So @emmacreatures wrote and sent me the BEST Geta x Aelius scene yesterday and after reading it and almost sobbing my eyes out I immediately knew that I wanted to draw something for it…
Guys, when I tell you that these two have got to be one of the best ships we’ve ever had… 🤧🏛️🧡
Is there a fanfic to be written? Or just art for right now?
Oh my GOSH I am so glad to hear! 😭🧡 The interest is so appreciated!
My bestie @emmacreatures is the one doing the writing as we develop this AU together - but for now it’s all private between the two of us except for when I draw art based on what she writes for the ship!
I will definitely make sure to share it everywhere if Emma decides to publicize any of her scenes!
Warnings: Fluff, rivalry between siblings, Caracalla being sick and more himself from the movie
Authors Note: this is now based off of what we see pretty much in gladiator 2. I know the first one wasn’t the Geta and Caracalla we know, but this one is more like the Geta and Caracalla We know now
Masterlist | Previous
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
The balance within the palace was fragile, each day bringing new challenges that deepened the complexity of your relationship with the two emperors. The shifts in their behavior were subtle at first, but you noticed the cracks forming beneath the surface.
Caracalla’s once-boundless energy had waned. He still sought your company, his charm as sharp as ever, but there was a heaviness in his steps, a pallor to his skin that he couldn’t hide. His free-spirited nature was giving way to moments of brooding reflection, his illness creeping into every aspect of his life.
“Don’t fuss,” he muttered one evening as you pressed a cool cloth to his fevered brow. His voice was weaker than usual, though he tried to mask it with a smirk. “You’ll spoil me, and then I’ll never let you leave.”
“You’re in no position to argue,” you replied softly, brushing damp curls from his forehead.
He sighed, his hand catching yours and holding it in place. “If you leave, the palace will turn to stone, and I’ll be the first to crumble.”
The vulnerability in his voice broke your heart, and you leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Caracalla.”
Across the palace, Geta was changing too. The carefree, charming young man who had once filled the halls with laughter now carried himself with a quiet strength. He had taken on more responsibilities, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the tension brewing around him.
One afternoon, as you found him in the library poring over scrolls, you couldn’t help but notice the shadows beneath his eyes.
“You’ve been working too hard,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He looked up, his hazel eyes softening at the sight of you. “Someone has to, especially now.”
“You don’t have to bear it all alone,” you reminded him.
He reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “I know. You’ve been my anchor through all of this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
---
The turning point came one fateful evening when the three of you sat in the palace gardens, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. Caracalla leaned heavily against you, his energy waning despite his efforts to hide it. Geta sat across from you, his posture straight, his expression unreadable.
“I hate this,” Caracalla muttered, his frustration palpable. “Being weak. Being watched. Every moment, people waiting for me to fall.”
“No one’s waiting for you to fall,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, though the anger in his voice faltered as he looked at you. “Not you.”
Geta’s gaze shifted between you both, his jaw tightening. “You’re not weak, brother. You’re just human.”
Caracalla scoffed, though there was no real venom in his tone. “And you? Are you human, Geta? Or have you already ascended to perfection?”
The jab hung in the air, but Geta didn’t rise to it. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice steady. “I’m doing what I have to, for Rome and for us. I suggest you do the same.”
Caracalla’s laughter was bitter. “Spoken like a man who’s never felt the weight of mortality.”
You squeezed Caracalla’s hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re both carrying different burdens, but that doesn’t mean you have to face them alone. I’m here for you—for both of you.”
Geta’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension dissolved. “You’re too good to us,” he murmured.
---
As the weeks passed, Caracalla’s condition worsened, his sharp tongue and unpredictable moods becoming more pronounced. There were days when he barely left his chambers, his illness sapping him of the vitality he once wielded so freely.
Geta, meanwhile, grew more composed, his presence a calming force in the palace. He had stepped into the role of leader with a grace that belied his youth, though the strain was evident in the quiet moments he shared with you.
One evening, as you found yourself alone with Geta in the gardens, he finally let his mask slip.
“I’m losing him,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
You placed a hand on his arm, your touch steadying. “He’s still here, Geta. And he needs you now more than ever.”
“I’m not sure I’m strong enough,” he confessed, his hazel eyes clouded with doubt.
“You are,” you said firmly. “I’ve seen it in the way you’ve cared for him, for Rome, for me. You’re stronger than you know.”
He pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping around you as though you were his lifeline. “Don’t let me fall, amica mea.”
“You won’t,” you promised, your voice muffled against his chest. “I’ll hold you up, just as you’ve held me.”
---
The palace was a different place now, the once vibrant halls shrouded in a somber quiet. But amidst the challenges, the bond between you, Geta, and Caracalla grew stronger, forged in the fire of shared struggles.
Caracalla, even in his weakened state, refused to let go of his playful charm entirely. On one rare good day, he cornered you in the library, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Tell me,” he said, leaning against the table, “what did I ever do to deserve someone like you?”
“You mean besides being endlessly stubborn and impossible to deal with?” you teased, earning a weak laugh from him.
“Exactly,” he said, his grin faltering as he looked at you. “You could have walked away a hundred times by now, but you stayed. Why?”
“Because I care about you,” you said simply. “Both of you.”
“And we’ll never let you regret it,” Geta said, stepping into the room and resting a hand on your shoulder. His calm presence was a stark contrast to Caracalla’s fiery energy, but together, they balanced each other—and you.
As you stood between them, you knew that despite the challenges ahead, your bond was unbreakable.
---
The empire was shifting. Whispers of discontent stirred in the Senate halls, and the weight of leadership pressed heavily upon the two brothers. With each passing day, the strain on their relationship grew, their once-shared camaraderie fraying at the edges.
Caracalla’s illness worsened, his temper becoming as unpredictable as a storm. His moments of charm and levity were fewer, replaced by bouts of frustration and melancholy. Yet, in his rare good moods, he was still the same man who could make you laugh with a sly comment or warm your heart with a fleeting touch.
Geta, meanwhile, was transforming before your eyes. The carefree dreamer had hardened into a composed and calculating leader, his every action measured and deliberate. His affection for you remained constant, but his moments of vulnerability became rarer, hidden behind a mask of imperial duty.
---
One night, you found Caracalla in his chambers, staring out at the city. The soft glow of oil lamps illuminated his pale features, and the tremor in his hands as he gripped the windowsill did not escape your notice.
“Caracalla,” you said softly, stepping into the room.
He didn’t turn, his voice bitter as he spoke. “The city sleeps, unaware of how fragile it all is. They praise us as gods, but look at me. A god who can’t even stand without trembling.”
You approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re no less powerful because of this illness. Your strength isn’t just in your body—it’s in your spirit, your will.”
He turned then, his dark eyes searching yours. “And what happens when the will fades too? When all that’s left is a hollow shell?”
You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. “Then you lean on the people who love you. You’re not alone in this, Caracalla. I won’t let you face it alone.”
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the vulnerable boy he once was peeked through the cracks. “You’re too good for me,” he murmured. “Too good for either of us.”
---
Geta, ever the steadying force, had thrown himself into his duties with relentless determination. He spent long hours in the Senate, navigating the treacherous waters of Roman politics with a sharp mind and unwavering resolve.
You found him late one evening, still seated at his desk, scrolls and reports spread before him. His head rested in his hand, exhaustion etched into his features.
“Geta,” you said gently, setting a cup of wine beside him. “You need to rest.”
He looked up, his hazel eyes weary but warm as they met yours. “There’s too much to do. Rome doesn’t wait.”
“Rome needs you strong, not burnt out,” you replied, taking his hand and tugging him away from the desk.
He allowed you to guide him to the couch, his resistance half-hearted. “You’re the only one who can talk sense into me, amica mea.”
“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, earning a faint smile from him.
As he leaned back, his head resting against the cushions, you sat beside him, your fingers brushing through his curls. He closed his eyes, his shoulders relaxing under your touch.
“Sometimes I envy him,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost lost in the silence of the room.
“Caracalla?” you asked, surprised.
“He still has you to distract him,” Geta said, his tone tinged with sadness. “I’ve buried myself so deeply in this role that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to just be... me.”
“You haven’t lost yourself,” you assured him. “You’ve grown, yes, but the man I care about is still here, behind all the responsibility. And I’m not going anywhere, Geta. You don’t have to face this alone.”
He reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “You’re my light in all of this. Without you, I’d be lost.”
---
The tension between the brothers reached a boiling point during a Senate meeting. Caracalla’s fiery temper clashed with Geta’s calculated calmness, their differing visions for Rome threatening to tear them apart. You intervened before their argument could escalate further, pulling them aside into a private chamber.
“This has to stop,” you said firmly, looking between them. “You’re both fighting for the same thing—a stronger Rome. You’ll never achieve that if you keep tearing each other down.”
Geta’s jaw tightened. “He refuses to see reason. His impulsiveness endangers everything we’ve worked for.”
Caracalla scoffed, his tone biting. “And your obsession with control makes you blind to anything outside your narrow vision.”
“Enough!” you snapped, startling them both. “You’re brothers. You’ve been through too much together to let this divide you.”
They fell silent, their gazes turning to you.
“I love you both,” you continued, your voice softening. “But I can’t watch you destroy each other. You’re stronger together than apart. Find a way to make this work, for Rome and for yourselves.”
The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, and slowly, they both nodded.
---
That night, the three of you sat together in the gardens, the tension from earlier giving way to a tentative peace. Geta poured wine for all of you, his movements precise and deliberate, while Caracalla leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder.
“We’ll find a way,” Geta said quietly, his hazel eyes meeting yours.
“We will,” Caracalla echoed, his voice laced with determination.
You smiled, hope blossoming in your chest. Despite the challenges ahead, you knew that as long as you stood together, you could face anything.
---
The palace had become a volatile place, the air thick with unspoken tension. Caracalla’s illness, far from softening him, had hardened his demeanor. The playful charm he once wielded so effortlessly had given way to a sharper edge, his words cutting and his temper volatile. He moved through the halls like a storm, demanding absolute loyalty from those around him.
You found him one evening in the atrium, pacing like a caged animal. His tunic hung loosely on his frame, a testament to his deteriorating health, but his eyes burned with a fierce intensity.
“Caracalla,” you called gently, stepping into the room.
He turned sharply, his expression unreadable. “What is it now? Come to lecture me, like Geta?”
You took a cautious step forward, your voice calm. “I’m not here to lecture you. I’m here because I care about you.”
His laugh was bitter, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Care? You care for a dying man who can barely command his own body, let alone an empire?”
“You’re still the same man I’ve always cared for,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.
He stepped closer, his dark eyes searching yours. “Then prove it. Stay by my side. When they whisper about my failures, remind them who I am.”
“Caracalla,” you murmured, reaching out to touch his arm.
He caught your hand, his grip firm. “Do you love me?”
The rawness of his question took you by surprise. “Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation.
His expression softened, if only for a moment, before the hardness returned. “Then don’t pity me. Stand with me as my equal, not as my nursemaid.”
---
Geta, on the other hand, had become a beacon of stability in the chaos. His calm, measured approach to leadership was a stark contrast to Caracalla’s fiery unpredictability. Yet even he could not mask the strain of their growing rift.
You found him in the Senate chambers late one evening, his head bowed over a map of Rome. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his face.
“Still at it?” you asked, stepping beside him.
He looked up, his hazel eyes weary. “Someone has to clean up the mess he leaves behind.”
“Geta…” you began, but he shook his head.
“I’m not blind to what’s happening,” he said quietly. “He’s slipping, and I can’t reach him. Every decision he makes pushes us further apart.”
“He’s scared,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Geta sighed, leaning into your touch. “Fear doesn’t excuse recklessness. Rome can’t survive on fear alone.”
“You’re both stronger together,” you reminded him. “Find a way to bridge this gap before it’s too late.”
He reached for your hand, his grip warm and steady. “I don’t know if it’s possible anymore. But for you, I’ll try.”
---
The fracture between the brothers reached a breaking point during a meeting with the Senate. Caracalla’s impatience boiled over, his temper erupting as he dismissed the senators’ concerns with a wave of his hand.
“Enough!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. “I am not here to beg for your approval. I am Rome. You will follow my commands or face the consequences.”
The room fell silent, the senators exchanging uneasy glances. Geta, seated beside him, spoke calmly. “They are not your enemies, Caracalla. They are our allies, and we must treat them as such.”
Caracalla turned to his brother, his expression cold. “Allies? They are vultures, circling for scraps. Don’t mistake their flattery for loyalty.”
The tension was palpable, and you intervened before the situation could escalate further.
“Enough,” you said firmly, stepping between them. “This isn’t the time or place for this.”
Caracalla’s gaze shifted to you, his jaw tight. “Stay out of this.”
“I won’t,” you replied, your voice unwavering. “You’re brothers, not enemies. If you tear each other apart, Rome will fall with you.”
Geta rose from his seat, his tone measured but firm. “She’s right. We can’t afford to let our differences destroy everything we’ve built.”
Caracalla’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.
---
Later that evening, you found Caracalla in the baths, his expression distant as he gazed at the water’s surface. You sat beside him, the silence between you heavy.
“Do you ever wish things were different?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft.
“All the time,” you admitted.
He turned to you, his vulnerability laid bare. “I don’t want to lose him, or you. But I don’t know how to stop this spiral.”
“You start by trusting us,” you said, taking his hand in yours. “We’re not your enemies, Caracalla. We’re your family.”
He nodded slowly, his grip on your hand tightening. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve more than you think,” you replied, leaning closer.
---
Meanwhile, Geta sought solace in your presence, his moments of vulnerability growing more frequent. One evening, as you shared a quiet moment in the gardens, he spoke of his fears.
“I’ve always admired him,” Geta confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “His fire, his determination. But now, I wonder if that fire will burn us all.”
“It won’t,” you said firmly. “Because you’ll be there to temper it, just as he tempers your reserve. Together, you balance each other.”
He looked at you, his hazel eyes filled with gratitude. “And you balance us both. Without you, I don’t know where we’d be.”
---
The path ahead was uncertain, the weight of their roles as emperors pressing heavily upon them. Yet, as the three of you stood together, you knew that love—complex and imperfect as it was—would be your guiding light through the storm.
---
The shift in Caracalla’s demeanor had grown sharper, and the palace felt it. He moved with a predator’s confidence, his steps echoing through the halls as servants scrambled to avoid his gaze. Power radiated from him, but so did a sense of chaos. His illness, now a public secret, didn’t weaken him in the eyes of others—it made him all the more dangerous, as if compensating for his failing body with sheer force of will.
In stark contrast, Geta embodied a quiet stability. Where Caracalla demanded, Geta negotiated; where Caracalla ruled by fear, Geta sought respect. Yet even he was changing, his patience thinning under the weight of his brother’s antics and the empire’s demands. The only thing that kept their growing animosity from boiling over was you.
---
One evening, Caracalla summoned you to his private quarters. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the brazier in the corner. He stood by the window, gazing out at the city with a glass of wine in his hand.
“Do you know why I called for you?” he asked without turning around.
“I have an idea,” you replied, keeping your tone light.
He turned then, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Do you?”
There was an edge to his voice, a challenge in his gaze. You stepped closer, undeterred. “You’re testing me.”
He smirked, the expression both cruel and amused. “I test everyone. Why should you be any different?”
“Because I’m not just anyone,” you replied firmly.
He set the glass down, closing the distance between you in a few swift strides. “No, you’re not,” he said, his voice low. “You’re the one thing in this entire empire I can’t control, and it drives me mad.”
Your breath hitched as his hand came up to cup your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. “But I don’t want to control you,” he continued. “I want you to stand beside me. To remind me that I’m not just a tyrant, even if that’s what they all see.”
“You’re more than that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “Stay with me tonight. I need you.”
---
Across the palace, Geta sat alone in the gardens, the cool night air doing little to soothe the storm within him. When you found him, his expression was distant, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“Geta,” you said softly, sitting beside him.
He didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the fountain ahead. “I envy him,” he admitted after a long silence.
“Why?”
“He takes what he wants without hesitation,” Geta said, his voice laced with bitterness. “Meanwhile, I hesitate, I overthink, and I lose. Not just power, but… you.”
Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You reached out, placing a hand over his. “You haven’t lost me.”
He turned to you then, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of hope and doubt. “Haven’t I? Every time I see you with him, I wonder if there’s any room left for me.”
“There’s always room for you,” you said firmly, leaning closer. “You and your brother may be opposites, but you both have a place in my heart.”
His hand tightened around yours, and for the first time in days, a faint smile crossed his lips. “You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded in all of this.”
---
The tension between the brothers finally erupted during a council meeting. Caracalla’s temper flared as he dismissed one of Geta’s proposals with a wave of his hand.
“Your caution will be the death of Rome,” Caracalla sneered.
“And your recklessness will destroy it faster,” Geta shot back, his voice uncharacteristically sharp.
The senators exchanged nervous glances, clearly uncomfortable with the brewing conflict. You stood at the edge of the room, your heart pounding as the argument escalated.
“This isn’t about Rome,” Caracalla snarled, stepping closer to his brother. “This is about you wanting to prove you’re better than me.”
“I don’t need to prove anything,” Geta replied, his calm façade cracking. “Your actions speak for themselves.”
“Enough!” you interjected, stepping between them. “This is not the time or place for this.”
Caracalla’s gaze shifted to you, his anger momentarily replaced by something softer. “You’re defending him?”
“I’m defending both of you,” you said firmly. “You’re brothers. If you can’t find a way to work together, Rome will tear itself apart.”
Geta’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “She’s right. We need to set aside our differences.”
Caracalla hesitated, his pride warring with his affection for you. Finally, he sighed, stepping back. “For now.”
---
That night, the three of you sat together in the atrium, the tension from earlier still lingering but softened by the shared bottle of wine. Caracalla leaned back against a column, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering light, while Geta sat beside you, his presence steady and comforting.
“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if we weren’t emperors?” Geta asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful.
“All the time,” Caracalla replied, surprising both of you. He looked at you then, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “But if I weren’t emperor, would I still have you?”
“You’d have me no matter what,” you said, your voice filled with conviction.
“And me?” Geta asked quietly.
You turned to him, taking his hand in yours. “Always.”
Caracalla smirked, though there was no malice in it. “She’s too good for us, Geta.”
“Maybe,” Geta replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
As the night wore on, the three of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the empire momentarily forgotten. For now, you were just three souls bound by love, trying to navigate a world that demanded too much of all of you.
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Hope you enjoyed it! Please consider liking and reposting! – Midnight💜
Please consider for a moment if you will, Joseph Quinn in a Jekyll and Hyde remake/reboot. Your telling me this is the same person that can go from a sweet summers child to this monstrosity?! YES PLEASE!
