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Emperor Geta Fanfic - Blog Posts

belovedofrhaenyra

9 months ago

a days worth

synopsis: a slice of life with geta and his child. (2k)

pairings: emperor geta and his child: emperor caracalla and his niece

contents: animal fighting, gladiatorial fights, blood and gore, mentions of nightmares, author doing her best for historical accuracy, geta being a girl dad! a/n: part two!! this poor girl is still unnamed, but it's alright! she's doing her best. a venatio is an animal fight where a wild animal faces off with people within the colosseum!

divider by @saradika

masterlist!!

when geta is awoken, it's with a warm cheek pressed into his side.

the windows are opened, and the sun lightens the entirety of the room. the room is comfortably warmed by the sun, nearly lulling geta back to slumber.

his child is curled around a pillow, seemingly sideways with her breath fanning out into the air as she lies on his chest, wrapped in linens. it seemed that she had stolen his linens in the night, as she was nearly buried in them.

his child looks endlessly peaceful in her sleep, content in somnus' realm. geta knows he should get up, summon the servants, and tuck her back underneath the linens, only able to see her in passing until the games later that day.

instead, he plays with a string of curly hair that peeks out of the blanket, listening to the sound of his child's breathing as they bask in the sun, their responsibilities lingering outside of his door.

the streets were bursting with chatter and festivity as seemingly every roman citizen clambered their way to the colosseum, rowdy with the promise of bloodshed.

his people feasted on war and bloodshed, even if they did not wish to admit it. geta felt the heat of rome on his skin, the warmth radiating from the sun as he stood behind the curtains leading to the emperor’s box, ignoring the way his brother shifted anxiously, consistently paranoid about the threat of assassination.

he could hear the roar of his people from behind the curtains, the excitement brimming in the bones of thousands, ready to animalistically tear apart the gladiators below.

this was not war by any means, but it would keep his empire calm for the day.

behind the curtain, he can hear his mother conversing with a general as everyone waits for them to step out from behind the curtain, to allow the games to commence.

however, it's with a nudge to his forearm that he looks back, grinning at the sight of his daughter, dressed similarly to both him and his mother, donning a smaller version of a laurel wreath upon her head.

"my child," his voice seemed to boom within the room as his brother also turned to grin at the child, who grins back. his hand finds the warmed cheek of his daughter, stretched in a grin that bears her teeth.

much like him, she dons a wide expanse of jewelry, wearing an identical blue ring on her left hand. as the sun peaks through the curtains, his child seems to radiate as the gold grows brighter underneath the sun.

"father? are you well?", geta had to strain his ears to hear the question, despite the fact his child wasn't too far away, pressed against his arm, seeking comfort before the games. her eyes seemed to grow impossibly wider as the question went unanswered.

after a minute of looking at his child, geta nods and turns around before he drops his hand, his child's nose still pressed to the back of his forearm as she stands behind, yet between them. he faintly thinks of how much his citizens will talk about this.

it seemed that the sight of his daughter soothed the unrest of the citizens. when the whispers of their vanity and cruelty ran rampant through the streets, geta was always careful to bring his daughter out.

while well-loved by the citizens, geta knew his child was often a cruel topic between senators and generals alike. it seemed to upset the men within the box, that his child held a considerable amount of power in the eyes of roman citizens.

geta had killed men and women alike the minute he caught wind of any ill-intent towards his child, the senators and generals that sat within the box were no different.

for a moment, he debates sending his child back to her servants, to keep her safe from the looming threat of being in front of rome's people. but as a servant pulls the curtains back, and the noise of the colosseum swallows them, he knows it's too late.

excitement seemed to fill the colosseum as geta watched from his chair next to caracalla, bathing in the bloodshed below. his child was on her knees in front of them, head peeking over the edge of the box. her cheers seem to blend in with every other cheer.

he can barely hear anything past the yelling and cheers of the citizens below, and the roaring noises erupting from the rhinoceros within the stage. the ventaio had only just begun, and the rhinoceros had already gained the upper hand.

his child turns to laugh as caracalla begins wildly giggling next to him as the rhinoceros roars and rushes toward the man on the stage.

unfortunately, the man is not quick enough, and the rhinoceros is quick to charge at the man with its horn. caracalla is giggling next to him, feeding into the crowd’s excitement as the rhinoceros tramples the man to death.

entrails hang from the greyed horn, swaying in the wind and sending blood splattering onto the walls. the animal continues its tirade against the smashed corpse of the man until no identifiable limb is left in sight, a mush of blood and body on the ground.

grinning, he waves a hand, joining his family in laughter as the rhinoceros is led out of the ring, and a new pair of gladiators enter the ring.

geta can tell the exact moment his child grows tired.

her body seems to slump against the edge of the box, and her hands cushion her chin as she watches the fight below. both men were fairly new to the gladiatorial games and seemed unsure of what to do as the crowd screamed at them.

he allows his attention to drift for the slightest of moments, stretching out a veiny hand to pull his child closer. she seems to feel the grab coming as she leans back and his hand wraps around her shoulder.

she stands on shaky legs before joining him on the chair, slightly leaning against the arm of the chair. his attention swiftly returns to the fight as his child settles in next to him, leaning against a pillar behind her head.

he allows himself to get lost in the craze of bloodshed once more, grinning and cackling as the gladiators finally turn against one another instead of trying to rebel.

a sick glee fills his chest as the men dance, swords flying through the air and blood splattering.

geta splits away from his child once more when they return to palatine. she’s still dozed from her nap, blinking away fatigue as she waves goodbye from behind a servant’s hip.

he’s immediately swept away with caracalla, whispers of an invasion against a neighboring village filling the air.

general acasius is by their side, harshly drilling into the other generals as maps are sprawled across tables and opinions are thrown back and forth.

it’s deep into the night when the battle plans are finalized, and geta is left with his brother. caracalla’s eyes are deceivingly bright, still energized despite the day’s events.

for a minute, they sit in silence, engulfed in the warmth of the torches of the study, sitting as brothers instead of emperors.

caracalla is the first one to break, muffling a yawn as he stands from his chair, rushing off into the halls. no words are exchanged by them, just a slight nod, and caracalla is gone into the night.

a headache pummels itself against his head, irritated by the constant bickering of their generals. he's thankful for the silence of the study as he bathes in the warmth of the torches, and the stillness of palatine.

a stillness that is promptly interrupted by the door creaking open, and soft sniffling that has his head swinging back. his sweet daughter stands in the doorway, peering over at him from behind a servant's back.

with a crook of his fingers, his daughter is shuffling his way, and the servant is leaving, gently shutting the door behind them. she stands in front of him for a minute before sniffling again, wrapping herself tighter in the linens she brought with her. the flickering torchlight cast shadows across her pale face, revealing the telltale flush of sleep on her cheeks. he could see the way her eyes glistened, heavy-lidded with fatigue.

“father?” her voice was barely a whisper, tinged with a raspy-ness that sent worry down his spine. she inched closer, the linens draping around her like a shroud.

“what is it, my dove?” geta asked, forcing himself to remain gentle, as his child always startled easily when drowsy. he gestured for her to come closer to him, and gently tugged her onto his lap, cradling her body against his chest. she fit so perfectly against him, as if she belonged there, and he wished he could shelter her from the world forever.

“i had a bad dream,” she murmured, her forehead resting against his chest. “there was a rhinoceros in our chambers, and it ate you!" he stroked her hair, muffling a chuckle into her ruffled hair.

"i'm right here, my dove. there are no rhinoceros' within our home, if there were, i'd have their horns." the thought of rhinoceros' within palatine was laughable, the vile, bloodied beasts just walking the halls was a sight they would never see.

alas, venatioes always gave his child nightmares, the beasts that fought for their lives always ended up in her dreams, always inflicting pain on a member of their family. it would send his child rolling into his arms, awaking in a pitiful fit of cries.

"but i don't feel good, can i stay here with you, father?" her voice quivered, pushing her head underneath his chin.

geta sighed, as much as he would love to stay in the study, basking in the warmth, the study was far too vulnerable, and he could lose her easily to fate’s cruel hand.

“then you should be in bed, resting. this study holds too many dangers, our bed is far safer." she looked up at him, big eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “but father, i want to stay here, it’s much warmer.”

irritation sparked in his chest. his child rarely went against him, but the few times she did, it enraged him. she knew he did everything in her favor, did everything he could to keep her safe from the cruelties of rome.

despite this, his child held an affection for rebelling against his wishes. geta could count the amount of times she had directly gone against him on one hand, but the few times she had, it hadn't ended prettily. his daughter’s vulnerability, whilst heartwarming, ignited a flame of craze within him. losing her to sickness, injury or her own naivety was a fate he refused to entertain.

“alright, my dove,” he sighed, his voice low and smooth. “we will go to our chambers. let’s get you in bed, away from those dreams of rhinoceros.” he anchored himself, shifting to rise, and pulled her onto his hip effortlessly, her weight a welcomed comfort against him.

she nestled against him, her small form bundled in linens that felt chilled from her descent down to his study. his grip tightened instinctively around her, as if holding her too loosely could expose her to the dangers lurking within the halls of palatine. as he stepped into the dimly lit halls, shadows danced in the flickering torchlight, and his mind raced through the myriad of potential threats: the whispering intrigues of too many ambitious men, a rebellion, or perhaps, in his daughter's mind, a rhinoceros.

once again, geta awakes with a cheek pressed to his side. this time, his daughter is curled up against his side, hidden underneath their shared linens.

it is dark in their room, the rain pattering down the sides of palatine as a storm washes over rome. with one lasting look to the darkness outside of their chambers, geta turns to his side, and pulls his child a little closer.

they have a few more hours, so for now, geta will rest.

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.