gladiaralla

[gladiaralla]

Hey girls or boys. Be honest.

Imagine you are invited to a gala and you can choose an actor to go with. Who would it be? ✦꙳⋆⟡

Helpppp this is hard.

I think I would go with Pedro Pascal...or Joseph Quinn...or Paul Mescal...but then there are also Cillian Murphy, Fred Hechinger...and Mads Mikkelsen or...uhm Bill Skarsgard.

And..Aaron Taylor Johnson my beloved.

[gladiaralla]

Fred Hechinger ✦꙳⋆⟣

I'm going to hang these pictures of Fred in my room. Look at him! Take a look at my boyfriend!

[Reminder: I'm in the middle of my exams. Maybe I'll continue this little story (dark red) at some point. I don't know yet but in future I will only write one shots. ]

[gladiaralla]

Husband material ❤︎︎⋆꙳⟡

[gladiaralla]

Supernovae

Mr. Fantastic - Reed Richards x fem!reader (Prof! x student)

I’m already obsessed with Pedro as Reed Richards so I made this. It’s just a one shot, nothing big. (For now)

Warning / Reminder: I'm not studying physics, but educational science and psychology. So I have no idea about this subject. Therefore I apologize in advance if it doesn’t make much sense.

“This interaction between highly energetic particles and the atmosphere is extremely complex, and accurate predictions require even greater complexity. They come from the sun, from supernovae, and from more indeterminate processes. Do you know which processes and mechanisms I’m talking about?”

Reed Richards stopped in the middle of his lecture, leaving the open question hanging in the room. He watched the flickering eyes and silent corners until one of the students began to speak up.

“The sun could produce such energy, right?”

A young man with large glasses and freckles covering his round face stared at Mr. Richards. He was standing before his large, scribbled blackboard, waiting for further pronouncements. He ran his fingers over the unused papers and crumpled the dust of the wooden-colored table beneath his sharp, rough fingertips. His other hand rested behind his back. He looked out over the sea of clueless, tense and young faces. Among them was a young woman who knew how to fight her way through the ambitious minds of the striving. (Y/N)

His scrutinizing gaze met her delicately raised hand and he lowered his head to grant her permission to speak.

“Mr. Richards, I believe that supernovae generate radiation through expanding shock waves.”

He smiled faintly, nodded and began slowly walking again in front of the staring mass.

“Faith is not a part of our science, Miss (L/N), but you do recognize the approach,” his gravelly voice began to fill the room, and young Ron Tugmann looked at the now-smiling (Y/N), who turned back to her sketch and continued to refine it with the smudged lead of her pencil.

“Gamma rays. Extreme explosions are released through their bursts. They accelerate these particles.”

The crowd gasped and winced at the description, whispering afterward about this procedure. “Imagine sitting in a dark room, and suddenly, a light explodes with such intensity, only for the darkness to return.”

The explanation resonated with most, though perhaps not with (Y/N). She didn’t clap at the end of the lecture and instead continued with her drawing.

“My physicist, will you accompany me?” teased the brown-haired classmate beside her, bowing mischievously in front of the young woman. “Don’t be silly, Ron,” she snapped, tucking her papers under her arm while he defensively raised his hands, a playful smirk on his face.

She padded down the stairs, and he followed her almost insistently, until he tapped her impatiently on the shoulder. She gasped, fuming, and turned to face him, showing her irritation at his manner. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Richards. Another time.”Her response was brief but accepted with tolerance from Ron as he raced up the stairs toward the exit of the restored building.

Reed Richards gathered his materials and files, along with his many foundations, and stored them in a cupboard. His white shirt clung tightly to his rather slender figure. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, revealing the dark lines on his face, and the bones of his cheekbones seemed almost to want to cut through his skin. Above them, his eyes were glassy and accentuated by dark rings. It seemed as if he hadn’t found much sleep in recent days. The edges clung to the papers he embraced against his chest.

He stared at her, waiting for the clearing of her throat, which still lingered on her tongue.

“Can I help you, Miss (L/N)?” he asked in a soothing, quiet voice, which barely reached her. She turned her attention to the white chalk writings on the blackboard until he turned as well. “I hope I haven’t frightened you with my theories,” he said with a somewhat amused smile, though (Y/N) shook her head, keeping her posture straight to hide the many questions she had.

“No, I just wanted to inquire about the work I submitted to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the sharp, rigid features of his face fell upon the pile of papers in front of him. “Indeed. I’ve had to read through them all night and I was quite surprised by your phrasing,” he began, leaning against the edge of his desk as his gaze fell through the black strands of his hair. He didn’t show any emotions until the girl started clearing her throat. “In what way were you surprised?” She tightened her grip on her papers, stepping back as he crossed his legs in front of her, his hands intertwining in the pockets of his black pants. She could almost hear the rhythmic ticking of his watch against his thin wrist in the ensuing, suffocating silence.

“Your theories are… interesting, but only in theory,” he remarked roughly, tilting his head to study her features.

“Is that good or bad in your eyes? I know it’s madness… probably unthinkable…” her voice trailed off as she tried to continue. The laugh he gave her now revealed his sharp teeth before it faded.

“If thinking the unthinkable is madness, then I’m the craziest thinker there has ever been.” She lowered her head, and with hollow cheeks, she gazed at the smooth floor beneath her feet. She could barely suppress the urge to smile. He tilted his head, briefly stroked his beard beneath his nose, and clicked his tongue. “You seem to have many questions, don’t you? I often see you alone with all those books on campus,” he coughed lightly and smiled at the girl in front of him.

She shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I like to retreat and read,” she explained, but she couldn’t get any more words out. He raised his hand and shook his head. “Those who don’t read, don’t learn,” he replied almost seriously, taking a step closer to (Y/N).

As he noticed that she couldn’t find any words, he broke the silence. “When I was a student, I didn’t know people, only every book in the library.”

(Y/N) smiled, recognizing herself in his story, and pressed her papers against her chest as if to hide the fluttering inside. He reached forward, extended his arm and pulled the paper down to see what it contained. It wasn’t formulas, but a drawing. He tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Immediately, she wanted to justify herself.

He smiled and looked her deep in the eyes. (Y/N) swallowed and didn’t know where to look. Her cheeks turned a deep red. Reed Richards slowly released the paper, but his gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened up. The faint smile on his lips remained, but his gaze became critical, almost as if searching for an explanation on her face.

“You have an unusual talent, Miss (L/N),” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.(Y/N) gently pulled the drawing back and let her gaze briefly drift to the side. “It’s just a habit. I understand things better when I visualize them.”

He nodded slowly, as if considering this thought. “Most of my students think in formulas, not in pictures.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, Professor?”

A soft laugh escaped his throat. “Call it what you want.”

For a moment, they stood there, and Richards continued to observe her until he broke the silence again.

“Back to your work.”

(Y/N) quickly nodded and straightened up.

He leaned lightly against his desk again, his shirt tightening across his shoulders as he picked up one of his notes. “It’s not criticizable. Just… hypothetical. Your idea that cosmic radiation might be influenced by previously unknown interactions is fascinating. But we lack evidence. You’re operating in the realm of speculation.”

“Every theory was once speculation,” (Y/N) replied. Again, that amused gleam appeared in his otherwise tired eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”

A warm feeling spread in her chest, but she hid it behind a neutral nod.

"Am I that predictable, Professor?" (Y/N) asked and took a small step forward.

She smelled the expensive perfume he had put on and swallowed hard. She was so enthusiastic about him and his work. He always knew what he was saying, what impact it had and he always knew the answers to all the questions students asked. He was a role model, probably even more. She would at least have liked to see more in him, but she knew that reality would not allow it. If anyone was aware of reality, it was the scientists. She realized that she had been lost in her thoughts for a long time and shook her head. He hadn't said anything. Not a word. He had only observed her. She didn't know what he was thinking, but he was well aware of what she was thinking.

"Miss (L/N), I think you still have a lecture, don't you?" he broke the strange spell and she remained silent. She knew what he wanted. Distance. What had she expected?

"Of course," (Y/N) replied dryly and walked past him, out the door.

[gladiaralla]

Reptiles

This is based on a thought I had when I was at university a few days ago. Caracalla has an obsession with crocodiles.

A short (like…very short)scene - A Little Geta / Caracalla x reader

Warning: +18 mention of blood, violence, angst and slight smut.

The spectators cheered as the reptiles leapt out from under the water and their nagging hisses rang out. The wood of the boat creaked as if it would break apart at any moment under the force of the mighty reptiles. Caracall watched (y/n) as she looked at the scenery with a skeptical and anxious expression under her twitching eyelashes. He had to smile when he saw the discomfort in her posture.

"Look at them, writhing like rats in a pit," Caracalla said laughing - more to himself.

He could never sit still during these performances. He played with his rings, bit his lower lip, wiggled his legs or fiddled with his earrings. He constantly had to move unlike his brother who followed the movements of the animals, gladiators or victims with a fixed eye.

"You see how quickly they tear flesh from bone?,” Caracalla asked enthusiastically and rejoiced like a boy as the hissing reptiles squabbled over the meat. (y/n) felt uncomfortable. She held the fan - decorated with the finest feathers - firmly in her hand.

One of the reptiles, larger than the others, leapt high and caught one of the senators by his arm. The man screamed shrilly as the beast pulled him into the water.

Blood clouded the surface.

(y/n) watched, her stomach churning. Her eyes flickering with unease.

“Is this…necessary?”

Her voice felt silent.

“By the gods,” (y/n) continued to murmur.

"Do the screams bother you, lady? You seem unsettled,” Geta now whispered, leaning closer to her ear. His breath tickled her neck slightly. She held her backhand to her lips and swallowed hard.

Caracalla, on the other hand, let out a loud, high-pitched laugh at the back of his throat. “Brother. Perhaps we should comfort her,” Geta murmured, his voice a silken threat. His fingers traced a slow path along the curve of her neck. It was laced with something dangerous.

A silent and dominant warning.

"Go on, brother," Caracalla murmured. His smirk widened. "Make her feel good. I want to see it in her eyes..."

Geta's fingers lingered against (y/n)'s throat. He could feel the rapid pulse beneath her skin, the silent betrayal of her body.

“Not here. Brother.”

[gladiaralla]

"You could never please me as he could," she spoke softly and instead of looking into his blue and waiting eyes, the young girl looked into the candles burning beneath the small wooden figures of Jupiter. Lucius staggered, his thoughts unclear. "You know what he is and what he will be," he replied quietly and stepped closer. The rising wind made the candles tremble.

She raised her hands, silenced him and pressed her lips together. "You'd be willing to watch me die in the arena?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

She broke and could do nothing but shake her head. "No, Lucius. No one should." Holding her hand tightly, he pulled her closer to him, still smelling the emperor's scent on her. "What would happen if an arrow hit his heart?" he suddenly asked and she turned her gaze away from the wooden figures. Her eyes horrified. "It would only take one."

[gladiaralla]

꙳⟡⋆𓃠

“Caracalla, no. Put down the blade. Put it down…”

“You lie! You always lie!”

“Caracalla - It’s me! Look at me. I am your brother. Listen to my voice.”

“Lie! Lie! Lie!”

Caracalla grips Geta by the throat, ready to plunge the knife into Geta's eye. Geta has experienced these moods before, many times. He stays calm.

“We're brothers! Remember all the times -- against our father, I protected you!”

Caracalla hesitates; he wavers. Geta is tapping a shared childhood memory.

“With my own body, I shielded you from him! I took his blows, because I love you! You are my brother!”

Tears spring to Caracalla’s crazed eyes.

[gladiaralla]

Caracalla rises unsteadily to his feet.

“Join us in the bedrooms Macrinus, show us your might.” (Caracalla)

“I prefer not to display my techniques for fear of plagiarism Emperor.” (Macrinus)

Caracalla roars with laughter as the Emperors depart for the bedrooms.

[Gladiator II, script]

[gladiaralla]

𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞✮꙳⋆

Emperor Caracalla ↳ Gladiator II