Let’s not forget to acknowledge Alexandre Dumas this Black History Month
The writer of two of the most well known stories worldwide, The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo was a black man.
That’s excellence.
Geta always has a plan. In fact, he usually has two, three, four plans in the back of his mind. His brain is never not working; he’s always watching, always anticipating his and everyone else’s next move. He’s got it all down, he knows every exit in every room in the palace, he always has his back to the wall, he wears his sturdiest rings just in case he has to lash out. He’s thin, lanky even, but he figures he’s been on the receiving end of enough punches from his father to know how to land one himself.
Every blink, every flick of a finger, every word that comes out just a little bit off, he notices it. He sees how people watch him, but he watches them right back, and he sees it all. Things maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing. But Geta sees it, analyzes it, his mind spinning with reasons for why. Why do the senators fiddle with their robes when he is speaking? Why does Lucilla pause slightly before she answers his questions? Why does Tegula’s lip twitch whenever Geta adjusts his laurels? He’s got a million answers for each question, and not one of those answers makes him feel any better.
Geta doesn’t sleep well. He never has. He has trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep. As an adult, he grinds his teeth so badly he’s had one removed at the back of his mouth. As a child, he’d stare at Caracalla, passed out and snoring, completely oblivious to the world around him. Geta envied him for it. He still does.
Caracalla. It’s not entirely Caracalla’s fault he’s ill, Geta knows that. Geta isn’t even sure Caracalla knows he’s ill most of the time. Geta pities him as much as he loves him. If he thinks about it too much, he feels his throat seizes up and he has to close his eyes. He hasn’t cried in a long time.
Geta layers on the cuffs, stacks his rings, slathers his face with make up. Geta does not always like being himself. The thicker the eye shadow, the more elaborate his robes, the more 'Emperor' he looks, the less he sees himself and the less others can see him too, he thinks. He hopes. He doesn’t always feel that way, not when he is standing in the middle of a room, playing his part, and then something or someone goes off script and he’s left naked and exposed, a fool.
When that happens, Geta broods. He paces, he fiddles with those same rings he layered on for protection. He replays the moments over and over and over and over and over in his head, he can’t stop himself. His stomach burns and he’s found himself on the ground a few times, curled up and sweating, blinking back hot tears and swallowing bile. He’s pulled out hair before, he’s made himself bleed with his own fingernails, and so now he cuts them short.
mutual 1: *poor quality image of pete wentz* does anybody know where i can buy a crowbar. for sexual purposes
mutual 2: my mikey way tulpa is coming along well
mutual 3: its so over after this mcr is breaking up forever theres no hope for us didnt you see the messaging in their staging. god. fuck its over
mutual 1: *image of patrick stump’s bulge*
mutual 4: im killing myself tomorrow
mutual 5: both of these blog posts may seem innocuous at first, but in fact when considered in relation to one another we can observe several similar phrases, and a pattern emerges in the pacing of his prose that proves without a doubt that he’s having an extramarital affair with his singer. first, the recurrence of the phra
mutual 1: i need to get a man pregnant
mutual 4: *joe trohman image* killing myself cancelled hello gorgeous 😍😍😍😍😍
mutual 6: mcr is releasing new music next week i know this deep in my soul the messaging in their staging is unmissable guys we have never been so fucking back in our lives
mutual 1: *image of patrick stump’s bulge*
mutual 3: *image of two members of my chemical romance publicly beating the snot out of one another* do you remember how we used to run
mutual 1: *image of patrick stump’s bulge*
mutual 7: frank iero is like a delicious steak to me i need to rip him apart like a feral dog
mutual 8: *the most stunning lovingly rendered drawing you’ve ever seen in your life of two middle aged musicians making out nasty style* just a quick doodle :)
mutual 4: my fucking bus was late killing myself is officially back on
mutual 5: *web weave consisting of sections of beautiful niche literature, medieval biblical illustrations, 17th century oil paintings, james baldwin quotations and peterick interviews*
mutual 1: *image of patrick stump’s bulge*
mutual 7: do you guys think i could cite unholyverse in my applied religious literature thesis i cant ask my professor because she blocked my email but idk i think it counts as a good modern text
mutual 2: guys i think my mikey way tulpa might be starting to crave blood
mutual 6: *ray toro image* im experiencing divine ecstasy i need her to [DATA EXPUNGED]
mutual 9: i cant listen to fall out boy anymore guys i had a nightmare where andy was chasing me in the dark forest it seemed really real
mutual 10 (unattached to bandom): out of the beatles john would for sure have the biggest boobs
mutual 1: what if it was called when we were freaky fest
the crowd singing disenchanted via talkingvegas
happy Thursday the 20th
Has anyone else heard about this lost Fight Club game and does anyone know how I can download it without the anti piracy message
Born to read a fanfiction about Caracella and Getas complex trauma ,and sibling rivalry.
Forced to only find incest fanfiction.
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you're welcome