#wings of the emperor au

[allbluedepths]

Okay, hopefully this posts correctly this time! Headcanons about the Red Hair Pirates’ crew roles and duties below because I think about these guys way too much. (+ would love to hear anyone else’s headcanons for this!)

Shanks: captain; canon. Can't add much more here!

Benn: first mate; canon. Handles oversight with just about everything on board, from making sure things run smoothly day to day, managing their funds and budget, and information oversight from their associated crews and islands once they gain them. If it isn't specifically assigned to someone else (and possibly, even if it is), it falls under this position.

Yasopp: sniper; canon. In charge of all watch duties both at sea and on land. Responsible for crew members focused on long-range combat and training crew members in those skills. Assists Gab with overseeing long-range artillery.

Lucky: cook; canon. In charge of all meals, galley staff, and keeping track of food stores. Also assists with keeping track of alcohol stores.

Hongo: doctor; canon. In charge of all medical necessities aboard, both emergency and nonemergency. Responsible for medicine stocks and any compounding as necessary. Assists with sail repairs when needed and available (suturing skills come in handy).

Limejuice: helmsman; non-canon. Steers ship and works in conjunction with Building Snake to traverse plotted courses. Considered adjacent to Yasopp and his watch duty by nature of always having an eye out anyways while steering.

Bonk Punch: musician; canon. Keeps morale up with his music alongside Monster. Main instrument is a fiddle (non-canon), though is skilled with string instruments of all sizes (cellos sadly aren't easily maneuverable aboard). Jack of all trades assisting other senior officers as necessary.

Monster: musician; canon. See above for musician's duties; main instrument is a concertina (similar to a small accordion; non-canon). Also assists around the ship.

Building Snake: navigator; canon. Plans all navigation routes requested by the captain and first mate, advises against any known nautical hazards, and works with Limejuice to properly maneuver the ship.

Gab: Shipwright/carpenter; non-canon. Responsible for overall ship maintenance and repairs; is heavily involved in choosing any new ship for the crew. For combat, handles all non-gun, long-range artillery, including maintenance, firing crews for combat, and artillery stock; done in conjunction with Yasopp.

[arttrashking]

Mac’s disgust with a chicken sets off Wukong’s husband senses

[bluebrrytea]

what do you think pony Hunter's golden guard mask would look like?

Living under his uncle’s shadow/ wing must be hard.

[quitealotofsodapop]

And Azure WILL bring it up once he performs his coup. He tells the brothers his discovery, something that is shocking for both Yellow Tusk and Peng to imagine. In Peng's case, they had mixed feeling because, on the one hand, that is a brilliant idea, but this further proves Wukong's betrayal to Peng. Yellow Tusk is also extremely conflicted, but curious because if Wukong had this age in up his sleeve this entire time, why had he never mentioned it before!?

And the shocked and horrified look of disbelief on Wukong's face once they have the Emperor on his knees (a reverse of what happened in their first coup is that the Emperor chose to surrender to protect Wukong rather than Wukong surrendering to protect his brothers) and a sword to his neck with his baby dangling from Peng's claws prove to Yellow Tusk that this was NOT something Wukong ha known about

Prev.

Dramatic Irony!!

The Emperor that Wukong surrendered to in order to protect his brothers-in-arms, now kneels to said brothers to protect Wukong!

Worse part is that the only reason that Xiwangmu, PIF, Nezha, or Macaque, or even the Noodle Gang are fighting back is that Wukong and Xiaotian are in super-vulnerable positions. None want to risk losing their King or his baby to rashness. Also those not in the know are pretty shocked at the revelation that Wukong is technically the a lost Celestial Prince.

When the Brotherhood force the Emperor to step down and leave his own palace "for good", he and almost every single servant leave without question.

Nezha is mortified, are they truly giving up without a fight!?

Until his grandmother whispers in his ear; "Be patient."

Once away from the main imperial ground, the Queen Mother turns to address Tang and Iron Fan with the most random question;

Xiwangmu: "How heavy is the Ruyi Jingu Bang?" Tang, without hesitation: "About 17,550 pounds, or if we use traditional measurements; 13,500 catties." PIF: "Mother, you're not-" Xiwangmu: "I am. I did not approve of him before, but if he truly is the type to leap to protect my grandson, I will welcome him with open arms." Pigsy: "Wait, what's going on?" Tang, starting to fanboy: "She's going to release the Demon Bull King." Pigsy: "She can just do that!?" Nezha: "With enough strength behind them, anyone could theoretically lift the Staff. The only question is; who's strong enough to do so?" (*everyone turns to Macaque*) Macaque, sighs defeatedly: "I know a guy." Erlang Shen: (*chilling on his day off in the Plum Hill lads home above Sichuan. Still has one or two injuries from when Macaque mauled him after the Trial.*) Erlang Shen, middle eye glowing: "They want me to do what?! And my uncle-? Sun Wukong is-? I WAS ONLY GONE ONE DAY!!"

DBK about to get a confusing af wake up call. At least he's delighted to see his wife and calf there to soften the blow. That is until he hears why so many of his past allies and enemies have come together to awaken him...

[glitchypotato3000]

Fun fact about these Sequence:

was planning to make it just black and white like those Ink brushes kind of style, I did have the draft version of it but my brother being a critic said that it looks weird and maybe actually coloring it was a good idea

VOTK LMK AU Tag/comic guide

and he was not wrong tho especially the first sequence. so far the most juiciest one to draw

[glimmerspirals]

hey best friend, let's see those molars

no filters version

[qevillous]

POKEMON AU WOOOW!!! WOOOWW!!!!!! emperor is the champion and prinz is a gym leader (flying type)

[kefirstushyu]

I have a lot of WINGS!AU content but I gotta wait for @valeforess to officially post the infos :]

Anakin's info-post is not out yet, so lemme be your spoiler-bringer today

• His wings are clipped at their ends since his childhood as a slave, so he can't fly properly (but he really wants to💀💀)

• Palpatine is a praying mantis in this AU, so he can't fly well either, BUT he can at least float down??? Parachute-like??

Yeah, basically I was wondering how would they try not to fall WHILE FALLING (yeah I know Jedi can do the soft-landing thing, but uhh??)

[try02line]

Lil anger deer Philip Wittebane

I fell in love with the pose- is so ethereal and just the way his face is hidden by his wings sort of gives this aura of innocence, there is just smth special about it I love it 🥹

[anarkhebringer]

I finally saw the cutscene of Karlach visiting her parents' graves with Null and I've had tadpoles about it all this time

[allbluedepths]

Once More Around The Sun

(Teen | One Piece | Shanks/Mihawk; side Shanks+Mihawk & Red-Hair Pirates | 3.4k words)

Summary: Shanks wilted at that, his implication clear, but his pouting quickly morphed into something more serious, thoughtful. “What would be your ideal birthday, then?”

(Or: appreciating and celebrating another year alive through a shared birthday.)

A bit late, but I had to write something for Shanks and Mihawk's shared birthday! Technically takes place in my Wings of the Emperor AU, but that's irrelevant beyond "Mihawk's around for dueling often and knows the Red-Hair Pirates a bit more". Set around Shanks' 21st and Mihawk's 25th birthday. : )

Read below or on AO3!

Mihawk didn't celebrate his birthday. It was a choice made from disinterest, not dislike; the day merely served as a reminder that he had survived for one more cycle than before. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t a secret, but no one of any importance knew — people hardly asked for one's birthday during a duel, after all.

He knew it was approaching, faintly, but he had hardly given it any thought. The day would pass just as any other.

His plan, or lack thereof, however, was done in twofold: by sheer coincidence, and by the changing of plans that the Red-Hair Pirates always seemed to bring wherever they went.

He had arrived to challenge Shanks to a duel the morning after Hongo's first birthday aboard, he quickly discovered. Shanks had, apparently, been determined to make it a worthy — and abundant — celebration. He seemed to have succeeded quite spectacularly, if the state of the crew was anything to go by, sprawled around and half-passed out on the beach's shores.

Even the man himself was barely in any condition that morning to be out and about, only peeking out onto the deck for the briefest of moments. “Sorry, Hawkeyes, right now isn’t — hic — good for a duel… Gimme a couple of hours?” he mumbled, before disappearing to his cabin once more.

Usually, Mihawk wouldn’t wait; there was no guarantee Shanks would actually be in fighting condition by the afternoon, and waiting around near a beach filled with hungover crew members was far from an ideal day in his eyes. But there was little to do: no one of notable challenge in the area, no Marines to hunt down, and no notable islands to visit. (He ignored the nudge at the back of his mind that mentioned the influence of how they’d barely seen each other in the last few weeks on his decision.)

He had taken to a secluded spot on the deck of the anchored boat, still almost entire empty from the night before. A few crew members had returned aboard; one being Beckman, quietly maintaining his guns.

“Wouldn’t be a birthday celebration if the crew was functional the day after…” he sighed as Mihawk reclined on a nearby crate.

Mihawk offered no comment, only humming in agreement. Adding a quip every time the Red-Hair Pirates did something unwise or unhealthy would be too much, even for him.

“Y’know, speaking of… When’s your birthday, Hawkeyes?”

“March 9th,” he said, short. It wasn’t a secret, simply something not worth bringing up unprompted, nor worth hiding from simple curiosity.

Mihawk expected the conversation to end there, the deck falling back into silence, his tidbit of information shared without further fanfare.

So when loud, unrestrained laughter suddenly rang out across the deck, Mihawk glanced up sharply in surprise.

Beckman’s usual more serious expression had completely dissipated. The man was bent over his makeshift workspace, clutching the side of the table as his laughter continued, only growing as he locked eyes with the swordsman before doubling over again.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Mihawk said flatly.

The man tried to respond but simply ended up laughing once more, to Mihawk's exasperation. Beckman’s laughter finally began to trail off after far too long, but a wide smile remained. “It seems you and Captain have one more thing in common.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mihawk saw his own expression flicker in surprise, reflected in Yoru’s surface. “Are you implying…?”

“Yep. Captain’s birthday is also March 9th. That’s either one hell of a coincidence or the weirdest fate I’ve ever heard of,” he continued on. “Captain’s reaction is sure going to be something…”

Mihawk’s hand stuttered, the quiet sounds of polishing stopping abruptly. “Ah.”

Beckman’s remaining stray chuckles quickly petered out, his jovial mood sobering. "I take that to mean you're not planning on telling him," he sighed.

His focus remained on his blade, more pointedly than before, even as he felt Beckman’s stare press into him. 

With the redhead, sometimes giving him an inch led to him taking a mile. Or more. Telling Shanks would certainly make it a big deal — one it currently wasn’t and could easily remain that way.

“I don’t see the need.”

Beckman put his rifle down, fully turning towards him, hands still stained with gunpowder. “That’s purposefully obtuse, even for you.” His tone was remarkably unimpressed. “Never said you had to. If you don’t, I won’t tell him — but you know how much of a headache he’ll be if he finds out he missed your birthday. Especially if you were here celebrating his that same day.” 

He bristled at, but didn’t reject, Beckman’s assumption that he’d be around for it. He had no desire to stay for the entirety of such a chaotic night, but to skip it entirely now that he knew of it seemed... remiss.

They did fall into silence after that; however, Beckman’s words remained at the front of his mind for the rest of the day. He was sure the man would keep his word, and with that, he had no need to tell Shanks of their shared milestone. It wouldn’t be a lie, just an omission.

(For some reason, the thought of that set oddly in his stomach, an unease he wasn’t used to. For more than just Beckman’s likely apt description of how Shanks would react if he knew — though that didn’t settle well on its own, either.)

It didn’t leave even through Shanks’ and his — eventual and very delayed — duel, though with the limited room, it was more of a set of training spars than anything else. Perhaps for the best, with how his attention kept drifting — unnoticeable to anyone else, but enough for the thought to get under his skin.

As Mihawk prepared to depart, the sun just barely beginning to dip beneath the horizon, Shanks laid on the deck, eyes following him intently.

“Coming back for my birthday at least, Hawkeyes?” The teasing note to his voice was clear, but Mihawk didn’t miss the genuine question underneath it. “It’s on—”

(He could still pretend he didn't know.

...He didn't.)

“The 9th. Your first mate informed me of such.” He huffed. “As he seemed to find great humor in us sharing a birthday.”

Shanks froze as the words hit him. “Wait— What?! Did I hear that right?”

Beckman called from the other side of the deck — far too obviously listening in — leaning against the railing with a purposeful, lackadaisical stance. One that appeared far too smug on the man. “Oh yeah, didn’t you know, Captain?”

Shanks’ head snapped back towards his first mate, disbelief clear on his face. “You knew?! And you didn’t tell me?”

“You’re not the only one who talks to Hawkeyes, Captain." (Despite his annoyance, the resulting reactions from the redhead were amusing.) "And you would’ve known sooner if you weren’t so hungover. ‘S not like I’ve known forever; I just found out today.”

Shanks continued to sputter, jerkily looking back and forth between his first mate and the swordsman.“That’s— Still! I can’t believe we have the same birthday.”

“It's quite the coincidence," he hummed neutrally. It really was, certainly not one he ever would have guessed unprompted.

"Thank the seas Beck found out, or I’d never know," he grumbled, “Getting personal details out of you is impossible, sometimes.”

"I simply don't bring it up often. Neither did I know your birthday until today, either," he shot back.

Shanks acquiesced his statement with a muttered hum, clearly not appeased. “Well, now that we do know, we can celebrate together.”

He turned his head away, recollecting himself. He had no interest in a party of the Red-Hair Pirates’ likes — he would consider attending for a short while for Shanks’ birthday, but for his own? To be at the center of it the entire night? "Red-Hair, I am sure your idea of a birthday celebration and mine are vastly different," he said, his voice short.

Shanks wilted at that, his implication clear, but his pouting quickly morphed into something more serious, thoughtful. “What would be your ideal birthday, then?”

Mihawk went quiet at that. He knew what his ideal birthday was alone — barely a different day, at all. Providing an answer when one had no frame of reference was… difficult. He remained silent, long enough that anyone else would have long given up on the conversation.

But Shanks was stubborn, above all else.

“Well, that just makes it a challenge to get it right, then — and you know I’m a good challenger,” he grinned.

“Challenging, perhaps.”

The comment got a real belly laugh out of the other man, laying back against the deck from the force of it, arms behind his head and grinning that very dangerous smile.

“Just you wait and see, Hawkeyes.”

—————

Shanks had been beyond tight-lipped over the last few weeks, not breathing even a word about their birthday beyond the mention of when to arrive. Not even the crew would whisper a hair about it — for a group that couldn’t hold a meager secret while drunk, they could also hold information deemed important impossibly tight.

The scrap of Shanks' vivre card in Mihawk's possession meant the Red-Hair Pirates were never too difficult to find, even across the Grand Line. Shanks had made it clear to arrive early that morning, and so he did, the early morning fog still curling over the sides of Hitsugibune. In the distance, the Red-Hair Pirates had already docked on a quiet outcropping, obscure even by Grand Line standards. Their ship sat docked nearly out of view, around the side of the island, barely anything more than a hazy silhouette.

As soon as he stepped on the island, Mihawk could feel the tug of Shanks’ presence near the center of the island, eager and impatient. He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time he arrived, a wide smile blooming as soon as their eyes met.

“Thought your favorite thing would be a good way to start the day off,” he grinned. “Especially since we haven’t gotten to really go at it recently.”

It was true; their time for duels had been more limited than usual for the last few months. Even when they did get a change, they were often at sea, where both of their powers had to be contained in an effort to not destroy the ship — both of them — or knock out the crew — Shanks.

The island was uninhabited, more sand and gravely soil than anything else, though still covered in sparse greenery and some shade. No island villages were even remotely nearby, and Shanks’ crew was far enough out of range to not be endangered by Shanks’ haki.

It was a perfect place for them to truly duel without restraint.

They stood opposite one another, Shanks idly shifting from one foot to the other while Mihawk finished his final stretches. "Maybe you can get an extra present out of beating me!" Shanks taunted.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, straightening up and unsheathing Yoru from her harness. "Is it really a present if it's the outcome of every one of our duels?"

Shanks laughed, loud and bright, and without another word, the flurry of metal on metal had begun.

(Mihawk’s own smirk hadn’t dulled at all by the first hit.)

The first few rounds had been intense, potent, sheer might and skill going against one another. They constantly traded parries and blows, yet neither gave up their ground. Mihawk was acutely reminded of how Shanks’ skill and strength had grown, been honed — how their skills had honed one another.

It was a rush, a true challenge, the one that always itched under his skin but rarely came even close to being scratched. Shanks’ wild laughter filled the air, shouting with exertion, unrestrained, and Mihawk’s own smirks — and once or twice, smiles — joined him.

But eventually, it became experimental. Almost playful. Trying techniques they hadn't gotten to put into practice yet, seeing what worked and what didn't. Shanks laughed when one of Mihawk's charged strikes did more damage to a tree than him, raining leaves down onto the brim of his straw hat. A chuckle escaped Mihawk when Shanks attempted to use Yoru's leverage to flip backwards and instead fell face-first into the sand.

Finally, with the afternoon sun high in the sky, their back-and-forth finally petered out. It hasn’t been a proper duel in hours, but it was satisfying. Exhausting. Fun.

Both stood gulping down their flasks of water, and with an dramatic huff, the redhead flopped down onto a small, shaded patch of sand, still grinning beneath his exhaustion. “C’mon, Hawkeyes, scared of a little sand in your coat?”

(He wasn’t; at least he managed to properly get the sand out of his clothing, unlike a certain redhead.)

His boots, swiftly unlaced, hit the ground with a quiet thump, and his coat quickly followed. Shanks’ eyes barely cracked open again with a sated smile as he settled into the cool ground.

It was still. Shanks’ usually ceaseless talking had all but vanished, replaced by quiet breaths, waves, and rustling of leaves.

Mihawk almost thought the other man had dozed off — something not uncommon after their duels, his hat tipped over his face — until he spoke once more.

“Another year, huh.”

The flat, resigned note to his voice was— unusual, yet not, when Mihawk gave it a second thought. He had seen enough of the other man to know there was more beneath the surface than his cheerful demeanor showed, but it wasn’t often so blatant.

For once, he was the one with the more positive outlook. 

The previous year had been… interesting. Monotonous in many ways as nearly every year was, a cycle of dueling and challengers he was slowly, slowly beginning to wonder if it would ever change. If there was any point beyond it.

But his increasing encounters with Shanks and the Red-Hair Pirates were anything but that, and for the first time in a long while, he was truly interested in seeing what the next year would look like. Not just its duels.

“Indeed. Though—” He turned his head, yellow eyes finally catching gray as he continued, “The next on is looking to be far more promising than years past.”

He could practically see the gears turning behind Shanks’ eyes, flickering through a broad spectrum of emotions before, finally, settling on something far closer to the warmth usually there. “Yeah. Yeah, it is."

Mihawk let himself drift after that. When he opened his eyes once more, the sun had begun to set, tinging the sand and water alike in oranges and pinks. Shanks’ usual, warm smile was back in full force as he stretched and stood, holding a hand down to him. “I’ve still got one thing left for us today. C’mon."

As they left the clearing, he braced himself for the full force of one of the Red-Hair Pirates’ celebrations — loud, raucous, and overwhelming. Survivable for short periods in normal circumstances, but beyond unpleasant when at the epicenter of it. Something that a birthday would inevitably cause.

The sight that greeted him on the distant shore did match his expectations, with drinks abound and many a crew member already well into their cups. It appeared just as Mihawk had pictured Hongo’s own party before its aftermath. Oddly, though, there was no sign of any of the senior commanders, even with his particularly good vision.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t where we’re going,” Shanks laughed, certainly predicting Mihawk’s own hesitation as he continued along.

Mihawk’s curiosity continued to mount as Shanks led them away from the party and back to the boat, not saying another word, even as they boarded. Even without his observation haki, it was impossible to miss Shanks nearly vibrating with excitement. Voices once more filled the air as the rear of the ship came into view.

The back deck had been transformed. A few tables had been pulled together, chairs all around and a variety of food and drinks covering their surfaces. All of the senior commanders were already sat and talking amongst themselves, leaving two empty chairs side by side.

It was quite the setup, but it was… contained. Happy, but by far subdued compared to the beach. Cozy, almost.

Building Snake spotted them first, waving them over. “He’s finally back aboard!”

“Hey, I said we’d be back by sunset,” Shanks laughed as he nudged Mihawk forward.

“Thought you two were going to duel through the whole night, at this rate,” Beckman’s eyebrow was raised, but his expression was fond as he pulled his captain into a hug.

Lucky looked quite pleased with himself as he gestured toward the table. "Can't have a birthday without a birthday meal, right?"

Mihawk found himself being dragged forward by his arm, the redhead pulling him already happily greeting the rest of his commanders and nearly shoving him into his seat.

The dinner was louder than any of his own ever were, filled with the energy that never seemed to leave Shanks' crew, but it was... refreshing. A bottle of one of his favorite vintages sat near his seat, and the food was rich and warm. Shanks was as lively as ever, jumping in and out of conversations all across the table. Mihawk didn't do the same, but the more subdued conversations he had with Beckman and Hongo were engaging and an appreciated reprieve.

The sun had slowly fallen down the sky and below the shoreline, and by the time the dinner had reached its natural, comfortable conclusion, only the last bright, burning embers of the sunset remained. While Mihawk’s attention had been wrapped up in a murmured discussion with Shanks about a recent island the man and his crew had visited, the senior commanders had made their way back below deck.

In a lull, Beckman interrupted them. "Grabbing stuff for drinks and cards inside, Captain. We’ll be back in a bit."

Mihawk knew it didn't take that long — or all of them — to obtain so few items, but said nothing. Their execution may have been questionable, but it was clear their intentions for their captain were from a good place.

“Happy birthday, Captain,” he said, his voice low and warm, "And happy birthday, Hawkeyes," he said. With a nod, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

“So? Was it a good birthday?”

Shanks was genuine, calm, but he was earnest.

“It was.”

Shanks seemed comfortable to bask in his victory, but a question had been pressing at the back of Mihawk’s mind, one that had slowly built over the whole day.

“You asked what my ideal birthday would be. What would it be? For you?”

“It would be… I’m not really sure, actually. I think it’d be this.” Shanks’ expression had twisted once more. “I, uh… actually didn’t celebrate my birthday for a while, either.” The words left him in a rush; his voice was strained, exposed. “Only started doing it again because Beck insisted during our first year sailing, and… it was nice. Still not entirely used to celebrating it, really.”

"Oh." He... hadn't expected that. Suddenly, little bits of their previous interactions were illuminated in a new light. 

“The big party is way more for the crew than me. I’m not going to turn down a party,” he laughed, but it didn’t come out quite right, “but it was just a party. Not a birthday. Today was different. I got to spend the day with my crew — and this time, with you. That’s more than enough.” Shanks turned back to him, and the smile on his face made Mihawk’s breath hitch. “This one was the best.”

The sunset illuminated his figure, dancing across his hair as if it was real fire. His smile was just as bright, maybe more.

“I would have to agree,” Mihawk hummed. “Perhaps it is one more thing we should continue to share.”

Shanks’ shoulder was warm against his own, the cool evening air unable to chill him with the warmth seeping into his side. “Happy birthday, Mihawk.”

(A flicker of haki revealed all of the senior commanders clustered behind the door, arguing in hushed half-whispers about how long was long enough to wait.

Hopefully, they’d have at least a few more minutes to themselves. Something that was looking likely with Beckman’s wrangling.)

He leaned back against the railing, a rare, small smile on his face as he turned to the other man.

“Happy birthday, Shanks.”

[frythebrains]

Primarch political marriage AU where the Emperor attempts to make the primarchs care more about humanity by forcing them to get married. Thankfully, they're allowed to pick their own consort and because Big E can't do anything without being extremely extra (and because it's an excellent way to generate a hell of a lot of good press), there's going to be an elaborate series of parties to display the best that the imperium can offer in the way of potential mates.

Feat.

- the entire Death Guard becoming the Mortarion Primping Squad (led by Typhon) in the hope that getting laid might cheer Mortarion up

-Fulgrim fully understanding the assignment and DOMINATING the entire first night. He really doesn't want to have to pick another wife, though.

-Dorn becoming absolutely fascinated with shapewear- he hadn't ever thought that clothing could be engineered like that before.

-Ferrus Manus trying to hide against the wall, since he has no idea how to talk to women

-Konrad Curze is strangely popular, and gets more popular after he starts predicting the deaths of anyone who dares approach him- the girlies love some fortune telling

-Bobby G calling his mom to ask for advice on how to woo women

-Magnus becoming dejected that women don't flock around him like Fulgrim and Sanguinius. He hasn't put it together that it's because he keeps being a giant nerd about magic and no one has any idea what he's talking about.

-Perturabo is determined to be married before Dorn, so he's brought in Caliphonie to help him pick what to wear. He proceeds to ignore her advice about how to actually win over women.

-Lion getting dancing lessons from Luthor

-the imperial press being flooded with augmented pictures and bios of the primarchs, all to make them seem like romantic heroes. The imperial press in general is just out of control the entire time...

-Malcador really wishing he told the Emperor that this is His worst idea yet

-the Alpha legion getting in a lot of cross-dressing practice.

-Leman Russ refusing to marry any woman who cannot wrestle him to the floor. He doesn't care that they're all baseline humans, any woman worthy of bearing his children should be strong!

-the Mournival taking bets on who's going to get married second (because obviously Horus is going to be the first)

-Sanguinius getting overwhelmed by the amount of attention he is receiving and cocoons himself in his wings at some point in the night. He refuses to come out, even for snacks.

-Lorgar doing well until he tries the whole 'God is telling me that you're my wife' line.

-Horus using the worst pickup lines imaginable and getting away with it.

-Vulkan being delighted by the chance to do something that's not war related for once. He has an absolute blast dancing, although he might be a little too enthusiastic.

- Corvus trying to escape and having to be dragged back into the party by the custodes (under the Emperor's explicit command)

-Jaghati showing up with a whole-ass herd of horses to prove his fitness as a mate

-Magnus is the sluttiest-dressed in the entire room, scandilizing Lion and Lorgar. He even pierced his nipples for the occasion.

[silentheiss]

AU, where Luo Binghe meets Shen Yuan under different circumstances. Precisely, when one of his wives comes to him to ask for divorce.

Because she’s kind of in love with Shen Yuan, as it happens.

It goes like this:

Shen Yuan is having a great time being a transmigrator. He had quite a safe landing with being an NPC who’s never been mentioned in the book, so he’s not about to be killed by Luo Binghe anytime soon, and he’s doing great avoiding him.

Until he meets Ban Li. She’s so pretty and feisty she bound to become Luo Binghe’s wife one day, and Shen Yuan doesn’t want to be seen next to her when it happens. He’s not a suicidal idiot, despite what Ban Li says the first time they meet.

“-an utter degenerate! To face a Venomous Flying Spider in your own! What the hell were you thinking?” She yells, after cutting two back legs of the spider in one sharp swing of her sword, rendering beast to a withering, scaly pile. “At least you had a presence of mind to cut the wings first! Idiot!”

Who gives compliments like that? Shen Yuan sighs and positions himself more comfortably on the ground.

“As this one already said, everything was under control.”

“Ha!” Ban Li barks out, her eyes glowing green. Ah, must be a demoness, then. “Under what control? Be thankful for this one’s grace or your legs will be cut off!”

Shen Yuan laughs and offers Ban Li some sweets he always carries in his pouch. Things go smoothly after that — Ban Li accompanies him for next week, claiming she has a task of exterminating beasts in the area.

“Husband will want a report soon, but this one has time to spare.” Ban Li mentions one day.

“Ban Li is married?” Shen Yuan freezes. “Isn’t it inappropriate to- I mean for us, to. Uh.”

“This one was unaware Shen Yuan was courting.” Ban Li giggles, twirling a lock of her hair around her thin finger.

“I’m not!”

Ban Li laughs and leans closer to Shen Yuan, eyes glimmering.

“If you were,” She says, low and intimate. “I would agree. I would leave my absent husband and runaway with you.”

Ah. Now Shen Yuan sees how it is. Ban Li is not infatuated with him. She’s just-

“Ban Li, are you unhappy in your marriage?” He asks, heart breaking for this feisty, sweet demoness.

“Will Shen Yuan make it better?” Ban Li asks pitifully. Shen Yuan nods.

He will talk to that good-for-nothing husband of her and make him let Ban Li go. She’s promised to Luo Binghe, anyway, for plot purposes. He’ll just help smooth the process.

Several days later Ban Li takes Shen Yuan to a camp. It’s big, obviously expensive, and Ban Li looks almost shaky as they near the biggest, most impressive tent.

“Ban Li’s husband is… powerful.” Shen Yuan notes.

“He is.” Ban Li nods. “But this one doesn’t need his power.”

“Of course you don’t.” Shen Yuan nods. “We’ll make him see sense.”

Ban Li smiles at him, teeth sharp and eyes sharper.

“Shen Yuan is confident even in the face of the Emperor.”

Shen Yuan freezes.

“Ban Li.” He says, very quietly and very slowly. “Are you married to Luo Binghe?”

“Not for long!” Ban Li answers brightly.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“Ban Li.” Shen Yuan groans. “What the hell? Why on earth would you want to divorce Luo Binghe?”

“To stay at Shen Yuan’s side.” Ban Li says.

“Have you gone mad?” Shen Yuan demands. “Are you completely, utterly crazy? Who in their right mind would want to leave Luo Binghe to stay with me?!”

“Shen Yuan!” Ban Li whines. “You promised!”

“I didn’t know you were going to divorce the best person in the whole universe!”

Ban Li gasps at him.

“Do you want to marry Lord Luo?”

“No!” Shen Yuan says. “I’m a man, Ban Li.”

“So what?”

Shen Yuan feels like he’s going grey from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ban Li, we’re losing a thread of the conversations here.” He says. “You cannot divorce Luo Binghe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid! Have you seen him? He’s the smartest, strongest, bravest man ever. He’s extremely good looking. He’s lived through hell and persisted. He’s amazing, Ban Li! You can’t leave him to stay with me, are you kidding? I thought you were smart!”

Ban Li pouts at him, folding her arms like a petulant child.

“If Shen Yuan is in love with Lord Husband-”

“I’m not!”

“No? Then why are you praising him so?”

“Because I have common sense?”

“I don’t want to get back to harem while Shen Yuan is risking his life fighting dangerous beasts!”

“Ban Li, I’m begging you.” Shen Yuan says. “You will regret your decision.”

“I will regret not seeing Shen Yuan anymore.”

“Nonsense!”

“I will run away.”

“Ban Li.”

“Try me. I will.”

Shen Yuan sighs, hiding his face in his hands. He’s so going to die today.

“Do you suppose your Lord Husband might need a librarian?”

Ban Li squeals and drags Shen Yuan into the tent.

Luo Binghe, who’s been silently listening to the whole conversation, hires him immediately. He doesn’t claim to know Ban Li well, but they definitely agree on one thing: Shen Yuan mustn’t ever leave.

[quitealotofsodapop]

[Jade Emperor would explode if he ever found out since by Celestial law, Wukong is his firstborn daughter's son, aka his Heir]

XD Goodness, imagine if Azure'd just reveal that tidbit to the Jade Emperor - no fighting needed, just a cardiac arrest of celestial proportions.

Though, granted, if no actual fight for the throne, wouldn't that just mean the power goes to the next in line? Hmm...

Damn, this family tree is complicated - add in reborn JE as Freenoodles River Baby Bao and we're gonna be needing to make this tree 3-dimensional.

Wait, does Luzhen also count as JE's and Queen Mother's grandkid?

referencing.

Probably would XD

Atleast in the AUs he has his wife to back him up emotionally, during the Brotherhood's siege he's on his own in the throne room.

Heck, if Azure managed to dig up that dirt while in Diyu, then he'd double down on his infatuation of Wukong. Cus, a strong powerful leader AND the legal heir to the Celestial Throne!? He want for political clout. Full on Gaston-level; "I'll make this go away if you marry me and I become the Emperor"-type manipulation. Not conciously at first.

When the MKrew and Wukong are released at Camel Ridge, Azure would make a point of proposing to Wukong then and there with the knowledge he's found. Wukong thinks its all nuts and refuses, leading to his recapture.

Meanwhile...

The Jade Emperor - Yudi - Emperor of the Celestial Realm Cause of Death: Heart Attack from Shock of hearing that he's a Monkey's Grandfather.

Every demon, immortal, and mortal feels a skip in their chest when it happens.

Also in terms of baby Bao from the Mother River Tang AU; you suddenly have a situation where by celestial law, Tang is now considered Wukong's great-grandmother. Also Pigsy is the reincarnation/decendant of Zhu Bajie, who in turn used to be Marshal Canopy - Xiwangmu's brother. Pigsy is now considered both the brother of the Queen Mother, and the brother-in-kaw/father of the Jade Emperor. Not even time-travel family trees get this weird. Again its all Celestial/Immortals not understanding the differences between reincarnations, and/or that the new incarnation doesn't have the memories or personality of the "originals".

As for Luzhen its a little complicated since while his birth parent ("The Consort") was the Stone Matriarch's mate/marriage partner, he himself was partially formed from the Matriarch's shared Dao due to being an asexual stone egg. He's considered the genetic brother (nearly twin) of Sun Wukong despite not technincally being "blood" related.

The Queen Mother and Jade Emperor would consider him a grandchild just to avoid the headache of trying to understand Stone Monkey reproduction methods. They'd also see him as a "second chance" to raise their daughter's child, as they had failed with Wukong. However, Luzhen is very confused and clearly prefers his fellow monkeys over the royals, and Wukong in turn has taken him in as his own cub. They argue a lot about the proper way to raise Luzhen.

[snazzynacho]

— Sick Side

Part 1/? Part 2

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 has been posted!

THIS WAS TENSE ASF. (it gets worse)

[cupids-chamber]

— THE CONCUBINE GAME !! | chapter one . . . The first chapter, where you'll be able to catch a climpse of the inner dynamics between the emperor's y/n's secretary and their personal guard, a small entry and brief taste of what's to come, while learning a bit more about our beloved emperor and their staff . . .

— Themes ; Harem / historical au , Twisted wonderland , multiple characters x reader , royalty au , includes rsa + yuuka/yuuken. ♡

The wind was howling, the pitter patter sound of rain could be heard throughout the grand walls of the palace. The sound of heels clicking urgently on the wooden floors, echoing through the empty halls, as Yuuken rushed his way through to the emperor's chambers. It was late, yet he’d been overworked all week preparing the palace for the arrival of certain selected members of the Royal Harem, some were particularly demanding with the way they wanted things sorted out and Yuuken prided himself on never failing to impress. 

He banged on the door rather aggressively, “Your majesty, I have certain design plans I need you to finalize before Prince Leona’s arrival, and the first few concubines enter the palace, we don’t have much time!”, he yelled out trying to get the emperor’s attention, it was already late into the night and the palace staff were working overtime meeting every demand that they were given. 

Yuuken flinched feeling something touch his shoulder, and right before he could move back and attack, he heard an all too familiar voice—”Don’t bother trying to get their attention, Y/n’s at a meeting”—Yuuka spoke, a small grin on her face while she watched Yuuken try and collect himself, “This late?”, he asked confused, “also please try and address them by proper titles in public”; Yuuka shrugged in response, pausing for a moment before she spoke up once more, “I’d like to keep things the way it is, and you should probably take a break because they’re not coming out of the room at all, it’s something about politics . . . I wasn’t really paying attention”. 

Yuuken sighed, slumping his shoulders as he leaned onto the door of the Emperor's chamber, “I-i . .  just want everything to be perfect, everything’s been so . . hectic for their majes—y/n and I just really want to provide some stability, you know?”, he said softly, letting his exhaustion take over for a moment and Yuuka’s expression softened, “Hey—you’re doing great, there's a reason y/n gave you full creative liberty”, she ruffled his hair giving him a genuine smile, “don’t push yourself too hard alright? None of us are expecting you to be perfect, not even y/n . .” she finished, as Yuuken closed his eyes and whispered a small, “I know . . .”

Setting: Meeting room Location: The west wing. Time: 11:36pm 

You fiddle with your fingers, trying to shift the jewelry that you were covered in, in an attempt to feel more comfortable with the weight that the jewels provided, holding you down . . , as another argument ensues between the nobles, these past few days have felt like a choir, in fact most of the months since you ascended have felt terrible, nothings been exciting—from inheriting an empire doomed to fail, to trying to pick up the scraps of what was left of your fathers reckless decisions and fixing it into something at least palatable, the pressure of everything has left you in a bottomless pit, you needed freedom a refreshing start—something you lost—when you inherited the throne . . . 

“—Ah, your majesty?”, one of the nobles spoke up, and you bit your lip, how you hated that title, the moment you inherited this role, your friendships haven’t quite been the same, everyone who you’ve trusted in the past, have now become just another subject, trust is no longer something you earn, as loyalty and trust is to be expected when the crown is on your head.

Setting: Inner Cold Palace Garden Location: Rundown Gazebo Time: 12:46am 

"—and they never thanked me'', Yuuken hiccuped out, words slurring due to his alcohol intake, he waved the half finished bottle of some form of expensive imported wine in his hands, swinging it around dramatically; Yuuka chuckled, taking a sip from her glass as she looked around at the scenery of the garden—it used to be much prettier and well taken care of, way back before the previous emperor—y/n’s father—went haywire. . . 

"Hey Yuuken, remember when we used to play together here?" she asked without thinking, meeting his eyes for a brief moment all the while Yuuken took another big gulp from his wine bottle . . and then he spoke, "Yeah—you and y/n pushed me into the lake, I still hate the water", he slurred over his words slightly and Yuuka chuckled in response, if only things could've stayed as simple, but now Y/n didn't even have the time to maintain the garden where they're friendship once first blossomed, Yuuka sighed, leaning her head down on the table—which had seen better days— . .  the same could be said about their relationship with y/n themselves . . 

Masterlist | Introductions (being reworked) | Next chapter

♡. Synposis ; After many months of persuading, the emperor, Y/N L/N had finally agreed to take in a select few concubines and consorts—not an official partner.. but concubines. This caused an uproar in court; however the emperor promised to choose an official partner; amongst the crowd of concubines and consorts.. Who will the emperor choose?

— taglist ♡ (open) : . . tumblr is not letting me mention over 5 people per post, and the staff won't do anything about it, so I recommend just joining my server and picking out the new chapter ping role as it makes things easier for me.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.