR IN THE FUCKING TREE IM DEAD

-“aw son of a bi…scuit” you’re gay

-I just made up a trevek kiss chant

-yall definitely don’t want to hear it

-FIORE IN A BUN THATS SO CUTE

-“watch it 😡” eat him up girl pls i hate you too but keep humbling him for your dad

-“I love walking across shaky planks 😅😰” LMAOOO

-the romantic tension between Riya and Yul is insane

-YAY

-I LOVE WHEN YUL FALLS DOWN FROM GREAT HEIGHTS

-what happened to Yul’s burn did shit just disappear???

-YEAH JAKE YOU EAT

-Emily

-the sigh that I just sighed rn is insane

-“my nails are getting callouses 😩😡” are you sure you’re straight honey

-no way these two are just fighting like children rn

-this challenge is giving season 1 finale

-THERE WERENT SUPPOSED TO HE SCORPIONS???

-I’m gonna hunt Emily down

-PLEASE

-PLEASE GET RIYA OUT

-THE WAY YUL SCREAMS MAKES ME GIGGLE I CANT DO IT

-ITS SO FUCKING FUNNY

-why are these two still running with their arms up like npcs wtf

-yul why the fuck did you jinx that

-JAKE???

-JAKE ISTG

-TREVOR AND DEREK THE ICONS

-ICONIC DUO

-EW DEREK THAT LAUGH

-Emily go away stop being a bitch for two seconds

-“and I love him” THE GAYS THE SILLIES THE HOMOSEXUALS

-DEREK LOVES HIM TOO HE BLUSHED HE LIKED THAT KISS

-AW YEAH JAKE YOU GOT THIS

-YEAH GRAN EMILY TAKE HER AWAY

-AW WERE TREVOR AND DEREK HOLDING HANDS

-PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GET RIYA OUT

-IM BEGGING PLEASEEEEEE

-Ally you eat

-I love you girl keep slaying

-JAKE NO

-I HAD FAITH IN YOU DUDE

-I BELIEVED IN YOU

-COME ON HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

-JAIDEN I LOVE THEM

-ALLY THANK YOU FOR LOSING YOUR GEMS

-JAKE I BELIEVE IN YOU STILL

-LETS GO JAKE

-WE WONNN

-TREVOR DEREK KISS RN

-AW THEYRE HOLDING HANDS THE SILLIES ILL EXPLODE RN

-KRISTAL YOU BITCH THEY WERE ABOUT TO KISS

I LOVED THIS EPISODE

JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE

TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK TREVEK

TEAM JAKE COME ON JAKE LETS GO

#disventure camp #disventure camp all stars #odd nation cartoons

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hughiecampbelle · 2 years ago

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Succession Preference: Having A S/O With Chronic Illness

Requested: Hiiii love ♥️ You've been working yourself absolutely ragged trying to get content out here, so if you can't get to this that's totally okay, please take the time you need for yourself! If you're still doing requests, could you possibly do what the Roy siblings would be like with a partner that has a chronic illness? If not, all good! Sending love!!! - anon

A/N: Thank you my love, you're too kind!!! I really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Connor tries his best to help, though he's not that knowledgeable about chronic illness. He thinks that tea and eating right and lots of sleep will help, and maybe it does a little, but it's definitely no cure. Eventually, after the third pot of tea, you have to sit him down and explain that while it helps, maybe, it's not going to get rid of your pain. You know he has the best intentions possible. You've built a routine over the years, a plan of action for when things get bad. Over time he picks up on this and always remains one step ahead of you just in case. Connor has never really dealt with anything like this before, so he has a lot of questions. He can't understand why there isn't some magic pill or shot to make your pain go away completely. You've accepted long ago that there isn't one. It's just how it is. Sometimes it gets to you, but you try not to let the disappointment and frustration control you.

Kendall has no idea how to handle this. He panics when his kids or siblings get sick, so dealing with something that is chronic feels like a beast he can't tame. Before he has the chance to freak out during a flare up and make things worse, you gently talk him down, reminding him that this isn't your first time dealing with this. Afterwards, he kind of relaxes, though he worries whatever he does he's going to make it worse. He becomes scared to touch you, to cuddle, to hold your hand. You have to tell him you're not a porcelain doll, that he can touch you and love you like he always has. He has everything you need in his apartment, asking you for a list of what you use when you're going through it, so that you can ease your pain even when you're with him, so that you don't have to suffer. He checks in with you a lot, wanting to be sure you're not in pain and when you are it's manageable.

Shiv knows exactly how to help during a flare up. She sort of panicked the first time you illness was really acting up in front of her. She wasn't sure what to do, how to help, etc. She never wants to feel that helpless again, so she does a ton of research and reads all kinds of articles on how to help, how she can make it just a bit more manageable for you. She secretly stocks up on pain meds, ice packs, heating pads, the softest blankets she can find, anything that you need to make it hurt less. She can always tell when you're in pain even when you're sure you're hiding it well. She picks on your little tells and, never in a condescending way, reminds you that her apartment is your apartment. If you need to rest, you can always go back to her place. She definitely worries when you're apart, how you're doing, if you're going through a flare up, but she tries not to smother you either.

Roman doesn't really take things seriously. Everything is a joke to him. At first he doesn't really understand when you're in a flare up, how taxing that can be. He thinks if you just pop a pain pill it'll all be okay. It isn't until he sees how tired you are, exhausted from dealing with it, does he realize maybe it's not as manageable as he thought. After that, he's a little more thoughtful. He's very in tune with you. He takes notice of when you're starting to get tired or frustrated before you do, calming you down before you tire yourself out. He definitely goes to Shiv on how he can help because he's clueless. Quietly, so as not to make anything out of it, he'll ask you if you think you can go to the party, gala, jet, etc. Sometimes you can and sometimes you can't, he always understands. Together you and Roman take naps, your head always on his shoulder or chest. It maybe isn't necessary, but you definitely love it.

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the-courage-to-heal · 1 year ago

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A personal message:

About a month ago I attempted to take my life. I took an overdose of dose of pills intentionally. I want to share the story of what I went through. When I arrived at the hospital a nurse told me I could keep my phone “if I didn’t cause trouble” I called my Mom and softly cried. I was told

“I thought you said you wouldn’t cause any trouble”

I came to realize trouble meant making any noise. I immediately offered to quiet myself. That wasn’t good enough. I was told that I was not allowed to have access to my cell phone anymore. Despite the fact I apologized for crying, and immediately said I understood and would quiet myself.

The nurse advanced on me and attempted to wrestle my phone from my hands. Apparently you are allowed to physically assault somebody if you are a nurse. I want to emphasize all I did was offer to quiet myself immediately. I apologized for crying. That wasn’t good enough.

By this point I was incredibly triggered. I said I wanted to leave, and for good reason this is obviously not something you can do after attempting suicide. They were right to call in people to restrain me. However, these people would have never been called in if the nurse had shown me a shred a basic human empathy, decency and kindness. she enjoyed inflicting pain upon someone who was vulnerable.

What was wrong was them continuing to restrain me to the point I was severely bruised. I can only document in photographs what was done to me.

I fought at first, but very quickly submitted. A man held my face down into the mattress. I told him I couldn’t breathe. He kept holding my face down until I was hyperventilating, and about to pass out. I kept saying I could not breathe. They didn’t believe me until I was hyperventilating and in the process of suffocating. I was genuinely terrified they were going to suffocate me. Right when I was about to lose consciousness they finally released me.

However, my torture was not done. They tied my hand up above my head. I explained they were tearing muscles. I spent at least 10 minutes sobbing and begging them to tie me up n a way that wouldn’t physically harm my body.

They finally relented when I pointed out that tying a persons head above their arms was a form of torture that the Romans inflicted upon people they crucified. That is what it took for them to stop torturing me. They could have done whatever they wanted to me.

I heard the same nurse abusing another patient the next morning. She told a man involved in a drunk, driving accident.

“Your problem is at the bottom of a bottle”

I looked at the nurse who was watching over me and said,

“That is cruel, they are mentally ill. Their problem is that their pain is now hurting other people. Not at the bottom of a bottle.”

That is beyond cruel. She might as well have told him to kill himself and make the world a better place by decreasing the surplus population. I met somebody who is the living embodiment of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

If I learned anything from this experience, it is that strength has to come from within yourself because nobody will give a sh*t if you don’t care about yourself. People use you, and abuse you when you are most vulnerable.

“Help” exists for those who can pay for it. Everyone else is just surplus clogging up the system.

I have not posted a photo of myself for a very long time. I have been overwhelmed. I have neglected this blog. But I want to use my voice so other people can hear what I went through and maybe it will help them to continue going when all hope seems lost. The United States has an appalling system, that punishes the mentally ill. People dealing with suicidal ideation are human beings. They are no less deserving of respect and kindness. The most fragile among us deserve the greatest protection. Not to be feasted on by crows pecking at their corpse. I hope at the very least I have created a safe space with this blog.

#emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #healing #self help #npd #narcissistic personality disorder #post traumatic stress disorder #ptsd

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beanghostprincess · 1 year ago

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Every time I see your sanuso posts rhghhhgg I love this ship thanks for feeding me content. I just feel like I need to share my thoughts now lol

Sanji having to accept he has feelings for a *man*. In like a "oh fuck this has never happened before what the shit" way cause he's scared and doesn't know what to do and doesn't want to fuck up and it's really hard to accept these feelings for him and just as a part of him.

Also just him spacing out to think "why him of all people" cause Usopp is really just a silly little guy a small silly guy he is so silly and simple AND YET...

While Usopp struggles with his self-image and accepting himself as well. It's not Water 7 bad. But it's there. He's trying his best to become stronger. But he can't help thinking about all the times he might have caused trouble for the crew. And he brushes them off with jokes or excuses. Or if he's genuinely at fault he apologizes. But the feelings are still there. Bottling up.

Sanji somehow figures out, whether just by looking at the sniper who's in a bad mood or by overhearing his drunk/half-asleep thoughts and goes "nuh-uh" and showers him with nice words and maybe a snack to cheer him up and oh my god he is so terrible because it's so hard for him to say "I love you" because it sounds weird and he doesn't want to sound romantic because he's still in denial and tries his best to avoid anything that may be interpreted as anything but platonic which leaves him with lack of much needed words.

And then Usopp notices Sanji's struggle to speak and lets go of his sadness to make fun of the cook (kinda) for his approach and then just easily tell him "Love you too" and give him a big hug and just stay like this for a while. And Sanji being a completely touch starved loser he is just has to prevent himself from hugging Usopp tighter. He doesn't care if sniper takes it the wrong way, he's just genuinely worried he will crush him if he does he knows he might.

And also the fear of telling Usopp when Sanji eventually does come into terms he's in love. Like that's gotta be the most nerve-wracking experience at the time.

Everything goes well tho they hug and hold hands and smooch and do boyfriends stuff and then the crew found One Piece and Luffy became king of pirates and everyone made their dreams come true and everything was good the end.

sanji is just like me fr repressed bitch i love him so much so much so much-

this is so sweet and it captures their characters perfectly!!! i'm actually such a fan of sanji's struggles with saying "i love you" despite one of his love languages being words of affirmation (i mean the first one is obviously acts of service). and also usopp struggling with his self-worth is always something that makes me cry,,,

this is exactly why water 7 is sanuso shippers' roman empire. they're literally perfect.

and i'm glad you like my posts!!! i'm mentally unwell!!! they make me ill!!!! i'm insane <3

#one piece #black leg sanji #usopp #sanuso

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 2 months ago

Text

Do it all the Time

(Pleaverse short)

Chapter 10: Plastic Prophylactics

(phone text formatting only available on AO3, please turn off creator workskin if you don't like the texting style and want to read on AO3)

Words: 2,409 Content Warnings: Makeouts Characters: Virgil, Logan Ships: Analogical Rating: M Genre: Nonsense, Fluff Additional Tags: Fake Fangs as Vampire Condoms, PWPWP

“So you’re serious about this,” Virgil asked hesitantly, holding the plastic coffin with a delicate disgust as he held them a safe distance from himself.

“Yes. For my safety. You are a predator of my species, and if we get carried away, I would like the insurance that there will be no consequences that I am unsure I can handle.” Logan nodded, pushing the fangs towards Virgil gently.

“L, I know I bit Roman by accident, but I promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to,” Virgil tried to reassure him, looking at the hollow plastic fangs in the case warily.

“And this lets me ask without any unfortunate venom contact,” Logan pointed out, and Virgil paused, thinking about it. The original intention was to just not bite, but that was tempting. “Is there something that you are not communicating that you are hesitating for?” He asked instead.

“I’m just really not sure if they’ll fit, and I’ve never done anything like this before,” Virgil said quietly. Also kind of grossed out by the idea of covering his fangs for some reason, but that felt irrational.

“The only way to find out if they fit is if you put them on, Virgil,” Logan reminded him calmly, pushing the fangs towards him again.

“Right, yeah,” Virgil muttered and cracked open the case labeled ‘werewolf fangs’, looking at the four little fangs inside of it. He picked out an upper fang and looked at the inside, then slid it over a fang. It didn’t go all the way on because his own fang was longer, but it seemed like it would fit well enough. The same went for the lower, smaller set of fangs. “Do they have to be called werewolf fangs, though?” Virgil joked with a small laugh, and Logan smiled affectionately, passing over the mug of hot water with the molding plastic in it to fit them on.

He helped portion out a little bit of plastic on the fang rim, and Virgil worked it up him gums with a crawling discomfort. Something over his fangs felt profoundly wrong. All four fangs were fitted on over Virgil’s fangs in short order, and Virgil clacked his teeth a few times to make sure they wouldn’t fall off. It took all the molding plastic they had, but they made the ill-fitting fangs stay on.

“How is the fit?” Logan asked, tilting his head to watch.

“Questionable, but probably good enough? If we do this another time, I think just getting a lot more molding plastic and covering them manually will fit tighter,” Virgil answered, talking a little oddly around the thick plastic fangs.

“That didn’t occur to me. I’ll consider that for the future,” Logan stated, looking contemplative for a moment. “I suppose the best way to check the fit is to test them,” he added with a smile, the playfulness leaking slightly into his tone.

Logan leaned in and Virgil smiled back, closing the gap and kissing him, supporting Logan as he came in to press against Virgil. Virgil shifted closer to Logan and wrapped him up in his arms, just trying to ignore the foreign sensation in his mouth in favour of his body heat and soft lips pressing into his own.

They took it slow at first, like they always did. Logan needed time to get comfortable kissing. Logan explained why, but Virgil didn’t really need justification for Logan’s comfort. He liked taking it slow. It was fun to slowly tease and warm someone up. Humans lately seem in such a rush, and forcing them to slow down to enjoy something was fun, too. Though that generally happened more with Roman than Logan.

While they kissed gently, Logan’s hands seemed to relish the feel of Virgil’s clothes. Leather seemed to be one of his favourite things to feel, along with lace. Virgil didn’t have any lace today, just the leather jacket over the hoodie. Logan seemed happy to peruse even just one of his favourites, though. He even tugged at the hoodie pull and ran his thumb along the open zipper. Then his hands slipped inside Virgil’s jacket and played with the distressed shirt. Virgil mostly kept his hands in the same spot, wrapped around his torso and pulling Logan in on his back. Too much motion on Virgil’s part could be overstimulating for Logan, so he waited for Logan’s signal that he was okay with it.

After Logan had felt literally every piece of clothing Virgil wore, he picked a hand on the hoodie at the back of Virgil’s neck and another on the leather jacket and pulled in closer to deepen the kiss. Virgil’s fingers tensed as he tentatively opened his mouth, still feeling off from the gross plastic in his mouth slide along the inside of his lips. Logan hesitated, feeling Virgil tense up and backed away, hands slipping back over Virgil’s body to the front.

Virgil took in a deep breath and softly said, “the plastic is just uncomfortable, livre bien-aimé, it’s not about you.”

Logan’s fingers gripped at the front of Virgil’s jacket, and he looked down, eyes squinting in thought. There was a long pause before he looked up again, eyes landing on Virgil’s lips, where he often looked when they talked. “That is a silly term of endearment,” he stated simply, maybe not ready to talk about it yet.

“Why? You’re my favourite book,” Virgil said, reaching up to stroke Logan’s cheek with his hand. His other hand grabbed the back of Logan, brushing his fingers gently along the skin. Logan had soft hands and soft skin, it was easy to slide across anywhere. “I could read you again and again and never get tired,” he whispered, leaning in softly and humming out a low note. Logan shivered under his fingers and started to loosen up. Virgil approached almost all the way to return to kissing him, letting Logan close the last centimeter to continue.

“Words being written all over someone’s face is a phrase. What are you reading?” Logan asked quietly, staying just as close as they were before.

“The secret evil language of the body,” Virgil joked, pressing his forehead to Logan’s and pushing slightly with his hand. He eased Logan down with the other, and Logan let him push him down to the bed as he spoke.

“Ah. The one language I haven’t mastered,” Logan joked in return. “What does my body say right now?” He asked quietly.

Virgil stopped to listen, feeling the pulse under his fingertips and sweeping his gaze over the body beneath him. “Concerned, curious, a little restless…” Virgil trailed off as his hand slid down Logan’s chest, making Logan’s heart race even faster. “Mostly excited,” Virgil breathed, Logan’s throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“Not a traditional sentence, is it,” Logan mused, eyes settled on the sagging neckline of the hoodie dangled above him. “I’m not sure whether that counts as a book.”

“Well, I can turn it into a sentence, but I think that’s a little… excessive.”

“Is that so? Provide an example.”

“Sure.” Virgil grinned evilly. “You would really like my hands wrapped around your body and my lips wrapped around—”

Logan’s face darkened with blood and his eyes widened. “Point taken.” He took a stabilizing breath and reached up to tug at Virgil’s long braid, slipping his fingers between the weave. “What does your body say, then?”

“The same thing it’s always saying.”

“And that is?”

“I would really like to bite you,” Virgil whispered, pressing down on Logan lightly.

Logan’s whole body tensed, the blood pounding under his thin skin. “Sometimes you make it easy to forget you’re a predator,” Logan mumbled playfully. “But it’s fascinating that the idea is enticing to me,” he whispered, reaching his hand back around Virgil’s head and pulling him in for a kiss.

With Logan pinned underneath Virgil’s body, the kiss heated faster than the gentle teasing before. They stayed pressed together, Logan’s hands gripped on a leather belt of the jacket around Virgil’s back, keeping him close. Virgil had one hand holding himself up and another stroking Logan’s chin and neck as they kissed. Logan tentatively opened his mouth once more, and Virgil followed suit. He suppressed the reaction to the fang prophylactics this time, and their tongues met.

Precious minutes passed to the sound of Logan’s pounding heart. They both took their time enjoying the moments passing, at least it seemed that way from the way Logan refused to loosen up his grip. Virgil hummed every time Logan pulled away for air, making his eyes soften each time. Logan seemed to be existing in a pleasant haze, and there were no more flashes of his eyes towards the clock on the wall. Logan even took off his glasses after a few minutes of them getting covered in Virgil’s waterfall of hair.

Virgil flinched back when a fang fell out, the sensation feeling generally something that should be fully illegal. He held up a finger and pulled back while he used his tongue to position the fang covering back into place, and snapped his jaw a few times to test it before returning to kiss Logan, who patiently waited the whole time.

Logan looked at him curiously, and seemed to check the integrity of Virgil’s fangs with his tongue. That was probably a worse sensation than the feeling of the plastic slipping off. To have something press on them and feel nothing. It felt like missing one of his senses. But this was temporary. Hopefully. Virgil gritted through it and focused on enjoying Logan instead, and it didn’t feel like long until he was able to ignore it and lose himself in his boyfriend instead. Actually, they were running out of time until Patton was supposed to swing by.

Thankfully, by the way Logan was wrapped around his neck and kissing him, he didn’t seem bothered by that fact. If he could even tell. He was busy tugging at Virgil’s braid and necking, so being distracted would be understandable.

The next time Logan pulled away to breathe, his eyes fought to focus on Virgil’s mouth again, and through heavy breaths, he let go of Virgil’s braid and hedged his neck to the side on the bed. A second later, he tapped his neck twice and jerked Virgil forward by the hoodie. Virgil fought to keep his control, the smell of Logan’s blood hitting against Virgil’s restraint like a freight train. He stopped breathing, and the sound of Logan’s ragged breath and heart pounding all he could hear. He was so weak, and willing, and…

There was a sound of the bed sheet tearing, and Virgil looked over Logan’s shoulder to see he accidentally dug his nails into Logan’s bed and tore up the sheets. Well, those need replacing. Logan didn’t seem to notice, just tapping at his neck again. Feeling like an idiot for ripping the sheets worked, at least, and Virgil was able to hold back, leaning in to bite Logan gently on the neck. His fangs shifted in the plastic casing, and it seriously felt repulsive. More revulsion than Virgil even realized he could feel at that moment. But the way Logan reacted was the opposite of that, and left him feeling very conflicted.

Logan pushed Virgil back, and Virgil sat up right away, giving him his space. After reaching blindly for his glasses, Logan grabbed his phone and started typing on the screen.

“Everything okay, Logan?” Virgil asked quietly, wondering if maybe it was also a deeply conflicting situation for Logan.

Virgil’s phone pinged, and it pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

‘[🙅‍💬],’ from Logan ’s phone showed up as the latest alert.

Logan must have gone non-verbal, but thankfully not so much he couldn’t even send an emoji.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, was that too much?” Virgil asked, looking Logan over for any obvious problems before looking back down at his phone.

‘[✔][👌💓💦][🧛‍🔥♨],’ alerted on his phone as the next message from Logan with a pitch of transmission.

Virgil stared at them for a moment, trying to pull his brain back from the idea of draining all the delicious blood from Logan’s veins. He smacked himself in the face a few times to try to think it through.

“It was too much, but you liked it, right?” Virgil asked, and Logan nodded to confirm. “But this last bit, you want to cook vampires in a pot or something?”

Logan made a choking sound and shook his head, looking back down at his phone.

‘[🧛‍]=[🔞🥵],’ was Logan’s response a moment later.

“Oh. Well, that message was transmitted with body language already,” Virgil teased, and Logan rolled his eyes. He offered his hand to help Logan sit up, and Logan took it, still keeping his space. “So… you were a little more compatible with the concept than you first thought?” He confirmed.

Logan nodded furiously at that one, grabbing his blanket to wrap himself up. He flung it over his shoulders and leaned back against the wall. He took a breather, eyes closed for a few moments. Then opened up his eyes and smiled at Virgil. Then his eyes seemed to catch the rip in the sheets, and he faced Virgil with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, sorry. What color do you want? I’ll get a new one and wash it before your bedtime, promise,” Virgil offered sheepishly, and a fang fell off in his mouth. Virgil shuddered and ripped another hole in his jeans. He wanted to melt this fucking plastic triangles.

That seemed to earn another odd look from Logan, and he focused on his phone again to see the reply.

‘[🟦],’ came up on his alerts first, probably wanting the same dark blue he currently had, and ‘[👨‍⚕🧣❔],’ arrived on Virgil’s phone a second later from Logan.

“Oh, TV time outside of your schedule? Aren’t we feeling extra naughty today,” Virgil teased, opening up the app to get the sheets delivered. Logan adjusted his glasses and shrugged lightly out the corner of Virgil’s eye. “Sure, let’s watch the doctor. Do you think you could handle cuddling now?”

Logan nodded, and Virgil hopped off the bunk to grab Logan’s laptop off the desk for him to watch Doctor Who on. He climbed back up and sat back against the wall, letting Logan choose where he was comfortable sitting. After Logan set up the show, he leaned on Virgil’s arm, entwining his fingers with his own.

#ayri writes #voids write #tsss #tsss fanfic #tss #tss fanfic #sasi #sasi fanfic #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #vampire virgil #autistic logan #ts virgil #ts logan #analogical

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twoidiotwriters1 · 1 year ago

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Fun fact! Leo x Echo is my favorite noncanon ship, they would've been much better than Caleo tbh -Danny Words: 2,148 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Cloud 9' -by Paravi

VI: I Can't Beat the Simping Allegations

"Who did you see in Nemesis, Ara?"

The question is so straightforward it catches her off guard. Leo is allowed to ask that kind of stuff, but at the same time, he should shut up and mind his business.

"Aunt Rosa was the one who kicked you out, right?" Ara asks back.

Leo makes a face. "Yeah..." he moves on to Hazel so Ara can't keep asking about Aunt Rosa. "What Nemesis said about your brother..."

"Nico," Hazel's voice cracks. "He found me in the Underworld. He brought me back to the mortal world and convinced the Romans at Camp Jupiter to accept me. I owe him for my second chance at life. If Nemesis is right, and Nico's in danger... I have to help him."

Ara wants to help Nico, even if they have a complicated history. She doesn't hate the boy like that. "He probably never mentioned me..."

"I think he did," Hazel replies. "Sometimes he'd talk about people he met throughout the years, he'd mention this girl a lot... Lily Saggio. He said she's Italian too."

"That's our best friend," Ara responds. "She understands your brother better than anyone else."

"You're Birdy, right? That's how he calls you," Hazel gives her a sympathetic smile. "He respects you."

"What? Really?" She frowns.

Is Ara the only one holding onto the past? Or was Nico keeping things hidden because he couldn't give the context to Hazel? The truth is, she avoided him for a whole year thinking it was the only way to keep a civil relationship, and now she doesn't really know him.

If they rescue him, maybe they should talk without getting defensive, maybe he'll surprise her in a good way.

"Ara, stop threatening to hit Nico with your book!"

"Then tell him to stay on his side!" I whine. "His stupid jacket is too big..."

I glare at Nico. We found him in this weird farm that's placed above a labyrinth's entrance, and for some reason, everyone thought it was a good idea to sit me next to this jerk.

We're trying to ignore each other, but at some point, he starts to squirm and insists he has important business to attend to with the owner of this dumpster, Geryon.

"He's good at making clothes? Is he going to cut your jacket in half so you stop looking like a dwarf?" I taunt him. "Can't even see your hands in that..."

"I'm not talking to you," he clenches his jaw.

"Lily's worried about you. You left without saying a word, and she's your friend."

"She thinks my father will kill her if I get hurt," he corrects me.

I frown. "So she deserves to fear for her life because of your tantrum?"

"My sister dying is not reason enough to be mad?" He turns to me with angry dark eyes.

"I didn't say that. I'm just telling you how Lily feels. It'd be nice if you went back to camp, but you can stay here and die for all I care."

"Ara!" Percy looks at me in shock from his cart. "Don't say that!"

I look away and sink into my seat, sulking.

Nico's voice is a little quieter this time. "You're still training?"

"Obviously," I glance at him with disdain. "You're still a shitty swordsman?"

His face turns red. "The labyrinth is above your skills, but if you die, you and Percy will get what you both deserve."

"Nico!" Annabeth gasps.

"You're a crybaby and an idiot who follows the ill advice of dead men!" I bark.

Everyone's looking at us from their carts unable to stop our argument. Nico and I continue to fight each other all the way to Geryon's place.

Ara sees some boulders ahead. "There, let's take a look..."

She reaches the top easily, Hazel climbs after her and Leo is the last one to go up, but he slips and both girls reach out simultaneously, leaving them in an awkward position with Leo's face only a few inches apart from theirs.

"Um, thanks."

He lets go of Hazel's hand first and uses Ara's to steady himself. That should give her some reassurance, but it only increases her torment, because she can feel the anxiety coming from him. They cannot stay there huddled together without risking one of them slipping again, so she slips forward.

"I'll check the other side."

"Wait, you don't know—"

"It's my job," she says, eyes darting away so she doesn't have to look at him.

Ara's so distracted by her feelings that she doesn't see the young girl beside her, even though the girl makes a huge effort to be noticed. It's only until Hazel and Leo start talking again that Ara realizes she's there.

"...Cursed boy she mentioned." Utters a voice beside her.

Ara draws Almighty out of instinct. When she points it in the direction of the voice, she finds a young girl, wide-eyed and petrified. "Who are you?" She points the sword at the girl's chest. "Step back!"

"Step back," the girl raises her hands in surrender and stumbles backward.

"Ara? What is it?" Hazel tries to focus her gaze. "Wait, is that a person?"

"A person," the girl shakes her head miserably.

"Are you the cursed kid Nemesis mentioned?" Leo's brow furrows. "But you're a girl."

"You're a girl."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse me."

"You're Echo," Ara studies the girl. "You came back! So you can't be a nymph, right? Nymphs don't have souls—Was I wrong to believe you were—?"

"Ara, she can't answer you," Leo slips down the boulder to join them, and Hazel follows suit. "You can't, can you?"

"Can you," the girl shakes her head again.

"What are you doing here?" Ara continues with the interrogatory anyway. "Nemesis's cursed boy... Is it him?"

"Him," Echo's eyes glisten with longing.

"Oh." Ara turns to the others with newfound energy. "I know who's guarding the celestial bronze."

Nymphs are always fighting over a random dude.

"Alright, ladies, make room!" Ara uses charmspeak. "The faster we do our job, the faster you can go back to staring..." her voice quivers when she spots him. "At your man."

Leo sneaks his way through and whistles lowly. "Dang."

"He's gorgeous," Hazel breathes out.

"I am," the young man in front of them sighs dreamily. "I am so gorgeous."

"To die for," Ara hums in agreement, but she's looking at him like he's a mythical creature, which he kind of is. "Is he glowing?"

She realizes too late that's his soul light, therefore the others can't see what she's seeing, but they don't get confused with her ask anyway, because they're too distracted by the man's looks.

"It's the reflection of that thing," Leo scowls at the celestial bronze in the water.

Ara crouches next to the young man like she's dealing with an endangered species: Mister Universe, the last of his kind.

"How is your hair shiny yet not greasy?" She asks quietly, mostly to herself. "I'm sure you haven't bathed in centuries but you don't smell so bad—And don't get me started on your skin! That jawline—"

"Ara, you know who this guy is?" Hazel interrupts her.

"Narcissus," Ara's eyes are fixed on him. "He's what some of my siblings wish they were." She grins, and her expression only means trouble. "Watch this..."

The girl dips her finger in the water distorting the surface. Narcissus tries to push her away, but he misses and only grazes her shoulder, too desperate to find his reflection again. Ara laughs and reaches out again, but Hazel stops her.

"Wait—What's going on here? Why did Echo bring us here?"

"Echo was a nymph like us," one of the fangirls replies with contempt. "A long time ago, but she was a total chatterbox! Gossiping, blah, blah, blah, all the time."

"A nymph?" Ara frowns. "So was I wrong to assume—"

"Ara, focus," Hazel prevents her from derailing.

Ara dusts off her hands, gets up, and looks around trying to find a solution. She can tell this crowd won't make it easy, they want the cute guy to stay. Leo takes her place next to Narcissus while the nymphs keep arguing with each other.

"So, Narcissus. What's up?"

"Could you move?" The young man says without looking up. "You're ruining the view."

Leo turns to Ara as if asking Can you believe this guy? then leans forward to inspect the celestial bronze lying at the bottom of the pond. Ara can't help but compare the young men: Next to Narcissus, her boyfriend is a run-of-the-mill dude, Narcissus's features are masculine and chiseled, while Leo's are ordinary and childish.

However, to her, Leo's are familiar and more human. The sunshine bounces off the water's surface and hits his face in a way that reminds her of their soul light, his curls are a mix of copper red and golden that resemble the colors of a campfire. Even while standing beside Narcissus, Leo still holds all of Ara's attention.

It doesn't take away from the fact that he's not placing boundaries on Hazel, so realizing how deeply in love she is, is only frightening her even more.

"Right, great view," Leo looks back at Narcissus. "Happy to move, but if you're not using it, could I just take that sheet of bronze?"

"No. I love him. He's so gorgeous."

Leo looks back at Ara and her only reply is a shrug. This is the bronze they ought to take, and the sun is already setting.

"Man," the boy tries again, this time annoyed. "You do realize that you're looking at yourself in the water, right?"

"I am so great," he reaches down to touch his reflection, then decides against it. "No, I can't make ripples. That ruins the image. Wow... I am so great."

"Yeah," Leo says through gritted teeth. "But if I took the bronze, you could still see yourself in the water. Or here..." he pulls out a little mirror from his tool belt. "I'll trade you."

"Hernán Cortés would be so proud of you," Ara murmurs.

The boy looks up in outrage. "Ara, don't ever say that to me."

"Even you carry a picture of me?" Narcissus glances at the mirror before going back to the pond. "I don't blame you. I am gorgeous. Thank you." He grabs the small item and puts it aside. "But I already have a much better image. The color flatters me, don't you think?"

"I'm starting to suspect Narcissus isn't the brightest flower in the pond," Ara says sarcastically.

Echo sits beside the young man, hopelessly trying to make him look away for just a moment. Hazel pulls Leo and Ara for a private talk, and they gather away from the nymphs. Echo joins them sadly.

"Can't you just charmspeak him into giving us the piece?"

"Narcissus is too in love with himself to fall for my words. And the nymphs want him to stay, they won't listen to reason. But I got a sword and I know how to knock people unconscious?" Ara offers.

"Maybe that's our best bet. Nemesis was right," Hazel replies, almost as upset as Leo was a few minutes ago. "Some demigods can't change their nature. Narcissus is going to stay there until he dies again."

"No," Leo says with surprising determination.

"No," Echo repeats earnestly.

"We need that bronze," he presses. "If we take it away, it might give Narcissus a reason to snap out of it. Echo could have a chance to save him."

"A chance to save him," the nymph nods keenly.

"It could also make several dozen nymphs very angry with us," Hazel points out. "And Narcissus might still know how to shoot his bow."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Ara responds. "His arrows are brittle, and the string of his bow won't work properly, it's too old."

"How do you know that?" Hazel asks with surprise.

"Because I have eyes," she raises a brow. "And my friend Lily is an archer, I know how bows and arrows are supposed to look like when they're in good condition."

"Hazel," Leo continues, his eyes brightening. "Your power with precious metal—Can you just detect it, or can you actually summon it to you?"

"Sometimes I can summon it. I've never tried with a piece of Celestial bronze that big before," Hazel ponders. "I might be able to draw it to me through the earth, but I'd have to be fairly close. It would take a lot of concentration, and it wouldn't be fast."

"Be fast," Echo says excitedly.

Leo curses under his breath. He's got the broadest repertoire of bad words Ara has ever heard, and Michael tended to use pretty strong language on the daily.

"All right. We'll have to try something risky. Hazel, how about you try to summon the bronze from right here? Make it sink through the sand and tunnel over to you, then grab it and run for the ship."

"But Narcissus is looking at it all the time!"

"All the time," Echo pouts.

"That'll be my job," Leo makes a face. "Echo, Ara, and I will cause a distraction."

"Distraction?" Echo repeats.

"I'll explain," he assures her. "Are you willing?"

"Willing," the nymph nods.

"Doll?" He asks Ara making use of his cute puppy eyes.

It's not fair that he's got her wrapped around his finger like this. Usually, she's the one who makes others do stuff for her by pouting and being cute.

"Just tell us your plan," she sighs in defeat.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #doo

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