#v: commodus

[empirexsin]

[ 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 ] : sender is getting frustrated with their repressed affection and asks receiver to leave them alone. @noiranamnesis

while the days have remained warm, the nights are cooler as they approach the winter months. the flowers in the gardens seem lost without as much sunlight, pointing toward different directions, as though struggling to navigate where a beam of sunlight may come from. and the leaves on the trees have turned to shades of orange, crisping up, and crunchy beneath one's foot. he spends more of his time outside during these quieter months. often, found to stand beneath a tree that once provided shade, fails to do so as much now. he likes the cooler air. it almost feels like a rebirth each time he takes a breath, feeling the coldness hit the back of his throat. it is fresh. new. like many things that have occurred lately.

his decision to provide fresh water to his people, have been one of them. it has been a challenge that the senate have pressed him on for several months. each time, the power hungry emperor, will simply sit there, gazing at the blade of his sword, or staring meticulously at each of the older gentlemen in the room. all men who think they are wise, in the same way his father did. but he wishes to make humor of the fact that he shall outlive them all, and their legacy will be remembered as to how agreeable they were with commodus. ' yes. i agree. let us not continue this subject ' he had interrupted during one of their many speeches. as though they continue to think words are what convince commodus. that they have forgotten he is a man of action. his decision, approval, based purely on the fact he had come to terms, himself, that perhaps it would be a way for his people to adore him. to continue to see him as godlike rather than just a man.

" alone? " his question is but a confirmation that he has not misheard what she has asked of him. his presence now, in the hall of faces, quiet and private, dismissed by her mere request. candles flicker their flames. the soft crackling of wax as it melts. he had found her by chance. on the several occasions he seeks her out, it is to ask how her tuition is going. when he is in a pleasant mood, he shall request she teach him a word or a phrase from her native tongue. on other occasions, he does not request, and seems almost to scowl when she may answer anything other than positive about her education.

but this request seems to almost cut him like a knife. the pain is the same. sharp. a rejection he feels is unfathomable. he straightens his spine, staring at her. as though he wishes to read each blink of her eye, each shine and glow of her eyes, and each movement of her lips. his hand raises, index finger hovering above his lips as though to request her silence before he speaks.

" when you speak again, you will tell me why you choose to disrespect me under such normal circumstances "

there is a pause and then, a carefully pronounced phrase.

" تحدث معي "

speak to me.

[flcksin]

bby commodus @salices​

the gods have visited him multiple times in his dreams since that fateful night. _you are to be my wife, my little willow tree. _and he has said these words in a room full of beautiful prospects - women who would fall to their knees and envelop their arms around his legs to bury their faces against him. they would praise him. they would tell him he is loved and they are grateful to be his own. women of whom are beautiful and would be able to provide him with children. a flurry of children - sons and daughters that he would dote over but encourage to be ruthless leaders to rule for a thousand years despite when he would be long gone. but he chose not them - not the right prospects, and instead, he had picked the whore. the woman of whom had told him she was cursed by the gods. a larger deformity than the one upon his face, above his lip, reminding him that he is still human. reminding others that they should not find his beauty intimidating for he was still human.

yet in his dreams, the gods whisper to his ear. jupiter whispering to his ear in his booming voice, _some things can be reversed commodus, and some things cannot. _and he has asked what this means. he has asked for more insight into what their words are attempting to communicate to him. was it to do with her infertility? could he reverse such a thing with medicine? is he the cure to her infertility, that his mere presence would be enough to have her breed their children? it is ridiculous to think, but commodus knows of not what they mean. he is lost. quiet to them. and he finds himself to be desperate in all of these dreams, seeking answers. but they laugh at him. they tell him - simply - _the stars are aligned, commodus. _

he has been taunted by the senate too. their words commend him so, and so he has left their presence, left the hollar of indecisivie voices among his own to rest in the gardens. he wears his golden and red robes, finding himself to settle beneath the shade of a tree. it fills him with the same safety as willow’s arms. and he is left to think of her roots, wrapped around him, and her body, atop his own, sheltering him so that he trembles with pleasure beneath her. and commodus’ eyes close now, shaded out of the golden sun. he looks similar to being a man instead of an emperor. a man who has worked relentlessly in the sun, a farmer, until he finds himself to have fallen into a slumber. one of rest from the relentless hollering he has been subjected too, and the crowding of thoughts that rush into his head.

[empirexsin]

open starter | historical rp | open to all (mutuals and non-mutuals)

" they said i would find you here, " returning from his campaign. several moons have passed since he has seen the other. he has suffered the cold winter in a blizzard of snow, not like the heat of the roman sun. the roman men, unprepared for such a cold climate that some had died within the first few weeks. he looks different. hair is longer, curled. and face, stubbled.

he has seen droplets of blood, garnishing the ground and seeming even brighter as they lay against each snowflake that had settled upon the ground. he has butchered men. he has burned villages in his conquering of land. and yet, on his return, such celebrations of barbaric behavior had not been cheered on by the other. instead, they were nowhere to be found in the crowd of faces. hiding, it seems, in the palace, among the hall of faces where marble busts of great caesars before he, reside. " why are you hiding? "

[empirexsin]

“shivers” @noiranamnesis

the silence echoes more so this morning than any other. throes of passion the night before, that had nothing entering the air except whispers, low voices, and melodic sounds that only appear when two people have found the same song to be sung, and the same rhythm to be felt. her presence remained, if only by a request - frightened of the dark as he often is, and had enjoyed such warmth shared between them, it seemed out of taste for either to leave; most certainly her. in the night, her skin had reminded him of moonlight. each freckle or mark, but a star across a sea for him to find and remember. searching her body, as though she were covered in jewels from unknown, ancient places.

he had found her beautiful. a word such an emperor, such a man, perhaps, does not use. there is no beauty in the simpler things in his life. seemingly, only finding beauty when there is blood spilled or chaos enthralled. when there is a dominance from him that frightens others to their knees, begging for their lives - as if he a god, who could give and take it away by the click of his fingers, or the strike of his sword. but there had been no violence; no monstrous behaviour that would give reason to her leaving as soon as his eyes fluttered shut, or his arms had loosened its grip around her.

when the morning does come, his back has faced her; turning unconsciously in the night to find comfort. if not awoken by the thin beams of light that enter the room, and the sound of people - busy and parading the halls, the rooms in the palace - then awoken by the sensation of fingertips running against his spine on sunkissed skin. he does not move for a moment, as though opening eyes adjusting to the light - to the reminder of company. to the reminder of her. but if not for her presence, he thinks he would still recall the sensation of her touch. a feeling that lingers on his skin, as if he has bathed in it.

and he does not speak for a moment when he turns, merely takes a deep breath, as though such movement from him is but a challenge in itself; as though asked many a question, too early, before sunrise. he chooses to only invade her lips with his once again, as though a conquest he will continue to return too. as though the pleasure of the invasion is too much not to relive. " i am pleased you stayed " it is the first thing he says to her, as though it is a needed affirmation. but he is already discontent with the idea he must talk once again. language and ways with words has not been a talent of his, as it was his father's. and perhaps, in a way, he and marinette share such a barrier - in a different, but similar way. " you did not leave me in the dark "

[empirexsin]

closed starter | @noiranamnesis

" i am not surprised. i simply don't recognise you "

has been staring into the void for several seconds. minutes it feels like. to not have seen her for several months, nearly a year and then to see her again so unexpectedly. he has a range of feelings at the sight of her face. a face that he had once seen cry, smile, laugh, and look with disdain upon him. sometimes, disappointment. but a face that over time had become quite difficult to remember. perhaps if he knew she would disappear, disperse from the palace, he would have taken the time to memorise certain aspects of her. how her nose slightly wrinkles, or how her eyes move when she goes through the different emotions. but he had not known of her departure. it was unscheduled. sudden. in other words, running away.

" do not pretend you are joyous to see me either, marinette " he tells her. " you will not fool me again with what lies show in your face - in your words " tricked. betrayed. many things. and perhaps things he does not understand either. to find her here, far from the palace, from what he knows as his normality. and when he looks at her face now, what feelings he had are now misplaced. feels as though they should be forgotten, because who he knew, is not who she is. at least, this is how he has interpreted it. to awaken one day, to not see her anyplace - and to have rome searched thoroughly as if she were a prized jewel. only, to be nowhere to be found.

" this meeting between us is purely luck " he says. " or orchestrated by the gods, to mend the broken heart of an emperor " by any means possible. to get vengeance where he has been betrayed.

[empirexsin]

open starter | open to all | historical rp

" i remember you " his words are almost a hum, as natural as the breeze or the flowers that bloom. he had recalled seeing her several moons ago. a face in a crowd, led over to him as though she were an offering of peace, or an offering of finalising a request by another who sought her the barter to a good deal. " i am surprised to see you again. what brings you here - another request? "

[flcksin]

" you use too much flattery for a woman of your status ” commodus no longer calls her a whore - at least, not as much as he had on their first meeting. the way he had ran his fingers across her body and her face, as if he was expecting her - examining her to see whether she was worthy of his touch, or attractive to him at all. he could not take a woman he thought ugly to bed. it would be a waste of a journey to his chamber room, only to find himself incapable of finding pleasure with such a woman. and perhaps he does not call her a whore as much because she has shown a personality. she is not as submissive as the rest he has laid with. she speaks to him with ridiculous words that class her as a mad woman, and yet other words that make him turn submissive, as if she is a vixen or a witch, casting her spell.

he is settled with her in his chamber, his green emerald eyes upon her as he sits in his finest robes. black and red and gold, all of which make his golden skin all the more appealing. he sits in the sunlight by the balcony, as if he is but a god rather than simply a man - or simply an emperor. the light shines on him and there is no need for his crown, as if the sunlight behaves as a halo in itself. “ even the other whores do not praise me as much as you. perhaps you have started to believe your own lies that fall from your lips ” he muses to her, breathing out a voice that is in tact with one of amusement. his green intense orbs looking over this pale, golden haired woman. hair alike fire itself. “ come closer, my little willow tree. should you not greet your emperor properly?”

[flcksin]

since the declaration of a guard, going against the empire by attacking willow, had occurred, he finds himself to be restless. he has not slept properly for weeks and it shows. the medics worried for the prince who cannot think straight and whose mind has been running with a thousand thoughts within a minute. he recalls how his father, marcus aurelius, had spoken to him upon such a subject. ' commodus, some things are not meant to happen. like water meeting fire. it is the same as this between you and willow ' and yet what his father fails to understand is that commodus' attraction and magnitism towards willow is not one that is made of spite towards neither her father nor his own. instead it is genuine. as genuine as the flowers blossoming in spring, and the sun meeting the sky each day. it was due to happen. it has been written in the stas by the gods and yet commodus cannot sleep now. he fears that something else may occur and instead of protecting willow, he will be tucked within his bed, asleep, whilst she bleeds to death with no one to save nor rescue her from the claws that wrap around her throat or pierce her with a knife that will stab relentlessly at her, without mercy. and because of this, commodus considers war against her father and brother daily. but such discussions are always hushed by willow and the touch of her hand against his strong arm. ‘ not today, lucius. remember you are light, you do not bring darkness where you walk ’

and he stands within his chamber now, lit by candlelight because he hates the dark. he cannot sleep. and yet the medics have provided him with an elxir of honey, sage, and fennel - a combination that they hope will give him strength, and calm him. they say they have combined ingredients that the gods use. herbs that the gods know to have such a distinct power that they are now able to take advantage of. and so commodus stands with his back to willow as he drinks from the glass - hearing her words. when you close your eyes, do you picture me? a laughable question. “ i picture you in dreams whether i am awake or asleep. i’m always deep in a dream of you ” and it is true, yet lately commodus does not sleep. his eyes slightly red and they are sore. the medics have provided him with herbs for that too. but he is so tense. not relaxed. how can he be when he can trust no one who is meant to walk beside him and remain loyal to the throne?

“ they say my father is sick ” he tells her after a moment. marcus aurelius, a man who is elderly. who has lived out the youth of his years. “ do you think he has been...poisoned? ” he asks suddenly, blurting such words out because he is paranoid. because in these moments he cannot simply think that perhaps his father is unwell because of his deterioriating age.

@salices​