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Gladiator 2 - Blog Posts
i am NOT off my pedro pascal insanity yet. any time i watch anything he's in i feel like winona ryder when she's all "here he is telling me about his poor dead mother and all i can think about is his hands unbuttoning my dress." joel miller im sorry i was looking at your biceps when your daughter died. maybe you could call me 'baby' too... also sorry about gnawing on my knuckles and screeching in deranged hunger when you were torturing a guy. oberyn martell is talking about the tragic death of his sister and i am NOT listening. let's make out.
as someone who was weirdly and staunchly set against pedro pascal for like, five years, (for no reason either) and declared firmly that i did not find him attractive, this whole new thing where i actually like him a lot and he makes me giggle like an idiot is throwing me off badly. i feel like i'm going insane. i like him so much now. i got furious over a youtube comment section saying he was a weak, overused actor, all fired up like someone kicked my DOG. i'm out here poring over movies and skits and clips like it's religious text. i would ask to be saved but i am resigned to my fate and also i like it here.
OH MY GOOODDDDDDDSSSS
The gods have SPOKEN
check out what my wife wrote 👀
ok i finally watched gladiator since im trying to watch all of joaquin phoenix’s movies and why did nobody tell me he wants to fuck his sister 😭
Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure….
KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLE KISSES KNUCKLES KISSES
"noooo it's just a silly pic!!!" nah, there's obviously a deep meaning here.
C:
Because they're all freaks! Hope this helps
tell me why i'm starting to obsess over Lucius Verus after the evil twins?
(still obsessing over the twins tbh)
i want to be crushed by your sweet caress
carageta week day 1 - “dance”
caracalla and geta aren’t enough? have wannabe romulus and remus!
he still loves him
brotherly love
pathetic little emperor
caracalla and geta are for the bitches who wanted to fuck the riddler instead of batman
People are giving Lucilla in Gladiator 2 so much shit like yeah she's giving bitchy overworked divorced deputy headteacher but have you considered that I'm into that
there was indeed a third time
dick so good i had to go a second time
entered the theater not knowing anything and left blushing with butterflies
Little Drabble
A little Roman General Justus Acacius X Black/ Poc reader. A small dribble to just make something sweet for the time being.
His prize
General Acacius X Black/POC Reader
Hooves…All you heard when your husband was arriving home was hooves, as you were making your way to the entrance of your home with two handmaidens flanking you trying to help you cover up properly with a thicker robe, yet you didn’t have much care.
You were to see your husband, after many nights spent worrying about his safety, and praying to the gods for his safe return. You knew your husband wasn’t the most righteous man to others, but to you he was the stars that filled your devoid nights and the very embrace you’d wish for at that moment.
As your long curly and course/ loose and curly/ straight black locs trailed behind you to your mid-back, after falling from there silk covering as they fell against your silk night robes which were as white as pearls, as your beautiful melanin skin, which was almost like the color that made vases that told of the most beautiful stories and tales/ skin that held beauty as the brown tourmaline and as dark as the many shades of the Chocolate Tahitian pearls which were littered across your arms in bracelets.
The entrance opened as your husband still clothed in his ceremonial armor, came over to your, nearly running as you two embraced one another tightly, not many knew the gentler and more domesticated side of General Acacius, but you did.
You tilted your head up looking to see those tired yet loving dark brown eyes looking down at you, as you felt the warmth of his olive toned skin against yours, you both could let out a exhale of relief as your eyes closed no longer having to worry for the others safety, as the comfort of each other eased the worry’s off both your shoulders.
Your handmaidens gently laid the thicker robe across your back before leaving to their chambers, to leave you two. As he heard their footsteps go out of hearing range, he lowly whispered, “My Lady, Mea Vita, I can’t hold your body as close as I wish to, but I can carry your love closest with me…How I’ve longed to see you again.”. You let out a soft exhale as you reluctantly moved back some.
“As you carry my love with you, I carry and hold yours….I drew you a bath, relax yourself in it and then come back to me.” As you were about to take a step backwards against the marble, he gently tugged you back to him as you met his gaze. “Join me my lady..” He lowly spoke with a glint of pleading within his eyes as they softened, hoping you’d agree.
(Mea Vita translates to “My Life” in Latin)
Should I continue? Either with another character or just finish the chapter?
If you want a different character just comment.
Oh my, this is so beautifully written??
It's been a while since I read something on these two and I'm so glad the first fic after that time was this<33
You didn't disappoint, hope I'll read more angst like this from you<33
I very much recommend reading<33
and if you go, i want to go with you.
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ synopsis: the sister of the empire has died, the emperors subsequently follow. (2.1k)
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ contents: death, depictions of dead bodies and decay, mourning, buckle up for this, intrusive thoughts, angst, suicide, heart attacks and brain hemorrhaging
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: caracalla x sister!reader x geta
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ a/n: making my comeback with something sad!! let me know how you feel about this, as i’m slightly unsure of it! thank you all for being so patient with me, it truly means so so much to me!! a few people wanted angst, and i hope i delivered it properly!!
my masterlist!
the halls have begun to stench.
down the hall, next to geta’s chambers, the doors to their sister’s chambers are thrown open. through the doors, caracalla can see her body, cloaked by a white cloth. his hands wrap tighter around the flowers in his hands, thorns digging into his hands, yet the sting is dull. he hasn’t felt much since she died, flowing through his days as if he was stuck in a wine bottle, slushing around.
he can see geta’s hunched form, laying over their sister.
the moon illuminates the room, casting a light over the now abandoned room, dust covering the untouched surfaces. he can see the jutting of geta’s back through his night robes, the bumps of his spine protruding out as if he was the one dead. they’re the same robes that he had worn when they found their sister, curled into her bed, her soul ascended to the heavens.
it was no murder plot that took her life nor a fit of rage or a sudden spark of depression. no, it was her brain, physician after physician had been dragged into the room, crinkling their noses as they studied the deceased empress, gently pointing out the slight swelling of her head. they had murmured about blood pooling in her skull, leaking from a burst vessel.
even now, a week later, they cannot move her body.
there’s a pile of vomit next to her bed, rotting into the carpet, a sign of her struggle. next to it lies a pile of fabric she had been messing with, giggling about dresses and shawls. it pains him, to stare at the multitude of projects and hobbies littered around palatine, forever frozen in time. incomplete and forgotten. even now, in her bed, with the slight sheen of blistering and bloating, foam leaking from her nose as if she had a cold, caracalla cannot help but think she is beautiful.
he knows geta thinks the same.
even now, lingering at the door and trying to ignore the stench of his rotting sister, caracalla can see how geta holds her as if she’ll awake any minute now, clinging to her like a small child. his hair is matted from his refusal to bathe, darkened by grease as he curls into the side of the bed, refusing to leave. at night, when he sleeps in the room next to geta’s, desperate to be close to his siblings, caracalla will even hear him talking to her, crying pitifully.
but who is he to judge?
at night, caracalla curls deep into his bed, mourning the loss of his anaticula. the bed is no longer warmed by the sleeping body of his sister, seeking out comfort in the dead of night while geta works. no longer do the halls smell of berries and flowers, the curtains drawn tight as the smell of her body fills palatine. no longer does caracalla have support against geta, no one to run to when their brother gets mean. at night, he’ll cry into his bedsheets, trying to cling to the lingering scent of her perfumes.
the servants have left alongside their mother. all that is left is the two of them in their grief, guarded by the praetorian.
-
rome mourns the loss of their empress alongside the brothers.
a darkness spreads over rome, the streets no longer bustling with life and activity when the news breaks. the games are indefinitely paused, any celebrations or parties getting lost in the wave of grief.
banners are hung over every window, aristocrat or commoner in remembrance of the now late empress. a procession is led through town by the praetorian guard once her body is removed from palatine, getting taken through palatine. deification had started later, with an uncanny wax version of the empress being presented in the temple.
when they first see her, the brothers cannot look away.
not while an uncannily similar version of their sister rests upon a bed of ivory and gold, dressed in her finest robes, gold and jewels strewn over her body like garland. a laurel wreath is wrapped around the figure’s head, large and commanding of attention as people pour in to pay their respects. on the left side of her body, the senate sits, cloaked in black as they stare ahead while the brothers sit on the right, dressed in their mourning robes. their outfits are eerily similar to their war uniforms, cloaks dangling off their shoulders with gold plates pressing into their chests, yet instead of white, they’re dressed in black fabric.
on the final day of mourning, geta is the one to seal his sister away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before the bier is whistled away.
-
they break tradition.
there is no cremation, no pyre that raises to the skies and carries the scent of death throughout rome. instead, their sister is embalmed and entombed within the pantheon. neither of them see her body before it’s put in it’s tomb, still intact. however, caracalla is cursed to see it while her tomb is getting shut, a glass pane spread over the top of her coffin, her face staring back at him before the door is slammed shut.
he pukes in the pantheon, nasty, gagging sobs leaving his mouth as the image of his sister’s embalmed body sinks into his eyelids.
that night, caracalla dreams of too dull eyes and pale skin.
-
geta becomes cruel once their sister is gone.
he’s a mean shell of a man, screaming and launching items at caracalla as if he were a stray dog, haunted by the ghost of his sister. at night, he sees her still, curled into her side of the bed, head swollen with blood leaking out of her lips. he cannot move once the phantom joins him, unable to move or talk. he stays awake until the day breaks, the illusion of his sister disappearing once the light begins to seep into his room.
everywhere he goes, he sees her. phantom laughs echoing through palatine, flickers of tan skin and curly hair running through the garden, whispered proclamations of love flowing through the library. catching glimpses of white dresses running around a corner, forever out of his reach.
her death keeps him awake, constantly aware.
paranoia seeps into his chest as he continues on his duties, waiting for someone to take advantage of his weakness, waiting for the inevitable knife to slice through his chest. he cannot look at caracalla, haunted by his eyes that shine the same way their sister’s did. he pushes for more military invasions, not wanting to spend anymore time with the mourning look in general acacius’ eyes when they meet, pushing back any attempts of consolidation. geta wishes for pain, for suffering.
he wishes for sleep.
one night, he lies next to his phantom sister, mind sluggish with exhaustion and grief. the room is swelteringly warm, silence pressing into his chest as he thinks back to the warm nights he’d spend with his sister, sitting out on the balconies and watching rome, unbothered by their duties outside of their relationship.
and he wants to do it again.
he wants to loosely braid his sisters hair as she looks at the stars, stumbling through the stories of her day as she basks in the warmth of rome’s nights. he wants to bury his head in the junction of her neck and shoulder, to feel the comforting scratch of her nails in his hair as he cries. he wants to hear uncontrollable laughter and the slight rasp of her breath as she sleeps.
-
he finds himself standing in front of her tomb.
the pantheon is empty, bare of it’s vestal virgins and priests, the moonlight seeping in through the windows, illuminating her tomb. his fingers dig into the stone as he pushes the door open, ignoring the loud creaking and dragging of the door.
his sister stares back at him.
if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was stuck in her coffin, still breathing. heart still beating. she looks like nothing had ever happened, like she never rotted in palatine for days, organs and muscles deteriorating. as if her vessels had never exploded. as if geta didn’t spend weeks mourning over her dead body, feeling her skin grow cold and nasty as she blistered.
he knows he should turn back. that he should slam the door closed and return to the ghostly apparition waiting in his room. but he finds himself creeping closer to her coffin, stretching out a hand to lay against the glass panel, feeling the chill of her tomb creep into his body.
and then he cannot stop.
he’s slamming the coffin door open, the embalmed body of his sister falling into his arms as he sinks to the stone floor, holding her body close.
he cries like a baby into pale skin, tangling his hands in the familiar curls of his sister’s hair. he knows deep down, that it’s not truly her body, a mess of wax and embalmed organs lying in his grasp, the remnants of her hair blended in with hair that didn’t belong to her. he knows that it’s the body from her mourning, not the decomposing mess they had removed from palatine.
but he seeks out comfort from it nonetheless.
in the morning he will be found, clutching her close, wrists sluggishly bleeding as his body is removed from her tomb, freshly deceased. weeks later, he will be entombed in the same tomb, forever next to his sister.
-
caracalla is left by himself.
there is no one for him to lean on, no comfort to be found in the sprawling halls of palatine as he mourns the loss of his older brother and younger sister. the weight of rome rests upon his shoulders now, cruel and demanding as he plans for geta’s mourning, for his brother’s embalming.
enemies have begun to press into rome, hearing whispers of the back to back loss of the empire. riots break throughout the streets, the people angry with the lack of consideration, with the lack of support and leadership. but caracalla cannot bring himself to face the masses of people, selfishly wishing that he could still hide behind geta’s demanding attitude. to be safe behind his brother’s iron throne and his sister’s popularity with their people.
hallucinations haunt him at night, twisting his preexisting sickness into something crueler.
terror seeps into his bones at all hours of the day, his heart forever seized in terror as he waits for his inevitable return to his siblings. every creak and whisper of wind within palatine sends him into a fit of terror, hiding underneath geta’s bed like a small child, curled around the linens that used to comfort his brother.
it’s with one clamber of a sword that caracalla is sent over the edge.
his body grows heavy with something he cannot explain, head spinning wildly as he curls into the linens deeper, terror spreading through his chest. he can do nothing but grasp the linens tighter as his body grows heavy, the world spinning as the pain in his body grows deeper.
in the morning, the praetorian guard will find him seemingly asleep underneath geta’s bed. the physicians will whisper about a broken heart and stress as he’s carried off to the temple, body being placed upon the same bier that held his brother and sister. caracalla will join them in the tomb, placed on the other side of his sister.
maybe in another life, they are not emperors and empresses, instead they will be small children once more, unburdened by power. every life they will find each other once more, together even in death as they’re reunited again and again. in some lives, they will be siblings, in others they will be classmates or soldiers in a war. in some they will be born to royalty once more, facing the same tragic fate of sudden death. in every life, their sister dies first and they follow suit, forever chasing her through time.
-
i have no reasonable explanation for this
Saw Gladiator II today,,, those weird ass ginger freaks have entranced me I fear
For The Glory of Rome
MARCUS ACACIUS X READER
You're finishing your senior year at Orpheus University when your history class is chosen to give an evaluation on one of the professors. Why does he feel so familiar?
⚠️ Past lives AU! Reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister! Reader is also 22 years old, Pedro is older. ⚠️
The mountains were just visible through the window you were sitting next to; their peaks reaching toward the sky above, almost as if in embrace. They were beautiful at this wintry time of year, with the snow cascading down their formations and painting them white. Bare trees that flanked them transformed into branches of green where the cold hadn't hit just yet- your eyes traveling further down the scene. It was that transitory period of the merging seasons, where autumn became winter and left everyone with an odd illness due to the changing weather patterns. Both snow and leaves were tracked inside the bustling classrooms that were alive with the excited chatter amongst the students. Everyone was excited for the upcoming break that would mark the end of the semester. For you, it would mean the midway point of your senior year at Orpheus.
You'd gone to Orpheus all three years of your college career so far, immediately entranced by the large stone pillared building it was. It was so different from your usual pace in the rainy countryside, with its suburban feel and authentic restaurants. It wasn't immediately that you felt the urge to explore the grand halls of the place and to make it your home, but that feeling came soon enough. One glance at the psychology department and a sip of coffee from the bistro down the road were enough to convince whatever part of you left unsure this would be the place. Even with how far you had to uproot yourself and make such a move, you'd made the connections you'd needed and the friends you'd always wanted.
Lee had sat himself next to you this morning with a coffee cup in hand and his phone in the other. He was addicted to that screen- any video that would appear around his recent interest in Danish pop music would be enough to send him down a spiral of excitement. The coffee, however, was for you.
"Morning!" He said, way too chipper for an 8:00am class. He usually went to Starbucks way too close to the time you were meant to be seated with only a minute left to spare. How he didn't have crippling anxiety around his time management, you'd never know. But he did bring you a drink.
"Hey, Lee." You said, with as much energy as you could muster at the moment given how tired you were. "Thanks for the coffee."
Lee threw his bag onto the ground under the long tables in the lecture hall. His spot had been on the other side of the room for the majority of the class as he'd argued he couldn't focus if seated next to you for laughter purposes. However, today he plopped himself down into the one next to you with his notebook open to the most recent material from last week. His hair was a mess as he'd most likely not had the time to brush it but at least his pants matched his shirt today.
"Yeah, 'course."
You took a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the heat on your tongue. He'd remembered you liked your coffee black.
This morning, you had your history course which was conveniently in the building furthest from your shared apartment. Deciding the added three minutes to your walk would mean a warmer outfit for the day, you wore a white button down with fleece tights under your skirt. You had to substitute your usual leather jacket in favor for a heavier coat but still opted to wear the full face of makeup you had on every day. Eyeliner was your saving grace and you swore you'd never be caught outside without it on. You weren't much of a "girly girl," but that beauty product was the one exception.
Your shoes were still a little damp from the snow and the water had melted into the bottom of your bookbag, to your dismay. Your notebook was mostly fine except for the bottom edge, where the pen ink had run together, ruining your script.
"Did you hear about the evaluation today?" Lee asked, with his arm outstretched, offering you one of the Starbucks napkins to dry your notebook.
You hummed in a quizzing tone, signalling you didn't hear about it as you got to work cleaning up the mess before class started. There wasn't much you could do about the few pages that had been destroyed, but thankfully it wasn't the topic you needed at the moment.
"Well," Lee went on assuming you wanted him to continue, "Professor Klotsbach had to officially go on maternity leave so they're giving us someone else for the duration of this year. Apparently they're having this new guy come in today and we get to decide whether we like him or not." Lee said, rustling through his own belongings. "The history majors are saying this is the fifth one this semester."
"Oh? that'll be interesting. I didn't realize she was out already." You stated, throwing the napkins into your coat pocket. At least that meant this class would be easy today and you wouldn't have to worry too much about the notes. You took another sip of your coffee and turned your attention back to the large window to stare at the mountains again. The sun was really starting to come up now, which would hopefully make the walk home warmer. The sunlight shone over the leaves and made its way into the classroom, turning the wood paneling into that comforting auburn color you loved. Even with the weather outside, the inside felt like summer.
You directed your attention back to Lee, who was now back on his phone. You decided you weren't too tired for a conversation.
"I wonder why they're so particular about a professor for a general education course?" You asked, inquiring Lee as though he'd know the ins and outs of how the administration worked. Orpheus was always a semi-prestigious university; you wondered if they did so many evaluations for all the subjects.
"No idea," he said, taking a sip of his own drink, "I guess they wanted insight from other majors as well."
"Ah." You said, thankful that it would at least be some form of deviance from your usual schedule. After this, you and Lee had plans with the rest of your roommates to go to the bistro down the road so you considered today an easy one. A listening lecture followed by a sweet treat was a great morning.
As you were thinking of your plans, the door on the right side of the room finally opened, meaning the professor had officially walked in and class was about to start. Lee put his phone in his pocket although he didn't turn it off, so you assumed he was listening to music. You scavenged in your case for a pencil that wasn't broken and directed your focus to the front of the room, where the evaluated professor would begin.
Your breath hitched in your throat.
This man had to have been about ten years older than you but he was gorgeous. The brown in his eyes and his hair shone under the sun with such elegance; he appeared to be a painting. His brown leather jacket placed stylishly over his buttoned shirt- save for the two at the top- and his dress pants neatly drawn with a belt. An expensive one at that. He looked less like a professor and more like the cover of a teenage romance novel. Even his facial hair was properly trimmed and accentuated the angular curves of his face, which widened into a heartthrobbing smile.
"Hello, I'm Mr. Marcus." He said, turning around and writing it onto the chalkboard with whatever chalk was left in the tray from the class before. He then wiped his hands against each other and stood in front of the desk, leaning against it in an effortless grace as he stared at the class. His eyes scanned the room before they fell on you. It was only for a moment before he looked elsewhere, but you were starstruck and your stomach flipped.
Lee snickered quietly at the face you were making which took you out of your trance. "Dilf season, huh?"
Your cheeks were flushed and your whole body felt hot. It was unlike you to immediately be so caught off-guard. You shook it aside and attributed it to intimidation. That had to be it, you were just nervous of a new professor and at this guy's confident yet inviting demeanor.
"Shut up, Lee." You said with a small smile, so he'd know not to take offense although you were serious. You didn't want to draw any attention to your heart beating wildly in your chest.
As he continued talking, however, the burning in your abdomen only got stronger. There was something to this man, some sense of familiarity that struck you defenseless, although you were unsure as to why. You were certain you'd never seen the man before in your life, yet there was an undeniable pull that rendered you speechless for the rest of the class. He was wonderful at explaining everything in full detail and perfect when it came to answering questions. One thing was for certain though, and that was there'd be no way you could focus on any topic if Mr. Marcus was the professor. Despite how well he performed his job, you just couldn't concentrate. So, when the papers came around at the end of the class for the evaluation, you checked the box stating your disinterest in Mr. Marcus as your professor. How would you be expected to learn in a place where he was the teacher if you were so flustered? All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.
You submitted your paper to the front of the room, Lee in tow. You placed it face down on the desk even though the evaluations were anonymous; you felt awful for the decision you made. How was it fair for him to do everything perfectly and to not be granted the occupation?
As you were about to turn towards the door, you locked eyes with Mr. Marcus. They were a golden honey brown, very similar to the warmth of the room you were in, and they had you entranced. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows as invitation for conversation, which was when you realized you'd been standing there in front of him with open eyes for longer than you meant to.
"Miss (Y/N), did you enjoy the lecture?" He asked, calm and composed. He must've read your name off the seating arrangement sheet and pieced two and two together.
"Uh, yeah-yes. Yes, I did. I find Rome pretty fascinating." You said, trying to regain your own composure. You smiled back at him in a last effort to appear normal and then walked out of the room and into the large hall where Lee followed close behind.
Alone in the Lecture Hall once all the students had departed, Marcus let out a hitched breath. You must have noticed it too? There was something so off about you and he was immediately drawn to your presence the minute he'd entered the room. It was as if he'd bumped into you before, only this odd feeling of familiarity was far more intense than anything he'd encountered before.
He learned against the desk for support and reached for the evaluation papers. He remembered exactly which one you'd placed down as he counted the number of sheets placed on top. He was unsure as to why he needed this clarification so badly, as if the evaluation was going to be enough insight as to how you truly felt about him.
You'd written that he performed everything perfectly. Checked all the boxes showing the administrators that he'd done as he should. But, at the end of the form, you'd written you didn't want him to have the job.
He smiled to himself, just slightly. He must've been overreacting.
...
It was with disdain that his eyes followed yours, the vituperative look etched into his skin. He appeared no older, even with the worry lines becoming apparent as he frowned; kohl seemingly molded into the flesh of his face with its darkness around his eyes. His tunic adorned with goldened jewelry held his red cloak fastened at his shoulder, which swiftly moved side to side as he walked about the palace floor. With his domineering personality and flamboyant demeanor, one could argue he very much belonged here. But those who truly knew him, such as you, would argue the complete opposite. A child in the body of man, ruling over the Roman Empire with the ability to kill any one of the men who'd built the imperial palace with the flick of his wrist.
And to think, he was your brother.
Emperor Geta manically moved back and forth, his steps echoing in the greatness of the hall where the two of you stood. Your other misfortune of a sibling somewhere entranced by his monkey, you presumed. Even with neither of them being much too intelligent, Geta was definitely the force to be reckoned with. This flurry of anger he felt was often of your own doing and today was no different- although the situation was more dire than previous mishaps.
What was usual sibling banter had turned into something fierce, unforgiving. It seemed as though the two of you no longer stood on the same plane and no words could be spoken to alleviate the tenseness between you two.
"There's a traitor-" He began, voice laced with more anger than anything else now that the shock had subsided. "Someone is helping the Senate to conspire against us. A traitor within the castle?" Geta dramatically flung his fingers over his heart and buried it into the fabric of his dress, steadying himself from falling as if he were intoxicated.
"I've heard nothing of the sort, brother." You let out, hardly above a whisper. It felt wrong for the secret to spill past your lips after all this time of keeping it. Although this had been going on for nearly five months, to speak it aloud even partially breathed it into existence. You, who had no family other than Geta and Caracalla, were plotting the demise of both of them. Rome was a collective and you'd been appointed to preserve the democracy of the people- something your brothers had turned into tyranny under their rule. However, it seemed as though they'd just caught wind of the plot without knowing who was leading the rebellion. Of course, Geta would eventually figure it out but the best thing you could do would be to deny anything that would lead to you or Acacius. He would have his head by morn and yours by the next.
Geta focused his eyes toward the nearest column so as not to look at you, forcing himself to tongue over the idea as it repeated within his head. His ornate laurel wreath crown he wore glistened in the light from above, casting a radiant glow on the floor. He was beautiful, if undeservingly so.
"Geta." You started, still fighting the fear that was always prevalent when conversing with your brother, "You are the emperor. Who would dare conspire against you?" you asked, knowing you had to do damage control. It all felt too real and too sudden for anything to happen just yet, this was unplanned. There was still so much more to be done and now that Geta had heard, Caracalla would be next to be informed- potentially halting the senate from being able to make a proper move. Your brothers would behead them all and force you to watch.
There had to be an informant within the Senate, someone who sided with your brothers in hopes of some grand reward for ratting you out. If they told Geta of the uprising, there's no telling how long it would take until they knew you and Acacius were leading it.
Suddenly, it was as if the color returned to Geta's white painted face. The creases that had formed out of worry now resumed with a smile so horrid and vile that your stomach seemed to drop to your toes with dread. The redhead inched closer to you until he was standing directly before you, inches away from your faltering breath. Smug look upon his face with his hands placed behind his back, he whispered in your ear the one thing you never wanted to hear from him.
"Make sure to relay this message to the Senate. If I hear of any further plans or catch the name of anyone involved within the operation, I will make sure the streets of Rome run red with their excrements."
Your veins turned to ice. It was as if your body had become as still as the marble statues surrounding the two of you. The sunlight hitting your brother's hair was not a warm and comforting light, but the light of a thousand fires ready to destroy anything within its path. You could smell the antimony from his makeup, and it was churning your stomach the longer you stood next to him. And then, he pulled you into a forceful embrace.
"You're my brethren, (Y/N). But bloodshed triumphs over blood. My mercy doesn't spill out of my fingertips such as the weak do. I am to carry on the tree of my lineage and I will do so from the seed of my power. Don't let me ever hear my dear sister has fallen into the conspiracy of the people."
Then he left, and a piece of your soul died with the slam of the door behind him.
...
General Marcus Acacius, still clad in the paludamentum from the evening's dinner, gathered himself after a lengthy conversation with some of his troops. He was fortunate for the day's conquer, but he was entirely ready to return to his chambers to meet with his love; hoping she could soothe the grievances that emanated from his soul. A slight glance into the reflection of the gate showed a man worn down by war. Physically and spiritually he felt beaten and old. His face, which had appeared so bright when he'd first started his efforts, had now succumbed to the weight he felt inside. He was duller than the man he'd always been. A light had been extinguished and would never again be set aflame. His body felt as though it were an empty chamber, hollow with only the sounds of the maternal screaming he heard from war. Mothers calling home their only sons that would stay calling for the remainder of their lives. Praying for the boys who'd become soldiers, fallen under an empire that prided themselves on greatness.
The Romans were cruel murderers. And he did their bidding.
Trying his best to push his stressors aside, he stepped into the small garden flanking the back perimeter of the palace, knowing that was your usual place upon nightfall. The fountain seemed to hum as the water rushed down into the basin. The sounds of bugs chirping filled his ears. The calmness of the fire tamed within the confines of the torches made flickering shadows upon the stones beneath his feet.
And then, there was you. Turning to face him once he'd entered the palace and meeting his gaze. He'd sworn he never understood the meaning of goddess until he'd met you. From the first encounter at the palace, Acacius knew he was in love. Every statue and painting couldn't compare to the beauty that radiated off you, he knew. Your eyes were pools of mystery and your skin softer than the sheets lining the bed you shared, fragile under the callouses of his hands that were worn by the hilt of his sword. You were a delicacy. He thought you were more striking than the sun itself.
The word love would never be enough to describe the power that flowed through his veins upon the mere mention of your name or the gentleness of your kiss.
You were here in your usual palla, the purple dye of the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the fire. Your face was hardened into a concerned expression and your lips were downturned. What was usually a gleeful expression when your fiancé returned home safely seemed to be just a little short of animosity.
Acacius immediately went to place his hands gently at your sides, pulling you in slightly with a quizzical look, assessing for any physical ailments. "What troubles you, my Lady?"
You wanted to cry, to scream, to let out all your frustrations through vile words such as your brothers did, but you felt so beaten down you couldn't even formulate the words. Acacius had done nothing wrong but be within your proximity. And now your lover would be subjected to the unforgiving wrath of Geta.
"My Lady?" He asked once more, softer this time. He had a rough day, you could tell, and his forehead lines became more apparent as his brows furrowed. His beard was trimmed but not shaven, so as not to flaunt off some of the scars he'd gathered below his nose. He had one on his cheek and one on the back of his hand that you would run your fingers over in an intimate embrace. He was beautiful, even with the years of war embroidered into his skin. He was your heart.
"It's Geta," you finally mustered, holding Acacius's hand to your cheek and letting a tear fall, "he's enlightened to our uprising."
It was the General's turn to express his worry. "How was he informed?" Hs asked, pulling you in for a stiff hug as he was still wearing his breastplate.
"Macrinus must have caught word after last night's gathering. W-we were so careful, I-"
"Shh." Acacius said, slowly rubbing circles into your back, "We'll be okay, we'll find a way." He said this almost so convincingly you wanted to believe it yourself. But you knew Geta would do his best to punish you in every way humanly possible. There would be no escaping.
"We can run away before they find out its us-"
"To where? We both have the faces of those known in Rome, we'll never even make it past the gate without our identities being revealed. And then what? Where will we go that has no promise of being conquered?" He asked, holding onto you as though your arms alone would ground him. "And (Y/N), you know my heart belongs to you and the people. I couldn't leave one in place of the other."
Any form of democracy was going to be dead if your brothers continued to be the ultimate monarchs the were. Their reign had caused nothing but horrors to the people .
"Geta may want my head when he finds out, but he'll never kill you," Acacius said, looking into your eyes, "He'd never kill our kin." At this, his hand dropped to your stomach, caressing the top of it gently.
"You will not die without me." You said, knowing what he would suggest in the hopes of keeping you safe. "I will not allow it."
"And then what? You die and there will be no hope. Not for the people or politics or our son. My work to free us from the grasp of Rome will be for nought."
Your tears started to cascade down your face as quickly as they came, taking your kohl along with it. This was unfair. All of it was unfair. You wanted nothing to do with your brothers or ruling or Rome or anything. All you'd hoped for was to live peacefully in a world without it- how foolish.
"I love you, Acacius. You know this." You said, burying your face into his shoulder. You took in the metallic scent of his breastplate, trying to ease yourself. You knew as a general that he would never leave Rome defenseless.
"As I love you," he said, moving you gently so you were facing each other, "You know what has to be done."
You composed yourself and met his eyes, trying to find solace in them. He felt more like family than the insufferable gingers you shared a bloodline with. And you knew you'd do anything to protect the family you made for yourself, even if that meant sacrificing the birth one.
"We have to kill them." You said. You found the words didn't trouble as much as you thought they might.
challengers movie but it’s pedro pascal, paul mescal and I.