#rose servant

[getaapologist]

Any chance we could get more Geta x Servant!Reader? Maybe the first time he asks her to stay the night in his chambers instead of just dismissing her after he’s done?

Ask and you shall receive. Hope this is to your liking! More servant!reader.

[ previous servant!reader offering found here ]

A/N: 'fauta dei' is very roughly (from what I can remember/find at a glance) 'the favored woman of a god/deity.' It's definitely meant to be a sarcastic comment here.

Warmth. Heated cheeks. Sweet wine still on your lips. 

Clothing finer than anything you had ever touched. Soft, ornate, decorative. Your arms felt heavy on account of the bracelets and rings, things you fiddled with as you got used to them. Their weight. Their sure value. Perched on a seat across from them, you felt a bit like a doll.

What work you were doing there in the palace, as you sipped wine, ate small bites, tried to hide your amusement at their antics, you weren’t sure. It felt like something was wrong, like you were missing something. Looking down at the table, you felt the urge in your arms to begin tidying up, to go and refill their cups. But as soon as you thought it, someone else swooped in to take care of it, leaving you sitting there, still getting used to looking at them. 

It felt forbidden, even after everything.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Looking up at the gentle tone, you meet Geta’s perceptive stare. 

That was another thing. 

You had never been observed so much. The way they watched you, you felt like they knew something about you that you didn’t, or couldn’t, know. 

“Speak,” he ordered, though he was soft, almost understanding, as he made his demand.

“I…” It felt strange to hear your own voice. Suddenly alarmingly self-conscious, any bravery to voice your true concerns faded away. “This is all so new.”

Caracalla laughs, stealing your attention away from his brother. “So precious,” he grins.  

As Geta looked down at you, an agreeing smile spreading across his face, you were reminded of when things changed to… whatever this was.

Sweat dripping down the back of your legs from the exertion, soft sheets a damp mess beneath you, you looked over at the large presence of Geta laying beside you, on his stomach, eyes closed in relief. Bliss. His neck and ears tinged red. 

Your duty done, you began to sit up. A large hand pressed at your belly, keeping you against the bed beside him. 

“Emperor?”

“Stay a while longer, little lamb. I’m not quite tired of you yet.” 

His eyes remained closed, but his hand crept, fingers hooking your side and drawing you over to him. He moved, lifting himself only enough for you to be pulled beneath his cheek, his upper body pressed against your abdomen. He didn’t seem to mind the sweat. 

“Tell me something about you,” he finally spoke.

“About me?”

He nodded, pressing his nose into your sternum. “Yes. Something. Anything.”

So you do. You do as your Emperor bids, telling him some small tale of something you got up to as a child. And though he says nothing, you feel the tension leave his shoulders little by little. He sinks into you more, like a dead weight now. 

Relaxed. 

“Emperor, you should sleep,” you whisper, cautious in how you speak to him. 

“Close your eyes, little lamb. Sleep. No one will disturb us.”

This was new. Very new. Not even the concubines were allowed this. You knew, because they would come back at late hours when you first arrived at the palace, the sound of the door opening waking you up. Lately it was you coming back late. What would they think when you didn’t return at all?

“Are you sure, Emperor?”

“Quite sure,” he sighed, not even slightly reacting to being questioned. As if he expected it. “Now quiet your mind. I can hear it from here.” You could feel the curve of a smile against your chest. 

Sunlight warmed your shoulder, the rest of you chilled in the gentle breeze. You moved to lay in the sunlight, curled up in it, like a cat. Holding onto the fringes of sleep for a moment longer.

“You’re finally awake,” Geta spoke, his weight sinking into the edge of the mattress, his ringed hand wrapping around your ankle. Like a shackle, the chain wrapped around his wrist.

His presence startled you, reminding you of where you were, of where you shouldn’t be. “Forgive me, Emperor,” you groaned, sitting up abruptly. 

His hands were on you in an instant, pushing you back down. “I did not ask you to leave, little lamb.” He was already dressed for the day, radiant in gold and maroon. As close to the divine as you would ever get. “I have business to attend to. But you will join us for lunch.” 

“Yes, Emperor,” you answered, uncertainty blooming in your gut.

His smile was sure, easy. Satisfied. “My obedient little lamb.” His large hand found your ankle again, squeezing, the mirage of a gilded chain seemingly growing in length as he stood. It dangled, hardly any slack in it as he walked briskly to the door and left without a second glance.

He was your work, your duty. Geta.

Not long after he left, two women entered his rooms. They bathed you, refusing to allow you to help, smacking at your hand anytime you tried to do anything yourself, their warning that the Emperor ordered it enough to keep you still. 

They were unable to hide their amusement, calling you ‘princess’ and one choice muttering of ‘fauta dei’ as you fought with the draping of the dress.

“Will she join us?” Caracalla asked, his stormy eyes not leaving your shoulders.

Geta sat back, frowning, watching his brother with a practiced indifference. “No.”

The smaller twin scoffed, throwing his head back on the arm of his chair, much like a toddler when denied sweets.

“The senate chambers are hardly the place for her,” Geta commented, his sharp eyes darting to you, ever so watchful.

Whatever this new thing was, it was tenuous, sensitive to the slightest breeze. The gilded chain could snap with the slightest give, gold being a far weaker metal.

You did not want it to break.

“But your chambers are, brother?” 

The giggle that followed sent a ripple of fear down your spine.

“Careful,” Geta warned, his tone much sharper than anything he’d ever used with you. That you were treated more gently than his own brother shouldn’t have filled you with such comfort, but it did all the same.

Caracalla just continued laughing, even as he got to his feet. The annoyance in Geta’s face didn’t immediately fade as his brother left the courtyard. 

Soon, though, duty called. But not for you. 

Geta stood, gripping your cheek in his large palm, his touch tender. “Do as you wish. We will not be long.”

Watching him leave, you felt the pull of the chain again.

[ more servant!reader ]

[comickergirl]

The full illustrated list! Of Shoujo/Josei titles I read/enjoyed in 2024!

[crazy-tomato]

Hey um remember that one "heres some concepts for a comic series i would like to make" well i thought to myself "why dont i remake it with some of my newer hcs and other bef members?" And uh.

It might got a bit out of hand...

Heres the cropped ver!

I had some ideas of what the story could be, i really want to go deeper with this concept and if i dont manage to make it a comic at LEAST i try to make it as a fanfic

[best-character-named-x-poll]

have you done your daily click

[jomiddlemarch]

in the middle before I knew that I had begun

Every visit to Rosings was a trial. As a small child, it had perhaps been most bearable, Darcy whisked away to the nursery where his cousin Dickon was often already settled, making the most of the hobbyhorse which Anne was too young to mount and which would be of little use to her as she would expected to ride side-saddle as soon as she was put upon a pony. Anne’s nurse was apt to ply them with shortbread to get them to behave properly, unlike Darcy’s nurse at Pemberley who would not have hesitated to box their ears. They were brought down to the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, standing as still as they could, Dickon having invented the game he called living statues to help pass the time. It would stand Darcy in good stead over the years, especially when he was most in company. At Rosings, they would be inspected, praised by Darcy’s mother, criticized by Aunt Catherine, and offered cakes by Dickon’s mother, who was quite plump and fussed least about crumbs and sticky fingers.

Returning every year was an obligation, one which only grew more binding after his mother’s death, though her absence was keenly felt, unblunted by time as Georgianna grew to resemble her. Her daughter was more like her in manner than in coloring, though she had her fair and unblemished complexion. Darcy could no sooner have stayed away from Rosings than gallop to the Moon upon a road of starlight, a fanciful image he’d conjured for Georgianna one night when she was recovering from a childhood illness, still fretful from her fever. If their mother had lived, perhaps he might have visited friends, stayed in London and made a wider acquaintance than that of the Bingleys, however fond he was of Charles. As it was, it was Darcy’s fondness which kept Charles from suffering more than one visit to Rosings, a boon even the sunny-natured Bingley was deeply thankful for. Darcy went, Georgianna accompanying him if her health allowed, the only argument Aunt Catherine would ever countenance, and he sat through dull afternoons and duller dinners, dull vintages and even duller volumes in the Rosings library. He listened to his cousin Anne play endless sonatas competently but without any particular feeling and he did his best to keep from striking the sycophant vicar Mr. Collins his aunt had given the Rosings living to; unlike her, Darcy was not remotely pleased by the man’s obviously intricately planned adulatory remarks, the slavering expression in his rather small eyes every time he uttered the most-esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an appellation Darcy felt did not need to be mentioned in every third sentence. 

A visit to Rosings was a trial and an obligation, a chore and a burden, until he arrived and found a stranger at the pianoforte, a vibrant, chestnut-haired young woman in a very simple muslin gown, his cousin Anne sitting beside her. Anne had never looked more sallow and sickly, her costly gown and jewels emphasizing her frailty in contrast to the bloom of the woman beside her, whose hair was held back by a plain ribbon fillet, her only adornment a modest little cross of some dark stones. She was playing the piano with more zest than accuracy and Darcy was dismayed to be unsure which aspect was pleasing Anne enough to make her pallid lips curve in a small but entirely genuine smile.

Anne stood when she saw him while the woman stopped playing but remained seated. He walked over to greet his cousin, bowing smartly while she made a gesture akin to a curtsy, the formality due their stations far outweighing any mild familial affection they might have for each other.

“Cousin Fitzwilliam, welcome. If you are here, you must have already seen Mama who have advised you to come. I hope your journey was not too taxing and that you will stay here a while and enjoy some music. My new companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, came just last fortnight. She is the cousin of the vicar and Mr. Collins was only too glad to discover he might have been able to in any minute way be of service to me, and by extension, my most-esteemed mother, Lady Catherine,” Anne said. She’d spoken more words than Darcy had ever heard her utter at one time, and though she was still quite pale and her curls rather lank and drooping, there was an unusual animation in her tone. She turned slightly to face Miss Bennet. “That is how he said it, wasn’t it, dear Elizabeth?”

“I believe he was only too glad and most assuredly blessed beyond measure,” Miss Bennet replied. She had the finest dark eyes Darcy had ever seen and her voice was confident and gay, far different from every other companion he’d ever encountered, women most often faded misses of indeterminate age who spoke little and softly, nearly always offering only an affirmation.

“That’s him exactly. He’d pressed his hands together as if he were about to give a homily in the pulpit and Mama gave him her falcon-sighting-prey glare and he only nodded his head several times,” Anne said. 

“He was honest though. I’ve never met someone as delighted as Mr. Collins is to render even the most insignificant service to Lady Catherine and I myself am certainly fortunate to have been offered the position as your companion,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy had never heard a companion speak so frankly to her betters about her role and felt he ought to be disgusted. Instead he was diverted, a condition he experienced rarely.

“I am the fortunate one, as you are far more lively and engaging than I could ever be. I’ve never known the days to pass so quickly,” Anne said.

“They shall pass quicker still when your strength improves and our walks about the countryside are more extensive,” Miss Bennet said, a remark which could have been cutting, as if might have been if Miss Caroline Bingley, Charles’s rather odious sister, had spoken it, but which was only imbued with a gentle, genuine warmth and kindness. “Though you risk a muddy hem three inches deep when you join me and your mother may be as disappointed in your deportment as she was in mine. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I did not bow my head and offer an apology. Indeed, my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“You are singular, Miss Bennet,” he said.

“And you have not even heard me attempt ‘Les deux petits savoyards,’” she countered, moving her hands back to the pianoforte’s keys.

“Oh do play, dear Elizabeth,” Anne said and Darcy inclined his head in agreement, at a loss for words. The melody began, quite spirited, much like the musician herself and Darcy realized this visit to Rosings was itself singular.

For he had fallen in love. With his Cousin Anne’s paid companion. A servant.

Somehow, he’d have to find a way to marry her.

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 7, prompt: servant.

Posted in the better late than never spirit.

[sharper-than-a-serpents-tooth]

the real reason why Athy forgave Claude is because she regularly wiped her memories whenever Claude did something traumatic and using this spell over a prolonged time made her stupid

[foursaints]

I have this random ass hc of an au where barty is the pastors son and has like major religious trauma/ guilt because I think it just lends itself so nicely to barty and his dad's "conditional" relationship... I am sick in the head

nah this is so brilliant & inspired you are perhaps the least sick out of all of us… i love the idea of like a calvinist fundamentalist pastor’s son barty that has a startling, hideous LACK of guilt— that quote like “i sensed a potentiality for corruption within me that took my breath away”

preacher’s son barty who does selfish and sacrilegious and occasionally cruel and depraved things whenever he knows no one is watching simply because he’s curious. but you could never tell from the sullen, obedient facade he folds it away underneath. preacher’s son barty who likes to bend evan rosier over the pulpit and play with him after hours in the dark because he knows he can get away with it…. evan with actual religious Guilt who feels damned for Liking it… oh lord

[rose-reads-visualnovels]

NOT EVERYTHING HAS BEEN LOST YET!

Shannon is capable of feeling disgust towards certain people who treat her badly. It's just focused entirely on Gohda.

[mikoriin]

boyfriend and i binged pretty much all of season 2 of steven universe last night cause im showing him and UGH....PEARL MY BELOVED

[rose-wine-selfships]

I’ve had this brain worm stuck in my head for a while. This is basically Knight!Wally or Fate Servant!Wally.

Basic facts

Name: Sir Walter, or Wally by close friends and loved ones

Age: 21 (same as canon)

Height: 6” feet (twice as tall as canon)

Servant Class: Saber

Type: Heroic Spirit

Hobbies: Swordsmanship, Painting, Drawing, ancient rune spell castings

Personality: Dutiful, Loyal, Strong willed, Altruistic, Serious, Strategic in battle

He doesn’t really show his more silly and playful side until he bonds more with his master. Even then, it’s hard for him to let his guard down because he had horrible experiences with previous masters who summoned him in past Holy Grail Wars. They often took advantage of him and stole his mana for selfish reasons. However, Y/N has been really kind to him, and he has sworn to protect his new master no matter the cost. He will do anything to help his master in the next Holy Grail War.

Original concept for Wally Darling is by @partycoffin , original creator of Welcome Home!

[pochapal]

tomorrow i will have been reading umineko for one whole year

[shoechoe]

current Revolutionary Girl Utena thoughts: what the hell is wrong with this school why does it have like a slavery system

[ribbonsnribcages]

Luna loves Wonderlab

[roseofcards90]

Wow Kirei you’re such a great guardian you even killed her dad 😭💀

[tianalaurence1]

Princess Anne goes bold in white wedding guest dress and sultry red lip in rare photos with husband Timothy | HELLO!