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Ambition - Blog Posts
Indulge your imagination in every possible flight.
—Jane Austen
Can someone pls edit my baby Albert i'd be so happy
I just realized that many people in the Clancy fandom can't find Ambition,so I delved into the darkest corners of the internet (even literally a sketchy pornographic site) and managed to get it! Unfortunately the most decent quality I could find it in is 720p but hey, it could be worse.If you have any problems with the links, don't hesitate to DM me :3
G-Drive link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1hmgbJge0UmOterS8drms5cfjDSfZRZjM/view?usp=drivesdk
Mega link: https://mega.nz/file/FqYynbzJ#VXIfpt0XbIcb3l5KryzSCyyyE3fEUf-_Tjlb4HSPbFc
Source: PlaceboEffect.com
Don’t put out the light out on me
I asked
Ever so silently .
He turned ever so slightly
With a grin upon upon his cheek
Blew the light
And I was gone within a blink .
@trueemotions91
Anger is lethal,
As dangerous as a blade,
It only takes a second ,
To lose all self control,
A darkness covers your eyes,
To blind you from the rage,
Takes you away from the pain,
The day awakes ,
And reality is real,
Thats all it takes ,
Just one second ,
So own yourself ,
Don’t let the darkness take over,
Remember the sunlight ,
It never fades ,
Just fight the demon ,
Before it’s to late ,
Always sunshine the other side ,
Don’t let the darkness make your fate,
Half blinded by hate .
@trueemotions91
She cries a million tears every year,
She rips up the earth,
She sends voltage through our grounds to help us recharge ,
She shines the brightest light in the sky,
She can whisper ,
She can roar ,
She heals,
She grows,
She loves ,
Who is she ?
And how come we don’t answer her calls.
@trueemotions91
I looked up to the midnight sky,
With bright lights ,
Illuminating my eyes,
I wished upon a thousand stars,
Have chased a million dreams,
,
I’m still chasing the same dream,
It clear when I stare,
My dream will always be a dream ,
As life ain’t fair,
I don’t dream of riches,
Just for my soul to be complete ,
Which I’ve now come to realise ,
I Could never compete,
Till my journey on earth is fully complete .
@trueemotions91
a future awaiting
What more foolish than to believe happiness is the ultimate ambition of a society whose very foundation is built upon a thwarted craving for meaning and its pillars insatisfaction ? Unhappiness and insufficiency are the driving forces behind economic expansion. The horror of contentment, the very notion of it is injurious to capitalism. So, in a way, a constant search for and accumulation of wealth is equated with success and to not deliriously overwork oneself in the name of ambition becomes failure, or as an excellently absurd term puts it ‘wasted potential’. Perhaps the implication here that any ability to create or produce is disqualified to be of any value unless it is yielded in a way enabling it to be monetised is collectively unacknowledged by society, or consciously endorsed. A bit of prodding into this brings one to the despaired question. What indeed is humankind’s core want? Or in other words, what would compel a thinking person to serve bureaucracy if their fundamental need were met and a decent standard of living provided?
Also another thing that bothers me is the quasi-philosophical belief that suffering is somehow superior to happiness in both meaning and virtue. The dreadfulness of pain masquerades as intellectualism and, to borrow a phrase from LeGuin, the banality of evil is wrapped up in folds of mystery. The ideology that ‘suffering should be endured for the potential of a reward later’ (and not to seek any meaning in itself, which, although questionable is a manifold better reason to engage in masochism) is one that is encouraged and spread by those in power. This is an abuse of religion and an exploitation of people’s values done more or less solely for the purpose of keeping people perceived beneath them in check. This state of affairs is more prevalent than it appears to be at first glance and is a disgrace to the few who actually work for the welfare of people. This has been a rant. Thank you.
"And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”
- Nathaniel Orion, "Hevel"
— Ambition rules this family. My father's. My brother's. And I will have to add to that my own if I don't want to live in a garden of weeds.
Don't be a coward who thrives on other's imagination ;live your life ,decide for yourself ,live for yourself ,commit to your commitments and lastly live your life in your own terms because it's your life and not their's-)RB
But do we stop, halt and realize that we are indeed still breathing?
Because no matter the emotions
or
notions of what we intend to do or become,
the mere fact that we are breathing is a salient one.
Bartemius Crouch Senior
I love Barty Crouch Senior, I just do. Maybe it’s because when we meet him I just see this bright man who got shafted by his family, the public and was alone; I feel for him. Now, he’s not perfect. We know that he could be cruel, as we see with him and Winky and hear from others in regards to the trails of other Death Eaters not connected to his son. But while he was ambitious and made mistakes as department head, they were misguided mistakes and not with the background of the mistakes or self-promotion ones made by Fudge or Scrimgeour. And while we hear about how he was an absentee father working late at the ministry, we know Barty Crouch Jr. had his mother to over-indulge him similar to how I believe James Potter was overindulged, and we know that Barty Crouch Sr. adored his wife so I feel there were limits or levels to his cruelty, especially as at any moment he could have handled his son differently after his wife passed, but he didn’t.
How Barty Crouch Dr. became who he was, we’ll never know, but once brought to the light I feel that Barty Crouch Sr. wasn’t as shocked as he would otherwise be, he just wasn’t in denial anymore. Maybe Barty Crouch Jr.’s nature turned his father away from him and not the other way around because regardless of the speculation that Barty Crouch Jr. might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, we know that’s not true. Barty Crouch Jr. was a proud Death Eater. When it comes to Barty Crouch Sr.’s errors, I put them more in line with Dumbledore’s. While not as understanding of his own faults, Barty Crouch Sr. was not malicious, but strict. Why he could not get the sympathy following the death of his wife and child as Dumbledore had with his sister I don’t understand. Barty Crouch Sr.’s main fault seemed to be in his appearance of being cruel (also alluded to in why Ludo Bagman got more praise than him) because the public first hated that he sentenced his son so ‘unfairly’ by treating him like any other Death Eater, then blaming him when he died in Azkaban, then hating him when they found out he had taken him from Azkaban but had him imprisoned in his home….I think they just wanted to hate him.
Bartemius Crouch Senior was not perfect or innocent, but for the most part, he tried to do what he believed was best for the world even if his methods to get there are more than questionable, and, he honoured his wife more than anything, which counts for something. His story reminds us that life isn’t fair but it is complicated.
Fred and George
Fred and George are the final of this short thread of sad characters and unfortunately, it’s all because of their ending. We all lose people, but to lose someone your age adds an effect to your life afterwards because it’s a shock and reminder that you to can die, at any moment. For that death to be someone who you not only looked liked and was your sibling when you were so young, they weren’t referred to Fred and George because they’re twins, but because they were twins who spent all of their time together, and just understood each other so well.
Fred and George were born on April 1st, seriously JK, perfect! Regardless of their pranks and humor, everyone loved them because they were great guys to have around. They were smart, brave, funny, nice, friendly, athletic; they had everything going for them, including each other and themselves. While thinking back on them makes me sad because Fred died and George nor anyone else thought one would be without the other, when I reread the books or see the movies I am able to go back into that world and enjoy them. Enjoy them both. While they looked alike and acted alike, they were different. Both kind, George was more compassionate and worked slow and Fred jumped the gun a bit more, taking risks. But they helped balance each other and showed how working with others helps bring you forward.
What I also loved is that they always did the right thing with their humor. They didn’t cross over the line too much and they knew when things were serious and when they had to focus. They were open with forgiveness, confident in their skills and what they could do with those skills and didn’t put anyone down. They were examples of good friendship, and just did everything right; knowing when to stop ‘having their fun’ and showing up for what was needed in the final battle.
That should be goal of every life... What say #friends? Choosing right goal for own life is equal important as choosing #partner.. #goaloflife #ambition #prediction #achievement #desire #dream
Without ambition one starts nothing. Without work one finishes nothing. The prize will not be sent to you. You have to win it.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
*. 🪷𓂃.
A Geta x Fem!Dancer Fic
A/N: Just a funny idea that came to me when my eyeliner got caught in my contact lenses. Lol! I was just like, it'd be kind of hilarious if this happened to Geta 😆 Might add another chapter or two!
Word Count: 3.9k
Tags & Warnings: period-typical sexism | Brotherly banter, bored emperors, squabbling senators, lulling dances, intense eye contact
Summary: A senator presents a pair of dancers to the emperors, seeking their decision on which of them should feature in the upcoming Festival of Floralia. As Geta observes the more exotic of the two, he suddenly finds himself in a state of tears.
━━━━━━━༻❀*̥˚༺━━━━━━━
Eyeliner Problems
Tap tap tap tap…
Geta rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly before they shifted sharply at his brother, who was sitting beside him and incessantly tapping his rings against the gold filigree of his seat.
Typically it would not bother him this much, but the lavish party they had enjoyed the night before had run well into the early hours of the morning and Geta had, unfortunately, entirely forgotten about the meeting the Senate had called for.
He blinked and sat up straighter, lowering his hand and attempting to focus on what was being said.
Something about funding. More funding for the coming Festival of Floralia — complete with games and performances. It was always an appealingly licentious event, though also considerably expensive.
Caracalla yawned loudly and Geta dug his nails into his palm as he watched the older men argue amongst themselves. They would argue and try to problem solve before coming up with some solution or another and turn to him for approval. He just had to wait for them to finally get there.
He rolled his neck, the tension and the soreness easing only slightly, and he sighed under his breath. He then reached for his goblet of wine, taking a long sip before sitting forward in his seat, blinking his eyes again and focusing on the words he was hearing.
“-we bring in more foreign dancers, not less! That will incite the crowd and prove a better investment in the long run.”
“It’s a waste of money. The dancers we have will suit just fine.”
“You have to keep things novel. Different. The people will grow bored of the same thing.”
I grow bored… Geta thought morosely.
Around and around they went. He bit down on his teeth, setting his goblet down with a soft clank and running a hand over his mouth. Just get on with it already, I beg you.
“Let us see those dancers fight one another to the death! A brawl!” Caracalla sat up suddenly and bellowed. “The prize?! A night with their emperors!”
Geta sent him a sidelong glance of disapproval before he slid his attention back to the senators. The impression he tried to make of being somewhat professional was always circumvented by these sorts of outbursts. He wanted the senators to take them seriously, but some days it was like an uphill battle.
“Imagine!” His twin continued. “They-”
“Calla…” Geta muttered under his breath, eyes intent on the looks that were cast in their direction.
At this point, most of the older men were used to some level of outrageous remark, and they looked to Geta, as if looking for permission to disregard it. Geta gave a small nod, relieved that they were not overly concerned, though he couldn’t imagine what they might be thinking.
Incompetent, maybe? Ridiculous? He shuddered to consider it.
He gave his heavily-lined eyes a roll before running a hand across his forehead. The more this dragged on, the more restless Caracalla would become, and the more likely future such declarations would be.
He might next suggest to throw the senators themselves into the arena! …which admittedly wasn’t such a terrible thing to imagine.
“Let us compare! We have two dance side by side, one local and one more exotic, and you tell me which of them is more exciting!”
“You intend to bring a pair of women in here?” The other asked, outraged. “That is unacceptable, even to prove a point.”
At least the heat had been taken off of Caracalla, Geta noted.
“Outside then.”
“You’re inconveniencing everyone!”
The other man opened his mouth to retort before Geta breathed in and firmly brought a hand down on the arm of his chair. He stood, voice resonant and firm. “Outside it is! Come, let us see these dancers and resolve the matter.”
The eyes of the senators turned to him in surprise, unused to his interrupting their deliberations before his final decision was called upon.
But he had had more than enough of this for today. Without sparing them another glance, he led the way out of the stuffy room, Caracalla cackling behind him as he moved lazily to follow.
They crossed out toward a balcony before descending a set of stairs to a courtyard. Geta took a seat on one of the benches, Caracalla moving toward one parallel, where he languidly lounged.
Geta lifted a hand once the senators had filtered into the yard with looks of trepidation.
“Let’s get on with it then,” the emperor declared.
The initiator of this entire ordeal summoned one of his servants over. “Bring the girls. Quickly now!”
“You were prepared for this, I see.” The naysayer crossed his arms and shook his head.
Geta leaned forward as he waited, hands clasped together, the bracelets on his wrists glinting in the bright light that filtered down from above them. He ran his thumbs together, rings gliding against each other in a soft clank of metal.
Caracalla tugged on the broad leaf of the plant beside his own bench, tearing it free before proceeding to slowly tear it to shreds.
There was a tense silence across the space, during which there was only the mutters from the senators and the breeze swaying through the trees overhead.
Reflections from the golden laurels upon Geta’s head and the extravagant chain around his neck reflected onto his marble skin, casting upon it strange, warping shapes of light and shadow.
He watched the morphing movements a moment before the soft sound of footsteps echoed upon the paved walkway. A glance upward revealed the returned servant, two women on either side, and a trio of musicians behind them.
Senator Acisculus had certainly been prepared. He probably wanted to capitalize on his investment in exotic entertainment, for which he was beginning to make something of a name for himself. It was a self-interested move, of course, but Geta was inclined to appreciate the ambition of it.
His more reserved opposition, Ectorius, stood by crossly with his arms folded. Geta had a feeling that there wasn’t much of anything that could convince him. His mind was already made up. But perhaps the majority would be swayed and Geta could vote in favor of what they expressed a greater want for. He hoped it would be a decisive thing and that he would not have to continue to bear their grievances.
“My Lords,” Acisculus bowed and cast them a beaming smile before extending a hand toward the pair of women. “I present today’s exhibition. Whichever you find most delights you will be at the forefront of our performances at Floralia’s festival!”
Caracalla clapped loudly, sitting up slightly now that something was about to happen. Geta simply nodded for the man to proceed.
A stronger gust of wind swept over them, warm and fragrant with the scent of orange blossoms. The dust was stirred and Geta reached over with a slight frown to remove the particles that had settled over the exquisite ivory and gold-accented sleeve of the garment he wore.
“I will prevent our Roman dancer first,” the senator motioned for the first woman to step forward.
She complied, gliding forward as her sheer, lavender stola fluttered in the breeze. Geta tilted his head, eyes mildly inspecting. He thought he’d seen her at a few of their performances. She was someone obviously practiced and her expression seemed to further convey that fact.
The musicians began a classic beat and the woman moved rhythmically, her movements solid and vaguely provocative.
Geta glanced at Ectorius, who was nodding approvingly and whispering words to the other senators nearby, no doubt securing their votes in favor of this one. The emperor then flicked his eyes toward his twin, who had barely spared the woman glance,having gone back to his destruction of the nearby plants. He cast down the petals of a flower, yawning widely.
A solid performance, yet certainly without much novelty. Entertaining enough, but hardly exciting.
When she had finished her dance, a racous wave of applause sounded from Ectorius and the senators nearby. Geta lifted his hands and offered her a bit of unenthusiastic applause as well.
The woman bowed her head, golden hair falling in waves as she did.
“Thank you, Marcella.” Acisculus motioned her aside before calling the other forward.
Geta adjusted his stance expectantly. This was the one which the man had been promoting. The one whom he seemed quite convinced would draw the crowds.
Let’s see if you’re up to the task, he thought, hoping for some level of exhilaration.
“One of my most treasured finds,” Acisculus declared with a wide grin. “A rare find from somewhere within the mysterious orient. Discovered by happenstance within the ports of Egypt.”
The woman removed the veil she had been wearing — for dramatic effect, Geta supposed — and revealed a set of features he hadn’t quite seen on anyone before. Her dark eyes had a slant to them, her cheekbones high and well-defined. There was a slender, delicate quality to her figure and features, and her black hair looked as smooth and sleek as silk.
His mouth twitched upward, something bordering on desire rising in his gaze as he held her gentle stare.
“Is this what they’re hiding out in the far east?” Caracalla interjected, sitting forward too. “You don’t look like you’re capable of much, but the softer, sweeter dispositions can be surprising, can’t they, brother?”
Geta shot him a look, bristling a little at the obvious interest his brother had in her too. He gave the senator a nod though, urging him to begin.
Acisculus motioned for the musicians and they struck up a surprisingly slow rhythm, before the woman began to move her hands in strange, flowing motions. Her movements were equally slow, with graceful turns of her body and shifts in posture, as if she were nothing but a wisp of wind.
Geta blinked, waiting for the dance to take a shift. To reach some sort of climax, but it continued its lulling serenade. He sighed as his posture slumped, somewhat disappointed. Though it was an artful display, there was nothing particularly enticing about it. It was as reserved-looking as the woman herself.
This was what Acisculus believed would draw the crowd?
Caracalla chuckled. “What is she doing? Mimicking a sea at rest?”
Another shaft of wind swept over the courtyard, shifting the dust and sweeping over them. Geta blinked as a bit of it struck his eyes and he lifted a hand to wipe at them before a harsher sting had him turning his head to blink fiercely.
He waited it to pass as his eyes watered, but it only grew worse. A glance down at his hand revealed a smear of the kohl he’d used to line his eyes and he reasoned it was the reason for this uncomfortable stabbing sensation.
A mess of it I’ve made, surely, he thought in frustration as he gritted his teeth.
He blinked a few more times before attempting to shift his focus back to where the woman still danced, that dreadful breeze fluttering over her gown and sending her feather-light hair flowing across her face. She gave even further impression at being in oneness with the air.
But the vision of her obscured again, watering and distorting and Geta glanced down, cursing under his breath as he breathed harshly.
“Emperor?” He heard Acisculus ask. “Are you well?”
Geta lifted a hand to wave him off before lifting the other to cover his eyes.
There was a moment before Caracalla seemed to notice his state. He gave a sharp laugh before leaning toward him. “What has gotten into you, brother? Are you actually crying?”
“Of course not!” He lowered his hand in aggravation before wincing again. "Oh- He breathed in shakily, body trembling with it. “By the gods…”
“Is it the dancing? Does it move you so?” Caracalla asked, still amused. “How flushed you are!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geta mumbled, voice thick before he tilted back his head and took several long breaths, warmth leaking furiously from his eyes and streaking down his face.
“Well well!” Caracalla announced. “It seems we have our answer, senators! This dancer has moved by brother to tears. We simply must have her as this festival’s lead!”
Geta shook his head. “Wait-” he breathed out, blinked, widened his eyes, then directed his focus back to the group before him. All of the senators were staring at him in stunned silence, surprise visible on their faces. They seemed unsure of what to make of what had just happened.
Senator Acisculus, though, was smiling behind a pair of clasped hands.
“As lovely as your dancer is,” Geta’s eyes flicked toward the woman. “I don’t think-”
“Bring her here! Let us get a good look at her!” His twin interrupted loudly.
Acisculus bowed his head enthusiastically before urging the woman to step toward the pair of emperors. Geta found it interesting that these men chose to unquestionably heed Caracalla’s orders when it actually suited them.
The corners of Geta’s mouth pulled down in dissatisfaction before he shifted his attention to the foreign woman as she drew forward. Her eyes were held low, hands clasped together meekly.
Really, how was any of this meant to be exciting? He sighed, left eye still stinging in a way that seemed to radiate across that whole side of his face. He blinked at her as she slowly lifted her gaze, the movement measured as she shifted her attention first to Caracalla, who had ordered her forward, before settling it on Geta.
He stared back at her somewhat impartially as he lifted a hand and brought it over his eye, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee. There, at least the tears were held back. The pressure helped with the jabbing sensation too.
Something unreadable passed through her dark, exotic eyes, before she pressed her lips tighter thoughtfully, glanced to her feet, and then met his stare again.
Geta tilted his head, faintly curious what it was that had passed beneath the stoic expression she wore before she opened her mouth and spoke, the sound of her voice as wispy and delicate as everything else about her — her appearance, her movements, the robe she wore — everything, he noticed, except for her eyes, which held a surprising weight. It made him wonder what was churning beneath the veneer of gentleness she wore.
“If I may…” she said in strangely accented, unpracticed Latin before motioning toward herself and then at him. “Would you let me help?”
Geta’s brows creased in confusion at her meaning and she was quick to explain by way of indicating her own eye.
“Help?” Caracalla asked as Geta breathed in and gave the woman a dubious look. “What’d you mean help?”
“Will you allow me to come forward?” She asked again, glancing between he and his brother. “I will assist with what afflicts you.”
She bent her head in another respectful bow before fixing her unwavering gaze on him again.
The emperor deliberated another moment before lifting a hand and beckoning her forward.
The woman neared him with an unhurried gait and Geta slowly straightened in his seat, eyeing her approach intently.
She stopped and stood over him, unreadable things within the dark depths that stared back as he inclined his head up to her. The woman offered a fraction of a smile before she slowly reached for his hand, soft fingertips grazing his skin, her expression careful and continuing to ask for his approval. Geta replied with a small nod before her fragile hand fully gripped his, prying it away from his eye.
His gaze fell to her hold, to the way her slender fingers encircled his palm. Her skin was so thin he could see the network of veins in her wrist and he could see the movements of things beneath her skin as she settled his hand onto his lap. As she gently released him, he again noticed those streaks of kohl on the pale skin of his hand and tried not to consider how unsightly the state of his face must be.
Geta felt a brush against his forehead and his eyes were drawn back up to hers. She smoothed his hair aside and leaned in closer, the fragrance of jasmine pulsing from her tall neck as her soft, warmth breaths feathered against his cheek.
“Open your eye,” she directed airily. “And look up.”
Geta released a tense breath before fluttering his eye open, wincing at the sting before he tilted his head back and looked above her, up to the towering tree overhead, where the leaves swayed against the dappled sunlight. The sight blurred as the sting returned and the woman rested one hand upon his shoulder to steady herself before bringing the other over his eye. Her fingers hovered there, ghosting against his eyelashes as she leaned in to inspect him.
“Hold still.”
Geta complied before flinching as she brushed a finger directly against his eye. It was one swift, precise move and then she was easing back.
“Is that any better?”
He straightened his head and blinked his eyes a few times before slowly nodding, noting in relief that the jabbing was gone. He sniffed and lifted a hand to swipe more of the condensation away. “What was it?”
As answer, she lifted her index finger, revealing the small lash there.
“Ah,” Geta replied as he glanced to it with both brows raised. “I see. That explains it.”
He lifted his hands then, running them along both eyes to try and remove the smudged lines of kohl.
“Whoa!” Caracalla rose from him seat, clapping his hands. "Well done! Surgical precision that was." He cackled. “I guess I spoke too soon. It seems my brother wasn’t moved to tears at all. Was only a little lash that plagued him.”
Geta shot him a swift glare as he continued trying to make his appearance presentable. How he wished for a mirror! He glanced at the woman still standing before him and then leaned toward her. “Have I missed any?” He lifted a hand to indicate the dark lines smeared there.
She glanced once between his hand and his face before stepping forward again with a small shake of her head and bringing a finger to the corner of one of his eyes, where she firmly pressed it against the crease there. She tilted her head in assessment before humming beneath her breath and stepping back again.
Geta felt a trace of warmth from where she’d touched him and his stare fixed on her again. He gave a purposeful nod. “I thank you for your assistance.” His mouth lifted into a crooked smile as he leaned forward again. “What is your name?”
“Akemi,” she answered simply and with another bow of her head as her hands clasped together in front of her.
“Akemi…” He repeated, smile inching higher. “And where are you from? Before Egypt, I mean.”
Another miniscule smile from her and a soft hum, indicating she already knew what he was asking. “A small island far in the east. Oyashima, we call it.”
“Hm…” He replied, glancing at the senators surrounding them. They all continued to watch their exchange as if not quite sure what to make of it. “I have not heard of it.”
“We are a small nation.” She supplied.
He breathed out a laugh. Yes, one of those insignifanct places in the furthest reaches of the map. Hardly worth glancing at.
And yet, he thought as his eyes drifted back to her. I am all the same curious about this place. What mysteries might such a seemingly unassuming place as that be hiding? As unthreatening as this woman herself was. Unthreatening, yet carrying such profound things within.
“Perhaps I will ask you sometime,” he tilted his head, beaming at his own suggestion that they two would be awarded another moment with one another. How would she respond to that? “Just how it was you came to Egyptian shores. And how you were discovered by Senator Acisculus here.” He gauged her reaction closely, eyes sparking with something roguish.
She stared at him in silence, eyes still frustratingly unreadable, before she slowly nodded. “If that is something you wish to discuss, I would be happy to oblige.”
A reserved answer, but Geta felt somewhat victorious all the same. He ran his eyes over her again, watching the way the wind danced over her, as if she might be taken up and carried away with it. Carried back to whatever mysterious island she’d come from. His eyes then flicked to Acisculus, who stood by with a recognizable, excited gleam.
“So?” The senator asked. “Will you feature her at the festival?”
Geta glanced between him and Akemi, considering again. The dance…that lulling dance. He’d nearly disregarded it. But perhaps there was something to be said for allowing oneself to be slowly drawn in. A little patience and a closer look and there was something exciting to be found there.
“Yes,” he answered, eyes burning as he stared at the woman. “She will be featured.”
The man clapped loudly, there were protests from those who’d been opposed, but the only thing the emperor could focus on was the way the slender woman’s little smile tilted the corner of her mouth higher, something burning back at him.
He tilted his head then, eyes narrowing slightly. Had she anticipated this? Was there something ambitious hiding behind that mask? Perhaps it should have angered him, the thought that she might have subtly manipulated him into featuring her, but it had been more of an advantageous maneuver, hadn’t it? After all, it was not as if she had thrown first that dust, then the kohl, then finally the lash into his eyes. She’d recognized a need for assistance and provided it, as she should. A thing which had proven mutually beneficial to them both.
And why should they not get on one another’s good side? There was much more which could be gained.
No, Geta did not mind. It merely added to that hidden gravitas she held. Ambition, when not a threat, was an attractive quality.
“Let us have that conversation sometime soon, hm?” he said as he rose from his seat and approached her. He brought a hand beneath Akemi’s chin, lifting her head to gaze upon it fully. “And perhaps we might also discuss more of these featured performances in the future.”
A spark again. Flashing through her eyes. Geta smirked down at her. I see you, he thought as he smoothed his thumb across her chin once before releasing her.
There was another silent moment between them, his eyes flicking over each of her features in turn, analyzing and admiring them before he finally turned. “Come, brother.” He announced. “Let us make ourselves presentable for the races this afternoon.”
“Make yourself presentable, you mean!” Caracalla moved to follow. “I was not the one reduced to a weeping mess at the sight of such a delicate woman.”
“That was not the way of it.”
“Oh really? What is your name?” Caracalla mocked as their voices followed their exit, the courtyard falling behind them. "Where are you from? Let us talk sometime."
“Enough.” Geta snapped before they both disappeared from view, Akemi’s dark eyes lingering on the spot they had vacated.
A victorious feeling surged through her as strongly as it had the emperor, before she glanced to her hand, where lines of the kohl he’d worn had also marked her skin.
A symbol of the success she’d claimed.