Hello! I’ve been thinking How did getas child and her wet nurse have access to a bathroom or food or those basic facilities during the time Geta was hiding her from the public ? 🤍
i have it headcanoned that the rooms hidden behind geta’s are pretty widespread! they’re not big rooms, but there’s a handful of them!
also, when you look into the bathroom situations in ancient rome, it’s said that the elite had their own bathrooms as compared to the general public. their versions of bathrooms are interesting to say the least, but they did have a sewer system for their bathrooms!! so, they had access to a restroom!!
i’m trying to remember if i posted it or not, but i had a small drabble of geta visiting the wet nurse and his child, and geta basically brought them everything they needed! it was basically a super small home behind his room, with a small kitchen area with a bedroom area and a bathroom!!
one of my biggest concerns was the matter of fresh air and sunlight, and in that drabble, there’s a scene of geta taking the wetnurse out to the gardens!
so, while it was a less than ideal setup, it definitely kept them alive!!
Why does Geta move his child into a different room I don’t think he could sleep at night and she’s still so young for it to be deemed “ inappropriate “
it’s definitely not inappropriate!! it’s just the whole “my child is growing up and she’s going to need her own space especially because she’s starting to become a woman!”
ideally, he’d keep her with him for as long as he could, but he also recognizes that yeah, his kid is gonna need some room as she grows! even though she’s not in control, giving her a separate room makes her feel like she’s gained footing in their relationship!!
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ synopsis: geta knew his daughter was going to evolve into womanhood sometime soon, he'd just didn't think it'd be this soon. (1.9k)
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ contents: menstruating & menstrual blood, geta is literally going through a crisis, crying, a little bit of that "my child is growing!" angst but also plenty of comfort, a little wee bit of underlying sexism, geta realizing that there’s simply no way for him to keep a leash on his child
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: geta x daughter!character
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ a/n: guess whose back!! me!!
my masterlist!!
from the moment geta learned he had a daughter, he had feared for the encroaching change into womanhood.
he had overheard stories from a young age, from his mother and servants alike, stories that seemed to obsess with blood. whispers of no blood on a wedding night meant a woman was impure, while stories of children bleeding onto their sheets or dresses were celebrated.
as he grew, he learned the ways of the women that surrounded them, keeping close to his own mother and her servants in childhood before he and caracalla had been briefed about the changes a woman went through.
he had never worried about it, or given much thought to it after he ascended to the throne, after all, if he were to marry, the woman would be plenty grown.
then, he had a daughter. a daughter with a dead mother.
as his daughter grew, the lingering stories stayed in his mind, the fear of her menstruating lingering every time she had a stomach ache. he knew that it would be the end of his period of peace, of having his child entirely to himself.
the senate would learn of it somehow, whether it be a loose tongued servant or a simple mistake on his daughter's part, they would learn of her coming of age. marriage requests and contracts had already begun to flood palatine, but the moment his child is no longer a child, they would begin pushing against his rule.
and it terrified him.
the amount of nights he spent up looking at his child's face in the dim lighting of the torches was ridiculous, but as she aged, he could not help but feel her slipping through his fingers.
-
his child is robbed from him in the middle of a winter's night.
she had been fragile the entire day, fretting over small issues and mishaps that she normally could've shaken off, ending up in tears at his feet more than normal. he had brushed it off as a seasonal worry, knowing that the darkness made her uneasy, especially when it begun to encroach upon rome in the midst of the day.
she had spent the day inside, curled into one of her thicker cloaks, bundled up in front of the fireplaces, dozing off whenever she wasn't consumed by her tears. she had fallen asleep endearingly early, nuzzled into the depths of the fur lined linens upon their bed, lost to the world before he returned from a meeting.
geta should've known. yet, he's still shaken when he awakes to frantic crying, a hand pitifully pattering against his shoulder. he lunges up so quickly it feels as if the room is spinning as he takes in the sight of his child.
she's painfully terrified, eyes blown open in a terror he cannot decipher, in an odd place between sleep and awareness. for a minute, he believes it to be a nightmare, perhaps a bad dream about the gladiators.
but it's when he leans in to calm her that he sees it. bright red blood soaking into the linens, a patch in the front of her nightrobes.
for a moment, they share in terror. he's quicker to recover than her, shushing her as he steps away from the bed, careful not to startle her worse.
"shh, it's alright child. nothing is wrong," she’s shaking like a leaf, pale skin impossibly paler, eyes darting back and forth between her legs and him.
tears brim at the corners of her eyes as she sits. he kneels beside her, pressing a gentle hand to her cheek, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the chill that has settled around them.
“listen to me,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, “you are safe. it’s just a little bit of blood, and that means you are growing up. it’s a part of life, a part of being a woman. but you are still my little girl.”
as she trembles, he instinctively reaches for the edges of her nightrobe, adjusting it to cover her a bit more securely. he offers a smile, though it feels uneasy and fragile against the gravity of the situatiom.
“this is something that happens to all the women,” he continues, desperately attempting to convey calm amidst his own paranoia. he could hear the senate members now, knocking at his doors and demanding marriages.
his daughter’s whimpers quieten, yet the fear remains engraved in her features.
“you mean… this is normal?” she asks hesitantly, little crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes as she tries to understand.
“yes, my sweet,” he assures her, brushing back a stray hair that clung to her forehead. “many girls your age experience this. it simply means your body is becoming what it is meant to be. it does not change who you are. you are still my sweet girl.”
he's gentle to pull her up off the bed, wrapping a cloak around her shoudlers as he scoops her up, allowing her to tuck her head underneath his chin.
later, geta will panic. but for now, he is a father first.
-
their walk to the baths is short lived. he's quick as he turns through the halls, holding his shaking bundle of a daughter, careful not to startle her as she lulls sleepily against his chest.
she's barely startled when he dips her into the baths, shutting his eyes as he tugs the nightgown over her head as she slips into the bubbles. her head lulls against the stone floor as she blearily blinks, allowing him to wash at her hair.
and the panic hits him all at once.
she's still so young, still innocently clinging to her childhood underneath his watchful gaze. his child didn't know of sex or betrothal, of the sudden weight upon his shoulders now that she's bridged the gap to womanhood. it's nearly impossible to look at his child, sleeping against the stone floor as he washes her hair and think of marrying her off.
just the idea of her getting married sends shivers down his spine, visions of wedding robes and her disappearing from his life filling his head. even worse, the idea of her pregnant makes his heart stutter in fear.
as he rinses her hair, he cannot help but lean down to press a kiss against her forehead, grinning as she stirs a little. as she stirs awake, he fights back the terror in his chest. she blinks against the light of the torches, confusion washing over her features. “papa?” she murmurs, her voice thin and small, pulling at the very strings of his being.
"shh little one, you'll be okay"
-
they sleep in a different bedroom that night. the room is typically reserved for the empress and at the moment, his child is the closest thing to an empress rome has.
the room is more femininely decorated, thick linens dyed red and pink thrown over the bed, the bed which is shrouded by sheer curtains. as he lies his child down in the linens, he cannot help but realize that in a few months, his child will no longer curl up into his hips, seeking comfort.
instead, she'll fall asleep in this room, tucked away from him as she grows, seeking comfort in others. a thick wave of nausea rolls in his gut as he imagines her sneaking a lover in here, whispering of marriage. realistically, he knows that it will be a long while before his child ever seeks for a lover, but he cannot help but fear for it.
no one would understand her like he did, no one could love her as completely as he did.
he had been with her since the beginning, witnessing every moment in her life, taking the stage as the most important man in her life and he could not allow someone else to corrupt her. to take her away into a world that devoured innocence and would leave her as nothing more than a wife, to take away his spot in her life.
he shifted closer to her, ensuring that the warmth of his body enveloped her small frame. she stirred slightly, mumbling something soft in her sleep, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as she went back to sleep.
-
as dawn broke, a thin line of sunlight seeped through the edges of the curtains, illuminating his daughter's face. he brushed a hand gently across her cheek, marveling at how beautiful she was, how fragile. as she awoke, her big eyes blinked at him in confusion before recognition settled in.
“papa?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
“yes, my sweet girl?” he replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. he couldn’t help but pull her into a gentle embrace, letting his warmth infuse her with comfort.
“why are we here?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly in concern as she took in the difference in rooms. he grimaced as she continued to look around, eyes going wide at the sight of the lavish decor, no doubt catching her eyes.
"i will tell you why later, but for now, let us sleep some more."
he leaves no room for debate as he hears the servants creak open the door into his chambers, knowing that the news of his daughter's descent into womanhood has already begun to circulate. he knows that once they awake once more and geta resumes his duties of emperor, he'll be faced with the senate's demands.
he knows that once he leaves the warmth of this room, he's letting his daughter slip away into a different stage of her life. he knows that once he leaves the room, a servant will slip inside with a physician and his daughter will be confronted with enough information to make her head spin.
he knows once he leaves this room, his child will no longer be a child in the eyes of his people. that she will be a woman amongst men, that she will slip into the empress position with ease, that the senate will sink it's claws into her and refuse to let go.
and all he can do, is try his best to shield her from the senate and to keep her close, to deny any marital questions that come his way. there is nothing he can do but wait. selfishly, geta feels as though he's been robbed, that someone has taken his child's youth and stolen it away from him. as if someone had stole his child's innocence and tucked it away, never to be found again once he opened the door.
so for now, geta allows himself to curl deeper into the linens, the weight of his daughter's head against his chest lulling him back to sleep. for now, it is just him and his child.
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ synopsis: somehow, you had managed to avoid charlie walker's stratosphere up until senior year. but with nearly every class together, you end up barreling into his. (2.7k)
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ contents: academic rivalry, mentions of ghostface activities lol, charlie being a cutie patootie, stalker charlie, charlie gets obsessed quick, no jill and charlie dating!!
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: charlie walker x classmate!character
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ a/n: it's been so long since i wrote anything modern-ish!! i'm so used to writing about ancient rome!!
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: based off of this request by @charliewalkersgf !! you'll have to let me know if you enjoyed this, it's been so long since i last wrote for charlie!! might've missed the mark on this, but i hope u enjoy!!
could u do something about charlie & the reader being academic rivals who share most of the same classes and are constantly trying to one up each other but they secretly like each other and don’t realise it.
my masterlist!!
charlie can't help but grin a little as he saw the seating chart projected upon the board, their semester seating chart for the entire year laid out in an annoyingly small font.
he could hear robbie complaining about something, but charlie couldn't help but hurry to his seat, nervousness brewing in his gut. for three years you had managed to slip from his grasp, always ending up in an opposing period while sharing the number one spot in the senior class.
at first, he hadn't cared, caught up in his obsession with kirby, he barely attention to you. then jill had gotten with trevor and everything shifted. for awhile, he was content to stew in his hatred of trevor, his hatred slowly tainting the obsession he held for kirby.
but then, you had appeared like a plague, seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once. your name followed him like a disease, always attached to his on the class rankings, coming up in conversation between robbie and another member of the film club. somehow, you had been right there the entire time, and he hadn't noticed.
at first, he hadn't known that you considered him a 'rival'. his attention had just been piqued at the end of junior year when robbie came in laughing, clutching at his ribs as if he'd been tickled relentlessly, sparing charlie the smallest of glances before doubling over. it had taken him nearly forty minutes to stop breaking out in laughter before he finally showed charlie what made him nearly made him giggle up a lung.
somehow, robbie had managed to grab ahold of you after seventh period, sharing in banter about his headset before he had asked his first question.
"so, y/n, how does it feel to finally snatch first place from your rival in class ranking this year?" the camera dangled infront of robbie, focusing in on your face as you laughed, eyes crinkling in what charlie assumed to be mirth. "well, i'm not too sure if charlie even knows we're rivals, but it feels amazing! they even gave me one of those free mcdonald's coupons for coming in first!"
robbie had laughed, the camera shaking slightly as you held up the coupon, grinning next to it as if it was a million bucks. "well then y/n, any words for next year's rivalry?"
"oh i so have next year in the bag! there won't even be a rivalry because i'll do so good!"
as the video played, charlie couldn't help but stare at you. you almost seemed too cool for robbie, yet not cool enough to have a stigma attached to your name. robbie had paused the video to laugh as charlie finally got time to truly study you. you were wearing an old woodsboro high sweatshirt that had begun to slighty frey at the hem, face stuck in a laugh. he could see light pink manicured nails grasping the coupon, a pair of gold earrings dangling alongside a thin gold necklace.
and that's where his newfound obsession began. throughout the summer, he tried to keep as many tabs on you as he could, noting down whatever information robbie let slip. by the time school started up in august, charlie had practically discovered everything there was to know about you.
he had seen you in the hall, shuffling alongside a group of girls before you looked up. you had paused for the slightest of minutes before grinning, winking his way. from there, charlie would say you two became somewhat friends. you two didn't share any classes together that first semester but everytime you walked by him, you'd grin and wink before walking away.
but now, you were everywhere. you shared nearly every single class, yet, you had always ended up separated by a seating chart. but now, in ap history, you sat directly next to him at a shared table.
-
unfortunately, he had grossly underestimated just how deep their rivalry went. in every class, there was constant rebuttals and debates, sly grins whenever one of you did better than the other. if charlie didn't know better, he'd say you two were enemies. every time he raised his hand, there was already a "actually.." flying off the tip of your tongue, a sickly sweet grin whenever the teacher agreed with you. at some point, it had begun to become a competition, a constant comparison of scores and ranking filling his days.
days turned into weeks, and the tension between you and charlie had begun to intensify. it followed him into every class, pressure mounting with every question and test. the air around him felt thickened by your competitiveness, always pushing him to do his best.
his first major loss came in history.
it had been a student led discussion debate hybrid, yet you had led the debate from the very get-go, engaging in a constant back and forth with him, a few other classmates throwing in the occasional opinion. you seemed effortlessly relaxed, sinking into your chair as if it was a beach chair, desk completely void of any notes or material. in some odd way, it had frazzled him ever so slightly, enough to make him choke up on a question about the constitutional convention. you had grinned at the slip up, winking at him as the discussion dwindled down.
his chest burned as you winked at him, nudging his knee with yours as your classmates began to talk, "good job charlie, i'm sure you'll get me next time!"
and he did, scoring a 98 on calculus compared to your 95.
-
as the months passed and the weather grew colder, you and charlie grew closer.
it was an odd friendship, launching poorly hidden insults back and forth in classes, comparing scores and hiding notes. it was odd at first, you flying around his stratosphere as if you guys had been friends for years, yet your rivalry always seeped into every conversation. you had begun to appear in his day to day life more often, hanging around him and robbie, worming your way into his personal life.
you had even begun texting him, a constant form of contact flickering between you two, even on weekends where there was no homework to be done, no scores to be discussed.
and charlie had begun to sink into his obsession, his infatuation with kirby flickering out like a candle. because there you were, smart and funny, soft and sweet. he had grown acquainted with the bushes outside your house, creeping through your lawn in the dark hours of the night, perching himself on the edge of a tree branch to peer into your room. he had even grown accustomed to slinking around the edges of your house without a flashlight, learning your family’s night routine as if it was his own.
he knew you had two brothers and a dog- affectionately named goose, and you went to bed around eleven. he knew you sat in front of your vanity every night, mulling over what you would wear tomorrow and that every night you’d fill up an old mug with hot chocolate before you went to bed. he knew you loved falling asleep to muted action movies, sleeping underneath a pile of blankets while your fan whirled.
sometimes he’d even find himself peering into your window in his ghostface costume, careful not to leave any blood behind as he watched you through the windows. the mask would get hot with his breath as he stared in, sitting for nearly an hour as you slept, unbothered and unknowing of his pastime activities. it excited him, to have someone all to himself, to have a friend outside of movie club. someone that belonged to him, and him only.
-
it all comes to ahead during winter break. you had slid your final grades onto his desk, grinning when you saw your 97% compared to his 95%.
“oh this calls for celebration, walker!”
you had grinned so hard that for a moment, charlie had worried that you would split your cheeks open, grimacing slightly at the percentage difference in history. somehow, you two shared the same percentages in every other class, likely a product of having every class together and being somewhat study buddies. he couldn’t help but laugh as you ran off with the papers, shoving them into a few girl’s faces, laughing. they were your own friends, names unknown to charlie as he watched you cheer, rambling about coupons and speeches.
it’s only when the bell rings that he gets his paper back, your address scrawled at the top in pink pen- come over tonight! i’ll order some pizza!- written in familiar handwriting.
for the rest of the day, the note feels like a stone in his pocket, like his own dirty little secret as his classes pass. in every class, you’re ever so out of reach, laughing and smiling with your other friends, spending the final day of the semester in ease. in every class, he seeks you out amongst your classmates, watching you laugh and interact with people charlie had never seen or talked to before.
-
standing outside your house gives him a bad sense of deja vu.
how many nights had he lingered outside of your window, wishing to creep through your window and memorize the layout of your home in his brain? how many nights had he lingered outside in the dark while your family ate dinner, cloaked in the darkness of winter?
and now, here he stood, the door slung open as you grinned.
he barely processes you greeting him before you’re dragging him in, the smell of pizza wafting throughout the house. there’s a fat dog at his feet, excitedly running around his legs as you shuffle off to the living room, “i hope you don’t mind dogs charlie, goose is the biggest lover you’ll ever meet!”.
he laughs back before scratching at the dog’s ears, grinning goose licks his hands, “well hello there goose!”
you returned moments later, triumphantly plopping two steaming pizza boxes on the coffee table. "i ordered your favorite—extra cheese, right?" you shot him a playful grin, the slight glint of your earrings catching his attention.
“yeah, extra cheese is perfect,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual as he slid down onto the couch opposite you, feeling the weight of your gaze as you settled in beside him. goose immediately flopped into a pile at your feet, tail wagging as he grinned up at charlie, perhaps sensing the charged atmosphere in the air.
you opened one of the pizza boxes, and the gooey, melty cheese almost hit charlie like a slap to the face, tempting and inviting. “so, christmas break plans?” you asked, pulling a slice out and holding it out toward him. your grin was wide, and charlie couldn’t help but mirror it.
“you know, probably just more of the same—working, trying to convince robbie to get rid of his camera!” he said, accepting the slice from your fingers, brushing against your knuckles briefly. the contact sent a jolt of electricity up his arm, and he quickly turned his attention to the slice, trying not to dwell on the feeling too much.
“ugh, i have no clue how he wears that thing everywhere! it looks so silly,” you laughed, bumping him with your shoulder. “right? he looks like he's trying to be a secret agent!"
you open your mouth to say something but the movie finally loads, the blair witch project suddenly filling the room.
the movie filled the room with eerie sounds, and charlie tried to focus on the screen instead of the fluttering in his chest. the thin veil of horror and suspense created perfect conditions for him to act like a coward.
as the first scare happened, charlie instinctively flinched, sitting a little closer to you. you noticed, throwing a teasing glance his way. “not scared, are you, walker?”
it felt like an invitation in disguise, the way you leaned in closer, the warmth of your arm brushing against his. charlie could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, unable to keep his eyes on the screen.
“me? scared? never!” he countered, but the stutter in his voice betrayed him as he maintained eye contact with you. your laughter was music to his ears, rich and genuine, seeping into his bones like melted chocolate.
-
at some point, you had ended up pressed against charlie's side, goose curled into your other side.
his breath seemed to evade him as he felt the warmth of your body pressing into his, the soft pressure of your shoulder against his. the movie played on, but he found it hard to concentrate. every time you laughed at a jump scare, it sent butterflies swirling in his stomach. it felt surreal—sitting next to you like this after all those months of playful rivalry and tension.
as the film creaked to its climax, he was suddenly hyper-aware of every little detail. the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the slight shift of your weight as you adjusted to get more comfortable. he could even catch a whiff of the faint scent of your shampoo, a sweet, sugary fragrance that he wanted to imbed in his senses.
“i can’t believe you think you’re not scared!” you teased, peeking out from under your blanket cocoon, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “your face when that last jump scare happened was priceless!”
charlie shot you a playful glare, though he couldn't help but laugh. “okay, maybe i jumped a little, but that doesn’t mean i’m scared! i just was caught off guard!”
you rolled your eyes dramatically, smirking as you nudged him again. “sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, walker. i’ll just take your pizza slice if you don’t like it!”
“hey! that’s mine!” he protested, half-heartedly swatting your hand away as you made a grab for his plate. laughter spilled between you both, and the teasing banter felt so natural, so right, a rhythm charlie didn’t dare to interrupt.
“you know, if you’re scared, you could always hold my hand,” he teased, raising an eyebrow as he dared you to take the plunge.
you laughed, the sound bright and infectious, but the light in your eyes held a hint of challenge. “oh, is that how it’s going to be, walker? i’m not scared!”
before he could respond, you were grabbing his hand, pushing two of his fingers into your pulse point, laughing. “see? not scared at all!”
for a minute, you just sat there and laughed while he stared, enamored with you. eventually, you piped down, eyeing him with a mischevious glint in your eyes.
“you know,” you began, leaning in closer, your breath warm against his cheek, “i’ve actually liked you since freshman year.” charlie’s breath hitched, his mind racing to process your words.
“what?” he stammered, not quite believing what he heard. “you’ve liked me?”
an amused smile danced across your lips, seemingly unfazed by his shock. “yeah. you were this cute, slightly nerdy guy who i was in a constant competition with. it was hard not to like you. but then, you had that whole thing with kirby, and i thought, well, it’s a lost cause.”
“i—i had no idea,” charlie managed to say, his cheeks flushing. everything seemed unreal, the weight of your body against his, your grin as the movie continued to play, face illuminated by the glow of the tv.
you shrugged, a hint of shyness breaking through your usual confident demeanor. “well, now you know. but don't feel the need to pity dare me! but…” your voice trailed off, and you leaned in even closer, your gaze flickering between his eyes and lips. “maybe we can start something different?”
before charlie could respond, you closed the distance, pressing your lips softly against his. he felt as if he was floating, lost in the warmth of your lips and the intoxicating feel of your body so close to his. he could tell you were wearign some sort of fruity chapstick as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip.
when you pulled back, your hand was still holding his fingers, your breath mingling in the space between you. “sorry if that was forward,” you said softly, a blush creeping up your cheeks.
“forward? no,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “that was…” he took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “that was amazing, but does this mean we’re not rivals anymore?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, but his heart raced with anticipation.
“i think we can be friends—who occasionally kiss,” you teased, your smile infectious.
he laughed, feeling the tension lift. “i can live with that.”
I've been reading your story a lot about the death of the daughter and Geta, and I can't stop imagining scenarios of the two of them meeting again with "now we are free" in the background😭
oh my god!! that’s such a good song for their reunion!! i firmly believe that if’s not a song like ‘now we are free’ that they’d have some insane instrumental/ choir music going on in the back! i actually wrote her death while listening to stars will fall by duster, so i headcanon that as a large chunk of her death too! i just posted a work about the sister dying, and i wrote that to ‘my tears are becoming a sea’ by m83!
i firmly believe that no matter if it’s the sister or the daughter, the ideal soundtrack for their reunion in death would be such a sad but freeing soundtrack!!
⋆ 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’ve changed usernames!! :)) i’ll still use the getascupbearer tag so my blog is still easy to navigate!! i hope this doesn’t cause anyone any issues!!🤍
Lately I've been thinking about Geta being pinned down by his daughter, like in the scene where Geta pins down Caracalla, but at the same time I don't think it's possible, the daughter would never dare to oppose Geta like that
i might have to work this into one of my drafts!! actually, i think there would be a time where she would pin him! granted, i don’t think she’d be able to hold him down for long especially considering their size difference, but if i think if she got angry or worked up enough i do think she’d lunge. i try to write her as a slightly erratic kid who gets emotional real quick and is very emotionally-driven. it’d have to be when she’s a little bit older, but geta’s child is a literal copy and paste when she’s super angry, so this is a very real possibility!!
