#Dance among swords

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Hektor Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843-1902) Dance among swords, Detail, 1881 Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[gamesline]

Bulletin+: Nintendo Direct 6/18/24

Big and small reveals, mostly quite exciting, came from today's Nintendo Direct! Here's a Bulletin+ rundown of what was shown. Read the full article

[autumnoakes]

i'm lowkey excited for the next 3D zelda game because i want to see where they go AFTER botw. will they keep some elements of the open world? will they include aspects of environmental storytelling? what will they do? i'm excited to see it

[arolesbianism]

I need to make a new pmd story right now or I'll explode

[redsnerdden]

Every Announcement From June's Nintendo Direct

Every Announcement From June's Nintendo Direct #Nintendo #VideoGames #NintendoSwitch #NintendoDirect

There was a lot to take in at this month’s Nintendo Direct. Three monumental announcements were revealed today, and each one made fans lose their minds completely, Capcom finally giving fans that long-awaited Marvel vs Capcom collection, Rare’s Perfect Dark got that Nintendo Switch Online release, and Metroid Prime 4 finally has a release date window. Let’s take a look at the newest…

[s-lverwing]

DEATH KINK

pairing. emperor caracalla x empress!reader.

summary. Devotion between you and Caracalla is measured in blood.

word count. 1.5k (short one :3)

warnings. dark themes. blood. toxic relationships. slaves and concubines? weird relationship dynamics i guess. english isn’t my first language.

a/n. i don’t remember the scene very clearly so you have to bear with me. wrote this in like two hours so it’s not edited no nothing we die like the twins. please if you enjoyed this leave a comment, reblog, whatever u want 🐛.

It was no surprise that you, the recently crowned Empress, would draw every single gaze whenever you walked into a room; draped in the empire’s most expensive silks, your skin gleamed beneath the weight of Rome’s all gold—rings encircled your fingers, necklaces coiled around your throat and chest. Even when you entered the triclinium, side by side with the Emperors.

As always, you were seated close to Caracalla, always beside Caracalla, but never within his brother’s reach. There, you were often seen as a prize —though inaccessible— and a curse.

The scent of sweat and blood thickened the air as the clash of steel echoed through the hall. You weren’t even paying attention. Caracalla shifted in his throne, restless, predatory, his lips twitching with dark amusement. And maybe Geta did the same.

Then came the gladiators.

“Swords,” Caracalla groaned, his voice slurred. Childlike in its craving. His eyes, hazy with intoxication, shone with a dangerous hunger. “I want swords.”

He let out a mocking laugh, his ringed fingers caressing your leg with a pressure that could only mean he was far from consciousness; his touch heavy and unsteady. Like he was most likely trying not to slip away. The intoxication mixed with his own disease blurred his senses, yet his grip remained intense.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. His need was so raw, so unrestrained. “A fight to the death! No quarter to be offered, or given” you raised your voice as a sadistic thrill dancing in your chest. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the unpredictability of his madness seeping into your bones.

You loved him to death.

It was almost amusing to see how they all believed—how they fantasized—that you, a noble-born girl, now a woman, could ever hope to civilize a creature so deranged and unhinged as Caracalla. Kicked and left alone at such a young age, rotten to the core and probably to his mind too. Citizens whispered among themselves, imagining that love, care, tenderness, could redeem the blood-stained mind of Caracalla. How sweet was their foolishness. Their faces—so full of hope, of pity, such a beautiful lady trapped in such destiny—always crumbled in disbelief every time you spoke, every syllable that escaped your lips reminding them of your control over a man who could burn an empire with but a whim.

They fantasized about you being his tamer, as though you could tame what was never meant to be tamed, and cure what had long been beyond healing. The truth was bittersweet. For what they all failed to understand, or what they would never understand, is that you weren’t a healer of broken things. How could you explain that your heart warmed at the sight of him relishing in violence? His madness now belonged to you, woven into your very soul. And love? Love could never soften the edges of such brutal spirit—it could only feed the fire.

You adapted. You survived. You thrived in the shadows of his cruelty, and the power it gave you. You learned to enjoy and yearn for the taste of blood, the sound of a life taken with a mere word from your lips. You reveled in the control, the pleasure, the satisfaction. It almost wasn’t a mad thing under your eyes. It was an act of love. Even Macrinus, so quick to label you as bloodthirsty, so eager to brand you as a woman gone mad and turned dangerous, could never understand and always shows himself surprised.

The fight started and you had to roll your eyes at Hano’s words. It felt like an intrusion, a stain. It ruined everything for you.

While everyone was enjoying the fight, one of Caracalla’s discarded concubines—a slave you’d thought long forgotten—had dared to reach for the emperor’s knee, his delicate fingers grazing his upper leg with insolent familiarity. Caracalla did not pull away. Instead, his body softened, inviting the touch with ease, indulgent in a way that twisted something sharp and venomous inside your chest.

Jealousy came to you like a big black wave, something sharp and unyielding; carved from the same iron as the swords that painted Rome’s conquered territories red. It lodged itself beneath your skin, festering, until it became as familiar as brething—a constant ache you could neither purge nor embrace fully. It wasn’t simply desire or the hunger for possession. It was something wretched: the need to be the only one Caracalla turned to when the sickness in his mind became too loud to bear. To be the only one he desires and needs every single time. It often felt like a wound that never healed — and it never would.

He was pure chaos wrapped in imperial red—a creature of untamed anger, both cruel and relentless—but he was yours. Not because he loved you in the way poets sang of, nor in ways little girls dreamed of, but because you understood the shadows that devoured him, ones that fed on you both. Your bond was forged in the smothering heat of violence, in whispered commands that condemned lives, in glances exchanged over bloody arenas where human lives were torn apart for sport. It was a language you both spoke so effortlessly, the language of violence.

While Caracalla never promised fidelity, never whispered of devotion. He understood long ago he didn’t need to. Your understanding went beyond mortal vows, or words. You stills remember the first execution that had twisted your stomach, nausea clawing at your throat as the blade struck flesh, severing a life at your own whispered command. It was a slave; a gift from his twin brother Geta. The only thing she had done wrong was to stare for a second longer in Caracalla’s way. He’d found you later, hands still stained with blood, and kissed you like he was trying to consume your bare soul. And you had let him, because surrendering to him just felt right. Dreamy even.

By the second time it happened, for you it was a lot easier. By the third, you no longer turned away. And then Caracalla simply no longer lusted for carnal pleasure outside your marriage. You learned to savor it—the thrill of power, the satisfaction of everyone’s disapproving glances, the realization that you, too, could be merciless. Whispers said that bloodlust, it seemed, could be contagious.

And Caracalla needed you, as you seemed to be made from the same shattered pieces he was. You were forged in the same merciless burning fire, twin flames consuming everything in their path.

“Careful” You whispered as your hand shot out with precise cruelty, striking the boy’s wrist hard enough to sting, though he didn’t knew the true punishment would come later. Your lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile when you saw the concubine’s startled expression, quickly masked by a defiant laugh. Good, you thought. Let him believe he had won something. Let him feel safe.

Later, when the games were done, when the blood-soaked marbled floors had cooled, you went to Caracalla—not to beg, but to demand. You crawled into his lap, as you have done many times, let him bury his hands in your hair, and whisper what you wanted like it was a sacred invocation. Gods’ spoke through you. He easily obliged, giving it to you, not only because of love, but also because your voice was the only one which could still the storm in his head, the way you could channel his fury into something he deemed purposeful.

“Him.” Your voice cut through the cinnamon scent filled air. You didn’t even bother looking at the concubine—his fate was already sealed. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on the faces around you, enjoying the flickers of recognition and fear that bloomed like flowers. A sardonic smile tugged at your lips, as an unspoken reminder of who actually held their lives…

Caracalla was always watching you, always listening, always poised between affection and destruction. The small crowd of concubines and imperial guards, and maybe the citizens too, might have believed Rome’s fate rested in his hands, but you knew better. His power was tempered and magnified by your will.

Without a word, he reached for you, tracing the curve of your jaw as though in reverence—maybe to ask for forgiveness. His lips brushed your forehead. This was his acknowledgment, his devotion in the only way he knew how. You were bound by something the Gods themselves wouldn’t dare name.

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto his guard. The command that followed was calm, almost indifferent—“His head.”

And when the concubine’s lifeless body was dragged through the dirt at her feet, Caracalla’s dark eyes gleamed with understanding. As he pulled you close, their breath mingled like a shared secret, and you knew you were his. But not because you had tamed him—as no one could. But because you had matched his cruelty with your own, answered his violence with your own form of devotion.

You would eternally consume each other—because love, in its purest yet darkest form, was conquest.

a/n 2: hi again i just love a reader who would match caracalla’s freak 🫦🫦🫦

[lunarsilver]

What are their sexual fantasies?

18+, minors do not interact

A reading regarding your partner - your current one (asking about their permission would be in good taste), or next one, or the most important one, or your future spouse... Whatever you prefer.

(Psst! I will be grateful for your answer to a simple question.)

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

PILE 1

Six of Swords - Strength (R) - Three of Wands (R) - Back of the Deck: Knight of Swords (R)

Six of Swords literally fell out as I was shuffling, which suggests to me this one is pretty important. Six of Swords is about change, leaving something behind and going on new endeavors. It looks like they’re really eager to try something new, maybe their earlier experience with intimacy wasn’t the best for them. Then we have Strength in reverse which seems to confirm that they felt or feel kind of trapped, and they fantasize about lashing out their raw emotions. The deck I use does not have a sexual theme, but this specific card has one of the most sensual imagery among all the cards in this deck: a woman, full of confidence, poses in just heels and lower underwear, a bra tossed aside. She’s very flexible and has a snake tattoo on her leg. I think your person wishes to be so flexible and confident in their body. The imagery brings a strip club or a sexy dance for a partner to my mind, and while there is a chance your person would like to see someone doing this kind of act (I guess going to a club like this would fit the theme of trying something new), for most this card is simply about having the courage to embrace one’s body and desires. Reversed Three of Wands says this person experiences some delays, some problems on their way to express themselves, and this leads to frustration. Knight of Swords in reverse confirms that. Your person is pretty frustrated sexually, and for some reason is unable to take action. As a side note, both Six of Swords and Knight of Swords in this deck show swords, so maybe some people here would like to try knife play? What’s interesting is that, in the way they lie now, all these swords point in the same direction, but what is exactly this direction? That’s unclear. Let’s pick up some more cards.

I asked for the reason why your person cannot fulfill themselves sexually and why they feel frustrated, and the cards are Seven of Swords (R), King of Cups, The Tower (R) and at the back there is Six of Cups. To put it short, it looks like they have this mental blockage. They may feel like they aren’t worthy of it, or it simply doesn’t fit them. For some, they grew up taught to think about sexuality as something shameful. I think the King of Cups represents them, and if so, they look really lovely and in tune with their emotions. They are at the start of their personal transformation and rediscovering what they like. No specific fantasies came here in this reading, other than the desire to have the courage to try to do what they are or may be into. It could be good to create a safe space for them, tell them that if they want to try something, you may always discuss it together. Whether you’ll actually do it is another matter, but letting them know having sexual desires isn’t shameful is pretty important here.

PILE 2

The Tower (R) - The Hierophant (R) - Two of Wands (R) - Three of Cups - Back of the Deck: Knight of Wands

Only after I realized I pulled four cards instead of three, I guess they have a lot to say lol. We’re starting with The Tower in reverse, so your person wants some inner change. The Hierophant in reverse is about questioning the rules, about freedom. Your person fantasizes about exploring, most likely about doing some kinky stuff. They’re excited about it, they want to do it, but they’re not ready and lack a proper plan or preparation (Two of Wands in reverse). However, it is clear they fantasize about celebrating their and their partner(s) bodies, treating sex as fun, as shown in Three of Cups. For some, Three of Cups suggests them fantasizing about threesomes. A side note, but a lot of cards show some pets, some on a leash, and I cannot help but wonder whether your person fantasizes about some kind of pet play. I think the reversed Knight of Wands at the back represents your person: impulsive, ready to action, fiery and with high libido, but probably they should do some research first. I felt like pulling some charms, asking what this person has to tell you, and the messages are “it will be better”, “I am with you”, “you are a master” (or maybe they want to say you are their master; whether “the master of their heart” or a master as in a BDSM dynamic - I feel like for quite a lot of you, pile 2, your person is a proud bottom, maybe a power bottom or a little a brat lol), “do what you love”, “you can count on me” and “fresh perspective”.

PILE 3

Ten of Cups - The Empress - Knight of Cups - Back of the Deck: The Magician

Okay, all upright, three out of four cards show people, two Major Arcana and two cards of Cups, plus three out of four cards are mainly pink and red. This person knows what they want and they like to be as clear as possible, they’re emotional and aren’t ashamed of it, that’s what I get right off the bat. Ten of Cups shows they’re pretty romantic, they fantasize about an ideal, fulfilling, committed relationship. The Empress and Knight of Cups represent you and this person - and I feel like for most of you, you are represented by the Empress and they are Knight of Cups, given how romantic and emotional Knight of Cups is, and how romantic is your person. The Empress and Knight of Cups look at each other from their respective cards. They look tenderly, smiling a little, and their eyes are on the same level. This person clearly fantasizes about an equal relationship, where at the same time they can adore you and spoil you. The Magician at the back suggests they manifest this relationship. Like, your person is so sweet, I asked about sexual fantasies and all that came out is that they want love. As an afterthought, the Empress is the only card having different colors than the rest, which only further proves the rest of cards is their energy and the Empress is you. I asked for some messages from your person to you and pulled out these charms: “I’ve been looking for you everywhere :*”, “I love your smile”, “something nice will happen to you”, “it makes me want to live”.

[harunayuuka2060]

*The audience, especially Vil's fans, are expressing concern and worry about how the NRC group will fare, since they are the last to perform.*

Maleficia: What is causing all this commotion among the people?

Baul: I believe it's because Their Highness's group is performing last, putting them at a significant disadvantage.

Maleficia: My grandchild's group? At a disadvantage, you say?

Lilia: There's no need to panic.

Malleus: Indeed. Being the final act can provide an opportunity to create a lasting impression.

Baul: You say that, but...

*Some audience members wish to leave early due to exhaustion from the earlier performances.*

Random person A: Can't we just vote already?

Random person B: But Vil hasn't performed yet.

Malleus, Maleficia, Baul, and Lilia: ...

The emcee: I appreciate your patience. Now, without further ado, it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for... the NRC group!

The audience: *cheers*

*MC, Vil, Rook, Epel, Ace, Deuce, Kalim, and Jamil entered the stage in their uniforms, taking their respective positions (with Vil, of course, at the center).*

*The stage lights dim, and the moment the music begins, the lights brighten again, revealing their historical ikemen outfits.*

The audience: !!!

*Fifteen minutes before the performance, MC spoke to them about their chances of winning the competition.*

MC: I admit I didn’t realize we would be the last to perform. Still, do I think our chances of winning are low? *smiles* Not at all.

MC: We will enchant the audience with our performance, almost akin to the feeling of falling in love.

Lyrics:

Kalim: Everything I know is the melodies and symphonies

Jamil: Everything I know is a life without light

Kalim: (I will always be alone)

Rook: There's a longing inside my soul

Vil: And in the deepest void where time is but a scenery

Vil: I'll be waiting for you!

All: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

Vil: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like to leave it all behind

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la""

Deuce: Dancing gracefully to the beat of your heart

Epel: Until the morning comes TO STEAL YOU AWAY!!!

Ace and Deuce: All I ever knew was that you and me were meant to be

MC and Vil: All I ever knew was the taste of your lips against mine

Rook: (You are mine forevermore)

MC: We were bound for eternity

Vil: Now I am lost inside this everlasting reverie

Vil: And I'm losing my mind

All: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

MC: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like to leave it all behind

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la

MC: Come away with me through the echoes of time

All: Until the morning comes to steal you away!

Vil: Darling look into my eyes and tell me what's inside

Vil: Truth be told my dear, you don't know what it's like...

All: Take a step into the night,

All: hear the voices singing la la la la la

All: Come away with me through the echoes of time

All: Until the morning comes to steal you away

All: So you looked into my eyes and brought me back to life

Vil: I still think of you in the dark of the night

Vil: A silent lullaby

Vil: I'll be waiting here 'til the end of all days

Vil: *a tear rolls down his cheek*

Vil: My nocturnal serenade...

The audience: ...

The audience: *all stood up and cheered*

Malleus, Maleficia, Lilia, and Baul: ...

Baul: *starts ugly crying*

Maleficia: It's beautiful...

Malleus: *proud dad smile*

Lilia: Their performance has just finished but the song is etched in my mind.

Ace: AHH! FINALLY!

Epel: *was actually scared earlier* I thought I would make a mistake!

Rook: *chuckles* You did well, Epel!

Vil: *feels restless*

Rook: Roi du Poison?

Vil: ...

Vil: Rook, do you think we've done enough to defeat Royal Sword Academy?

Rook: ...

Rook: *smiles*

Rook: Roi du Poison, while I’m uncertain about our chances of winning, it's clear that you are the fairest of them all, and everyone recognizes that.

Vil: ...

Vil: *smiles*

Kalim: Guys? Do you know where MC is?

Jamil: They went to greet their grandmother.

Maleficia: Congratulations, my dear. *pampers MC with light kisses on the face*

MC: *chuckles* Nana, the results haven't been announced yet.

Malleus: *clears throat* *waiting for his turn to congratulate his child*

Maleficia: You can wait.

Malleus: ...

Lilia: *laughs*

MC: *notices that Baul isn't with them*

MC: Where is Sir Baul?

Lilia: Maybe he got hungry and went to buy some food.

Baul: *looking sternly at Ruggie*

Ruggie: ...

Baul: You.

Ruggie: I don't know you, sir—

Baul: YOU WERE STARING ADMIRINGLY AT THEIR HIGHNESS!

Ruggie: NO! AS IF!

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌 ⠀⠀( 你将是我的！)

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 “ ✉. Being an exotic dancer can have its perks, making the bar owner obsessed with you is one of them.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Suggestive, fanfiction, drama, Mafia! Heeseung x Stripper!malereader.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Alcohol, drugs, half-baked sex, blood (mild).

The club was at its peak, lights flickering across the space as bodies swayed to the rhythm of the music. Among them, one figure stood out—[...]—whose lean frame and hypnotic movements drew every gaze. He wasn't just another dancer; he was a living work of art, though he always kept an emotional distance. His job was to dance, nothing more. He wasn’t the type who sold himself for a few hours or minutes. If they wanted his company, they’d have to settle for watching, because his body was his own, and it wasn’t for sale.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the weight of Heeseung’s gaze from the VIP section—a stare that seemed to burn from across the room. It was impossible to ignore. Heeseung had a presence that consumed everything around him, like a predator surveying his territory. His striking face, chiseled jaw, and dark eyes made him stand out even more. But what truly made him intimidating was the effortless control he had over everything around him. As he smoked his cigarette, shirt slightly unbuttoned with a silver chain glinting under the dim light, he seemed to command not just the room, but the situation itself.

[...]—flirty but always mindful of his professionalism—continued his routine, his movements perfectly calculated to captivate but never invite anything more. It was a delicate game, one he knew how to play. Every spin, every glide of his body along the pole was a statement: "You can look, but you can't touch." But when his eyes met Heeseung’s, something shifted. That man had a silver tongue, one that had likely brought down people much tougher than [...] was used to. And worst of all, Heeseung knew it. He knew [...] noticed him and relished the power it gave him.

When the show ended, [...] stepped off the stage with the same grace he had climbed onto it, his eyes locked onto Heeseung's. He knew this moment was inevitable. He had watched Heeseung for weeks, aware that this man wasn’t like the other patrons who frequented the club. Heeseung was dangerous—not just for what he could do, but for what he represented. A man like him didn’t just have money and power; he had the ability to destroy lives with a smile.

Heeseung rose from his seat in the VIP section and approached with the same calm demeanor that defined him. Every step was measured, as though the world revolved around him. When he finally reached [...], he wasted no time.

“How much for the night?” he asked, his voice smooth but firm, as if he already knew the answer. His gaze never left [...]’s, not for a second.

[...] met his eyes, knowing that anyone else would have crumbled under his game, but not him. He couldn’t afford to fall so easily. Even though Heeseung tempted him with that silver tongue and overwhelming presence, [...] wasn’t the type to sell his body. Not for anyone, and certainly not for money.

“I don’t charge for my time—just for my dance,” [...] replied, his tone playful but firm, making it clear he wasn’t for sale. His smile was a double-edged sword, teasing but with enough distance to let Heeseung know he wouldn’t be easy to get.

Heeseung smirked slightly, as if he had expected that answer. His eyes narrowed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, and the air between them grew heavier. “I’m not interested in what you charge, [...]. I’m interested in you,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the noise of the club. “And trust me, it’s not about the money.”

[...] kept his composure, though he felt the pressure of that gaze. He knew Heeseung wasn’t the type to take no for an answer easily, but he also knew how to handle these situations. His body was his business, and no one was going to claim it.

“Heeseung, you’re the kind of man who always gets what he wants, aren’t you?” [...] said, his tone teasing but measured. “But there’s something you need to understand. I’m not part of that ‘everything’ you can snap your fingers and get.”

Heeseung’s smile widened just a fraction, as if he was enjoying the challenge. He took a step closer, invading [...]’s personal space without hesitation. “I don’t bend for anyone, [...],” he said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “But I’ll give you a chance to reconsider. I’m not a man who waits around too long.”

The tension between them was palpable. [...] may have been flirting with the idea, but he knew Heeseung wasn’t like the other men he’d dealt with. This man was determined, serious, and behind those dark eyes, there was a world of danger that [...] couldn’t even begin to imagine. And yet, there was something about Heeseung that pulled him in—something that made him want to know more.

[...] smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Two hours. That’s all you’re getting. If that works for you, great. If not, I’m sure there are others who’d be happy to dance for you.”

Heeseung held his gaze, never breaking eye contact. “Two hours will do for now,” he said, his tone low and controlled. “But trust me, it won’t be enough for either of us. There’s more between us, and you know it.”

As Heeseung stubbed out his cigarette and stepped back, [...] couldn’t help but feel like he had just entered a game far bigger than he had anticipated. A game where Heeseung always seemed to have the final word. But one thing was certain: [...] wasn’t about to give in so easily, no matter how tempting this man was—the man who, with a smile, could burn the world for the right person.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension when [...] finally walked in, making Heeseung wait over thirty minutes. It was deliberate—every second of delay was part of the game, a way to stretch Heeseung’s patience even further.

Dressed in something bold and borderline obscene, yet undeniably elegant, [...] sauntered toward him with slow, calculated steps.

The room—an exclusive, high-end suite known as the Crystal Room—was built for moments like this: low lights, velvet couches, and an unavoidable air of intimacy. It wasn’t like the other club rooms, this was reserved for the high rollers, the VIPs who craved a more personal experience. But tonight, [...]’ focus was locked onto his sole audience: Heeseung.

Heeseung lounged on the couch, watching him, his presence as commanding as ever. In one hand, a crystal glass of whiskey, and between his fingers, a cigarette that he lazily brought to his lips every now and then. His white shirt was undone just enough to reveal his chiseled chest, a silver chain dangling over his skin.

His piercing gaze had never once left [...] from the second he’d entered the room.

“Made me wait, didn’t you,” Heeseung’s voice was low and gravelly as he tilted his head slightly, taking a sip of whiskey. His eyes glinted with desire, but there was an edge of frustration too.

[...] smiled, knowing full well the effect he had on him.

"I just wanted to make sure you were ready for what's about to happen," he teased, his voice dripping with seduction as he moved with fluid grace through the room.

Slowly, [...] began his routine, spinning around the pole in the center of the room with movements that left little to the imagination. But it wasn’t just the dance that captivated Heeseung—it was the way [...] shed his clothes, piece by piece, each move a promise of passion.

First, he undid his leather jacket, letting it slide gracefully to the floor. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled off his tight shirt, revealing his sculpted torso.

Heeseung’s gaze darkened, and he shifted in his seat, spreading his legs wider as his fingers played with the rim of his glass and the buttons of his shirt.

[...] could feel the shift in the air, the way the tension built with each step. His hips swayed slowly, his body arching, drawing closer to Heeseung only to pull away again. The game was clear—the seduction, the tease, the unspoken promise between two bodies that craved each other.

Heeseung, for his part, couldn’t stop readjusting in his seat. With a slow gesture, he began loosening his cool, his eyes never leaving [...]’ form. "You're killing me, you know that?" he muttered, undoing more buttons, exposing his entire chest.

[...] smirked as he spun around, letting Heeseung take in every angle. "Killing you? I thought you liked a little foreplay," he teased, though his eyes remained sharp, focused.

Heeseung let out a dry chuckle, his fingers undoing the last of his shirt buttons, fully revealing his toned chest, that silver chain catching the dim light.

“You know damn well what you’re doing,” his deep voice dripped with desire. "But come here... I don't want you dancing so far away."

Before [...] could respond, he felt Heeseung’s strong hands grip his waist, pulling him onto his lap. The contact was electric, their skin brushing as Heeseung’s breath became heavier. “Dance here,” Heeseung commanded in a tone that left no room for argument.

The contact was immediate, and the heat between them grew almost tangible. [...] slowed his movements as he settled on Heeseung’s lap, feeling the tension in the mobster’s body as he let out a soft groan.

“That’s better,” Heeseung whispered, his hands roaming over [...]’ hips, tracing his body with a mixture of possession and admiration. "Right where I want you."

As [...] moved slowly on him, Heeseung closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the feeling of having him so close, his usual control slipping away bit by bit. His hands traveled up [...]’ waist, over his back, until they reached his shoulders.

[...] met his gaze with a seductive smile, grinding slowly against him, creating a friction that only made the tension between them grow. "You like that, huh?" he teased, enjoying the rare vulnerability he saw flicker across his client’s face.

Heeseung’s eyes opened, locking onto [...]’, and for a moment, everything else faded. The room was silent, save for the soft music playing in the background, heavy with unspoken promises.

“It’s not about liking it,” Heeseung whispered, his voice a mere breath as his hands cupped [...]’ face, giving his cheeks a firm squeeze. “It’s about the fact that you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Completely.”

The heat between them was building with every motion. [...] continued grinding on him, his hips moving slowly on the dominant’s lap, each brush a reminder of the rising desire.

But despite the closeness, there was an ongoing power struggle—a silent game where, no matter how much Heeseung tried to dominate, he couldn’t hide his vulnerability in front of the man who had him hooked.

Heeseung let one hand slide down [...]’ back, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone with his reputation.

“Quit playing games with me,” he whispered with a dangerous smile, his eyes a mix of frustration and hunger. “You know how badly I want you…” His breath was hot against [...]’ ear, causing the dancer’s skin to tingle.

Feeling the intensity of the moment and the growing ache between his legs, [...] leaned forward, his chest brushing against Heeseung’s, his breath hovering just over his neck. “Then why don’t you take me, boss? If you want me that bad…” The challenge in his voice was clear, but so was the invitation.

Heeseung’s gaze darkened, becoming even more intense as his hands gripped [...]’ hips firmly.

“You’re too damn good at this, shit..” he growled with a crooked smile, pulling him closer, eliminating what little space was left between them. “But I’m done playing... tonight, you’re all mine.”

Heeseung held onto [...]’ waist with a possessive grip, his fingers digging into his skin as the brunette’s heart raced even faster. The room felt charged, each passing second deepening the tension. Heeseung’s eyes dropped to [...]’ lips, darkened with desire, and with a sudden decision, he closed the gap.

The kiss was rough, desperate, a crash of lips that had been waiting too long. There was no gentleness, only a raw, primal need that had been building throughout the dancer’s teasing.

Heeseung grabbed [...]’ face with one hand, his thumb pressing firmly against his jaw, holding him in place. The kiss was intense, as if Heeseung wanted to claim every inch of the boy mouth, a hunger he could no longer contain.

The mobster’s tongue skillfully invaded [...]’ mouth, drawing a soft moan from the dancer as Heeseung’s lips moved with more wild urgency, the taste of whiskey and nicotine flooding his senses.

[...] could feel his own body reacting with a growing need, his hands finding their way to Heeseung’s shoulders, clutching at his shirt as the heat between them swelled, unstoppable.

Heeseung let out a low growl, his lips never leaving [...]’, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Every movement was ravenous, like he wanted to devour him whole, and with every passing second, the control he prided himself on was slipping away.

His fingers trailed down [...]’ back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake until they reached the edge of his pants. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he murmured against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper those words before diving back in.

[...] could hardly think, his body trembling under Heeseung’s dominance, feeling the growing pressure of the mobster’s arousal beneath him. His mind clouded with desire, overwhelmed by the way Heeseung kissed him, touched him, made him feel like the only thing that mattered in the world at that moment.

Heeseung’s hands, quick and confident, slid lower, gripping his ass firmly. The touch made [...] gasp, his body instinctively leaning closer to Heeseung, craving more of the fire that consumed them both, burning hotter with each passing second.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

The room was filled with fragmented sounds,

[...]’s muffled moans blending with the steady rhythm of their bodies colliding.

Heeseung had taken complete control of the situation, his body moving with a wild precision as he thrust into [...] again and again, showing no mercy.

The stripper's body quivered under each thrust, his skin tingling, marked entirely by Heeseung's fingers digging into his hips and buttocks, leaving clear reddish traces that would take days to fade.

[...] lay on the bed, his chest pressed against the sweat-soaked sheets, his hips elevated in the air, fully presenting himself to Heeseung. His hands tried to grip the sheets, but he could barely hold on as every movement from Heeseung made him lose any semblance of control over his own body.

He was completely disheveled, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his skin flushed a deep red, a testament to the pleasure consuming him.

Heeseung, on the other hand, was focused on every movement, his gaze locked on how his cock plunged in and out of [...], marking him deep within, claiming him in a way that left no doubt about who was dominating at that moment.

“Look at you… taking me so well,” he growled through clenched teeth, his hands gripping [...]’s ass harder, pulling him apart with a force that only heightened the pressure and pleasure. “No one else will have you like this… only me.”

[...] tried to respond, but the words slipped away. He could barely form coherent sounds; his moans mingled with broken gasps, and every time he attempted to speak, all that came out was a faint stutter from his own lips.

His body was so sensitive that each thrust left him breathless, his mind completely clouded by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

Heeseung's movements grew more aggressive, his rhythm unyielding as he pushed deeper and deeper into [...], harder each time. The sound of skin slapping against skin grew louder, echoing with each wave that rippled across the passive's flushed cheeks, resonating in the room.

[...]’s muffled moans became sharper, his body unable to contain the impact of each thrust, his nails clawing at the sheets as he felt his mind unravel under the pressure.

“I'm going to fill you… until you can’t think of anything else but what we did tonight, how this ass took my cock...” Heeseung murmured in a deep voice, leaning over [...]’s body, his hot breath colliding against the stripper's sweaty back.

Heeseung took one of [...]’s hands and slid it down the side of his body, squeezing one of his glutes tightly, eliciting a stifled moan.

The sensation of Heeseung's touch, combined with the marks he left, made [...] feel completely possessed, invaded by an overwhelming wave of desire he couldn’t ignore. Every time Heeseung’s fingers sank into his skin, it felt like the heat inside him intensified, as if the fire burning between them would never extinguish.

The rhythm quickened, and [...] could no longer hold back; his climax had arrived once more. His moans turned into a constant echo, his body trembling beneath Heeseung as he filled him again and again.

His mind was lost in pleasure, every fiber of his being focused on the intensity of the thrusts, on how Heeseung claimed him without reservation, without mercy.

Finally, when the climax seemed imminent, Heeseung let out a low, deep grunt, gripping [...]'s hips tighter, moving with a brutal rhythm as he pushed one last time with a depth that made him groan in pure ecstasy.

[...]’s body tensed, his back arching from the pleasure of being filled. His mind went blank, his legs shaking from pleasure as his breathing became erratic, releasing soft sobs.

Heeseung, still moving, leaned down to gently bite the skin of [...]’s shoulder, leaving one last mark, a final claim over his body.

"You’re mine, forever," he whispered in a low voice, his lips brushing against the chestnut’s ear as they both collapsed onto the bed, their bodies exhausted yet satisfied, illuminated by the dim light of the moon that still enveloped them.

After a few minutes, Heeseung slowly withdrew, his breath still heavy as he pulled out of [...] with one last deep sigh.

As he exited him, the wet sound and [...]’s faint whimper made him smile with pride.

He watched as the boy’s hips sank heavily onto the bed, too weak to hold themselves up after what they had shared.

[...]'s skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, the muscles in his back taut and trembling as Heeseung gazed at him, utterly pleased.

His eyes drifted downward, darkening even further as he noticed his seed slowly leaking from [...], sliding down to his balls. The sight before him was living proof of his dominance, a testament to how he had marked and claimed the boy’s body during those hours when he had pushed him to his limits again and again.

Heeseung's smile widened, tinged with a mix of perversion and satisfaction at seeing the result of their wild passion.

“You look gorgeous like this, completely filled with me,” he murmured in a gravelly voice, his warm breath caressing the nape of [...]’s neck as one of his hands glided gently down his sweaty back.

He caressed the curve of his hip, making sure to feel every trembling muscle, every trace of exhaustion he had left on his body. “I can’t help but smile when I see you so wrecked... knowing I was the one who left you like this.”

[...], exhausted, could barely move. His body trembled with the remnants of pleasure and painful bliss coursing through him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.

Every muscle ached, every part of him marked, not just by Heeseung's hands and lips, but by the brutality with which he had put him into positions he had already lost count of. His mind was foggy, barely aware of where he was.

During the nearly three hours they had spent together, Heeseung had explored every corner of the room. He had flipped [...] over the sofa, pushed him against the wall, laid him across the center table, and finally returned to the bed, each time with overwhelming intensity.

In each of those moments, he had brought [...] to the brink of ecstasy, only to stop just before he could fall, prolonging the pleasure until the dancer's body could no longer withstand it.

[...] let out a low moan as he tried to move, but his body didn’t quite respond. His back involuntarily arched as Heeseung’s trembling hands still caressed him, now with a softer touch, as if savoring the calm after the storm.

The marks from the thrusts still throbbed on his skin, and he felt the heat inside him starting to cool, though the sensations remained as intense as moments before.

Heeseung, still wearing that arrogant smile, watched as [...]’s body surrendered completely.

“You’re beautiful like this... completely mine,” he murmured, leaning down to gently kiss the base of [...]’s back, right where the marks from his hands were still visible. “There’s not a single spot in this room where I haven’t taken you... not a corner I haven’t fucked.”

[...] could only nod weakly, his breathing labored and his mind lost in fatigue. Exhaustion was overwhelming him, but he still felt the echo of pleasure in his body, a constant reminder of what had just happened.

Heeseung slowly lay down beside [...], watching as his body still trembled slightly from what they had just shared. With a cigarette perched between his lips, he took a deep drag, letting the smoke drift through the dimly lit room.

[...] lay on his side, palm pressed against the bed, eyes closed, barely able to move, his body spent after hours of intense passion.

Heeseung exhaled slowly, observing how the stripper weakly shifted, his marks visible on every inch of his skin. His fingers gently brushed against [...]’s back, tracing soft lines on his skin, provoking a faint shiver.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Heeseung asked in a low tone, stroking his body with an unusual tenderness for someone like him.

[...] let out a soft “Mmh...” in response, too exhausted to formulate words but making it clear he was still aware of every caress.

“I hate you...” [...] murmured, his voice weak but filled with satisfaction. “Look what you’ve done to me... my whole body is covered in marks, I can’t even move properly.”

A wider smile spread across Heeseung’s lips, letting out a low, husky laugh. “You hate me? A few hours ago, you couldn’t stop saying how much you loved it when my cock was inside you and how big it felt,” he shot back, his tone playful but satisfied. His hands squeezed [...]’s hips tighter.

[...] rolled his eyes, hiding a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Mmh…” was the only response he could muster.

Heeseung regarded him with calculating eyes, relishing the control he had over him. "What a hypocrite..." he whispered, his voice laced with a teasing tone as his fingers glided down the curve of [...]’s back.

[...] let out a shaky sigh, too worn out to argue, too caught up in the moment to fight against the pleasure still coursing through him.

Heeseung continued to watch him in silence, his hand grazing [...]’s skin with a gentler touch this time, as the tension in the room began to ease.

Heeseung broke the silence again, his tone turning serious. “I want you to stop dancing.” His words were direct, shedding the softness of their previous intimacy. “I don’t want anyone else to see you. I want you to be mine and mine alone.”

[...] slightly widened his eyes, though he didn’t respond immediately. Heeseung pressed on, never breaking eye contact. “I can give you everything you want. You wouldn’t need this job anymore... If you want it, I can give you the whole world.” His fingers continued to trace the young man's skin, his cheek flushed from the agitation of the past few hours.

[...] merely smiled, letting out a soft sigh, shifting slightly closer to the taller man’s touch, though it was clear he was listening intently.

“You really... Would you really give me everything?” he murmured, his voice weak but curious, his eyes squinting again from the tender caresses he was receiving, fighting to stay awake.

Heeseung nodded slowly, though [...] didn’t see him. “Everything you want... Just say the word.” His tone was almost hypnotic as he continued to soothingly stroke the weary boy's face and body.

The room fell into silence after that, filled only with the gentle sound of [...]’s breathing. Heeseung watched him sleep, his expression softening as he kept caressing him, waiting, fully aware that [...]’s answer would take time to come.

“Just think about it.”

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I honestly just wrote this idea while listening to this song by Amaarae. Although I didn't think I would add smut either... anyway, I'll do the second part later.︐⠀📍⠀

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

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MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost.

This story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 0 - Prologue

[Lament of the Fallen]

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"I have lost everything."

The relentless battle against the Honkai beasts rages on, your katana slicing through their monstrous forms with a desperate fury. Explosions erupt around you, the searing heat mixing with the blood and sweat that drips down your temples. The ground is littered with the fallen, comrades who once fought beside you now lifeless amidst the swarming beasts summoned by the Herrschers.

"My family..."

The horrifying sight of humans, transformed into mindless Honkai zombies, fills you with dread. Your grip on the handle of your Divine Key falters as you witness your little sister and brother among them, feasting on the remains of fallen soldiers. Tears blur your vision as you dash towards them, the agony of what you must do tearing at your soul. With a heart-wrenching cry, you end their suffering, beheading the only family you had left. You had promised to protect them, to create a peaceful world for them.

"My dear comrades..."

A wall of flames engulfs the encroaching monsters, giving you a momentary respite. Kalpas, your grey-haired, masked comrade, stands before you, his power saving you once more. Exhaustion is etched on his face, but he urges you to keep moving. Before you can respond, a piercing laser beam shoots through his chest, and he crumples to the ground. One by one, your friends fall, their bodies lifeless on the battlefield. The bonds forged in blood and battle, severed in an instant.

"My world..."

The battlefield is a graveyard of Honkai beasts and fallen soldiers, their bodies buried beneath layers of ash. The sky above is a mournful grey, reflecting the lifeless desolation around you. You stand alone, the sole survivor amidst the ruins. Have you won the war, or merely survived its horrors? The answer eludes you.

"And..."

In your hand, you clutch your new Divine Key, forged from the shattered remains of 70,033 blades and the essence of twelve Herrschers. You gaze up at the bleak, grey sky, the weight of your existence pressing down on you.

"I realize now..." You unsheathe your Divine Key, Nihility, unleashing your Active Honkai Reaction. Golden cracks spread from your right hand, blossoming into ethereal flowers. Your hair turns snow-white, your skin pale as ivory. Golden horns sprout from your head, and your eye color turns into gold.

"I've lost myself."

"...That the ultimate fate of this world is nothingness, and therefore, worthless... or even the whole universe?"

With a final, devastating swing of your Divine Key, you begin to unravel the very fabric of this world, reducing it to void, to nothingness. The ground beneath you crumbles, the sky shatters, and everything you fought for dissolves into oblivion. As the world collapses around you, you raise your katana high.

"Yet... I still want to stay..."

With a heavy heart, you turn the blade upon yourself, splitting your soul in half, and embracing the void.

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Snowflakes drift gently from the dull, grey sky, their delicate forms hitting softly against your window. You stare blankly at the wintry landscape, your mind lost in the endless dance of the snow. Your right hand, adorned with claw-like metallic finger guards, rests against the cold glass. As you blink, the serene snowflakes transform into ashen rain, and the snowy ground becomes a graveyard, littered with swords and corpses.

Startled, you stumble back, your heart pounding in your chest. The haunting vision fades as quickly as it appeared, leaving you standing in the quiet room. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a cold line down your cheek. You wipe it away, confusion mingling with the sorrow etched on your face.

"... A forgotten memory?" you whisper, your breath fogging the glass.

Before you can ponder the vision further, a knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts. You turn away from the window, your expression hardening. "Come in," you command, your voice firm yet distant.

The door creaks open, and a Fatui Skirmisher steps in, bowing deeply. He holds a letter in his trembling hand, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Lord Innamorati," he begins, his voice wavering with fear. "A letter from Her Royal Highness."

'Her Highness?' The title feels foreign, a distant echo in your mind. You frown, trying to grasp the fleeting memory.

"Can you remind me of her name?" you ask, your tone soft yet icy, sending a shiver through the skirmisher despite his thick winter coat.

"H-Her Royal Highness Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon," he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod slowly, the name stirring something within you. A fleeting sense of purpose, lost in the haze of your fragmented memories. "Thank you," you say, your voice carrying a trace of melancholy. "My memory... it often fails me."

The skirmisher quickly hands you the letter and exits the room, his relief palpable. You turn to your desk, the weight of the message heavy in your hand. If the Cryo Archon herself has written to you, it must be of grave importance. Did something terrible happen? Or have you forgotten another mission?

You break the seal and unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the contents. With a sigh, you crumple it and toss it into the trash. Your hand instinctively moves to the scabbard where your Divine Key, Nihility, rests.

"A funeral..., huh?" The words hang in the air, heavy with sorrow and resignation.

You move to the window once more, the snowy landscape a stark contrast to the inner turmoil you feel. The snow outside is pure and untouched, but in your mind, the vision of the dead and the desolate ground lingers. You know that each snowflake, each fleeting memory, is a piece of the past that you can never fully grasp.

In the quiet of your room, you can't shake the feeling that you're losing more than just memories. You're losing yourself, piece by piece, like the snow melting away under the weight of the ashes.

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Reblog if you like this story

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Henryk Hektor Siemiradzki (Polish, 1843-1902) Dance among swords, 1881 Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow

[flowerandblood]

The Downfall (Oneshot)

[ Hamlet • dark Aemond x Ophelia • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, fingering, virgnity loss, violence, suicide, angst, smut, obsession, remorse ]

[ description: When she attracts the attention of Prince Aemond during the wedding feast of his brother and his sister, she knows that something terrible is going to happen. His figure lunges towards her like black storm clouds and she feels that, along with his desire, he will bring on her downfall. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

"Tis I who should receive this honour. I, second son, rider of the greatest dragon in the world, experienced in wielding the sword, educated in history and philosophy, 'tis I who should…" He didn't finish, pressing his lips into a thin line. He stopped in the middle of the chamber, not looking at her but at the floor, his eye wide open in rage, his nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

She swallowed hard, clenching her fingers on the material of her gown, sitting in one of the chairs at the table, fearful of him as usual when he behaved in this way, making her unsure how to act.

To endorse his words would have meant betrayal, so she had to remain silent, though her heart was pounding like mad in her chest, a drop of cold sweat running down the back of her neck.

Their betrothal had come as a surprise to her; the prince had caught sight of her at a grand wedding feast held in honour of his brother and his sister, dancing among dozens of other couples.

She dared not look at him, knowing of the arrangements between the Red Keep and Storm's End, not wanting to ridicule herself by begging like some of the women for his attention.

Apparently that was what made his bright, cold, dangerous eye notice her figure and his sight did not leave her until the end of the evening. At first she thought she was just imagining it, then, however, glancing towards the table standing in front of the Iron Throne she met his gaze, his lips curving into a grin that was disturbing to say the least.

She was terrified.

The next day, her father was asked to extend their stay in the Red Keep and enjoy the King's hospitality, though it was not explained to them for what reason.

She was frightened because she understood what it meant – she never went anywhere alone, always taking a servant with her, having heard numerous stories of what Prince Aegon did to women who caught his eye.

She didn't want to see for herself if his younger brother was the same.

It seemed to her that black clouds had gathered over her, that it was a matter of time when something would happen, and indeed, when she came across him passing through the courtyard during one of his sparring sessions, though she turned her head away, his deep, mocking voice stopped her.

"My Lady."

She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn't answer anything, if she didn't look at him, she would commit a great discourtesy and offend him.

She couldn't afford it.

Therefore, she turned towards him, looking at the ground, seeing only his legs and waist clad in black leather garment, bowing before him.

"Your Highness."

She felt for a moment that her heart stood in her throat – the only thing she could hear around her was the clinking of steel and the voices of servants discussing something with each other behind her back. She saw the legs she was looking at move towards her and she closed her eyes.

"What a scared little bird you are. Hm?" He hummed, his voice soft and teasing at the same time, amused, as if he were speaking to a small child.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him – he towered over her with a smirk that was mysterious and unsettling, his healthy eye bright and wide open, his gaze piercing to the core, his lips swollen and full.

She felt herself grow hot with shame.

What was she supposed to answer to such a question?

The prince cocked his head, apparently ignoring her silence, taking advantage of the fact that they were standing so close to each other, watching her as if she were some curious being he had never seen before.

"I watched you dance last night. Did you feel my gaze lingering on your figure?" He asked, and she swallowed heavily, lowering her gaze, involuntarily betraying herself. The Prince grinned under his breath, seeing her reaction.

"You did." He said and looked to the side, as if he wanted to make sure no one would hear what he was about to say, leaning over her ear. "I will marry you."

She drew in the air loudly, shocked and surprised, freezing for a moment, tense, looking at him with big eyes – she shook her head, not understanding how he could say such a thing. He, however, only grinned broadly in a way that made her shudder and stepped away from her, turning to Ser Criston Cole, letting him know that they could continue.

Ser Criston gave her one terrified look that told her everything.

She was doomed.

She didn't tell her father about the prince's words because she was convinced that he was mocking her, wishing for certain that she would succumb to him and spend the night with him, only to disappear from his life forever.

She knew she couldn't let that happen if she wanted to marry any self-respecting lord and decided she would just stay inside her quarters.

And then their betrothal was announced.

There was a feeling of emptiness in her mind as she looked at him, at the wide, mischievous grin stretched across his face as he sat at the table, while his mother, the Queen, spoke to her of the King's decision, apparently persuaded by his son, wondering how she was supposed to tame such a man, tame such a fiery, unpredictable nature.

She was scared.

To her despair, her father had been invited to take on the role of one of the treasurers under the direct authority of the Small Council, which he welcomed with joy. It meant that their family was to stay in the Red Keep, and her betrothed could slowly clamp his claws around her neck.

He followed her like a wraith, sinking her further and further into his darkness, making her slowly melt into one with him, not knowing where his soul ended and hers began.

On the day he was to see his nephews again years later, she locked herself in her chamber, unwilling to watch this theatre of malice and humiliation – she knew what her betrothed thought of them, how often he mused about slitting their throats or gouging out their eyes to later gift them to his mother.

She knew he was furious, wanting to show her off like a pretty object he had in his possession, but she offered him a passive resistance that drove him to the brink of madness.

She drew in a loud breath as he surprised her by silently sneaking up to her chamber at night – she heard the loud creak of the wood beneath his body as he lay down behind her.

His one hand took place on her womb, as if he was already imagining in the back of his mind as it swelled from his seed, the other went under her jaw, stroking her skin warningly, his lips against her ear.

"You're hiding from me. You're avoiding me. You move through the keep like a shadow." He whispered, however there was no threat or frustration in his words, which she felt instead in his hand that slowly clenched around her long neck. She swallowed quietly, looking ahead at the night, starry sky outside the window.

She did not answer him.

She rarely used words in his presence.

Unfortunately, this only deepened the state she aroused in him.

A curiosity bordering on obsession.

She tilted her head back and sighed involuntarily, feeling the tickling heat spilling over her lower abdomen as his moist, full lips ran over her cheek, the tip of his tongue leaving a wet, cool trail on her hot skin.

"– I needed you –" He hissed in a trembling voice, pressing his body against hers from behind – his hard, swollen manhood hidden under the material of his breeches pushed against her buttocks, pulsing steadily. Her nipples hardened at his words, a shiver of fear and excitement ran down her spine.

His hand from her womb slid lower, between her thighs, his fingers closed on her womanhood – she knew how he learned these tricks, knew that he had played with whores before he met her, but she couldn't convince herself that she particularly cared.

The delicacy and uncertainty of the movements of his fingers did not match how she perceived him: apparently it seemed to him that one too aggressive gesture on his part and she would fall apart in his hands.

Thus, he merely teased her through the material of her nightgown, waiting as usual for her breath to grow heavy and ragged, for her buttocks to begin to roll to the flicks of his wrist and rub against his throbbing erection.

They both moaned quietly as his hand impatiently lifted the material of her long robe, seeking the warmth between her thighs and finally found it, her pulsing, swollen slit leaking from her sticky wetness.

The fingers of his hand from her neck rose higher, to her cheeks, closing on it in a rough gesture, forcing her to turn her face in his direction – she didn't resist him as his slick tongue burst deep between her lips, as his mouth pressed against hers with a loud, lewd click in a greedy, ravenous kiss that took her breath away.

She let him do whatever he wanted with her lips – he was sucking, licking and biting them, as if he were some kind of animal that had grabbed its prey and wasn't going to let her go until he devoured her.

She didn't care, because her mind seemed to be muffled, as if she was underwater, focused only on the touch of his fingers as they dug into her puffy, delicate folds, teasing again and again her warm, pulsing opening.

Her body tensed like a string, knowing what he was about to do, and then at last the tips of his fingertips broke into her hot, throbbing interior with a quiet click of her moisture.

She moaned a tad too loudly into his mouth, making him sigh deeply into her throat, freezing for a moment, his hard erection slapping impatiently against her buttocks.

"– fuck –" He gasped, startling her completely – he let her go and turned her onto her back, laying on top of her, looking at her with his mouth parted wide, breathing heavily.

She had thought that, as was his custom, he would just simply take out his manhood and make her squeeze it with her hand, touching her at the same time to give her fulfillment.

He, however, after he untied the material of his breeches, grabbed her nightgown with his hands and lifted it above her thighs, making her voice froze in her throat, her hands clasped helplessly on his shoulders.

"– n-no – no, please –" She muttered, knowing that if he took her maidenhood, took what he desired, he would never marry her, would send her and her father back to where they came from humiliated and ridiculed.

"– I need this – I need to feel you –" He breathed out, as if he was in some kind of frenzy, heedless of her helpless attempts to stop him, forcing her to spread her thighs open. She cried out, tilting her head back, closing her eyes as she felt the head of his cock begin to push against her swollen slit.

"– no – please, Aemond, please –" She whimpered, raising her trembling hands to his cheeks, stroking his jaw, trying to give him what he wanted, what he was apparently dreaming of in his black, grim mind.

"– you don't understand –" He growled, in a sharp, impatient motion trying to slide deeper into her, opening her little cunt on his throbbing, long erection. "– I fucking needed you today –"

She whined as he forced his way deeper into her body, filling her so much that she felt like he was going to tear her apart from the inside – she clenched her fingers against the material of his leather tunic, shocked at how foreign, frightening, painful and exciting this sensation was.

"– I know – I know, just a little bit more – it's almost in – shhhh –" He hushed her, stroking her head with his broad hand as he thrusted his thick root all the way in into her, one last cry of effort left her lips.

She seemed to feel him with her whole being, breathing loudly through her mouth, feeling like she was suffocating – her heart pounded like mad, her whole body quivering in his arms, his lips placing warm, moist, reassuring kisses on her cheek.

"– that's it – there we go – I'm going to start moving now –" He hummed, in a slow, lazy manner beginning to rock his hips, sliding out of her a little and sliding back in with a quiet click, trying to force her body to adapt and receive him with greater ease.

He hugged her face to the hollow of his neck, without accelerating or making sudden movements, letting her fingers tighten vulnerably on his back.

"– good girl – calm down and let me fill you with my seed –" He whispered, as if he wanted to soothe her, to reassure her that he took no pleasure in her discomfort and suffering, even though he himself was the cause of it.

She nodded, not having the strength to stand up to him, breathing loudly to relax, to endure what he wanted to do to her. A low, loud groan of pleasure erupted from his lips when he felt it, and his thrusts became a little more sure, deep, loud.

"– g-gods –" She breathed out, feeling with horror that he was teasing a spot inside her from which shivers ran through her, waves of cold terror and hot pleasure surging through her body, causing a complete void in her mind – all she could focus on was the wooden canopy of the bed above her head.

"– yes – ah – so fucking wet for me – all warm and soft –" He breathed out into her ear, licking her hot cheek with his tongue, pounding into her with sharp, deep thrusts of his hips, making her feel the tickle in her lower abdomen, in her puffy lips and in her hard nipples, the bed beneath them began to creak loudly.

She felt the familiar hot tension building within her, the tension that he aroused in her when he touched her with his fingers, that, to her despair, she began to take pleasure from this animalistic, simple act of slapping their naked, sweaty bodies against each other.

She tilted her head back and sighed as she let her hips tentatively begin to roll to his thrusts, her hands slid from his back to his bare buttocks, stroking them. He shuddered all over and groaned, blindly seeking her mouth with his own, joining her in a sticky, messy, loud kisses, licking and sucking her lips.

"– yes – yes, just like that, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckkk –" He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers, slamming into her so quickly and aggressively that he was barely sliding out of her, his thighs slapping against her buttocks again and again, opening her wide on his throbbing, fat cock.

They both were moaning shamelessly, looking at each other wide-eyed with their mouths open, listening to the shameless, sticky sounds her slick cunt made with each of his thrusts.

"– just a little more – ah – f-fuck, yes –" He groaned in elation, his final, deep, messy slaps prolonging the inevitable – she heard and understood little as a wave of pleasure shook her and something hot spilled deep inside her, their mingled wetness ran down her buttocks.

"– such a good girl –" He gasped, pulsing inside her for a moment longer, filling her with the remains of his spend.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled, feeling her little cunt clamp down on his half-hard manhood, sucking it inside her again and again.

He fell on top of her without strength, panting heavily, and they both remained silent for long time. She finally heard him swallow hard, not even daring to look at her, his face sunk into the crook of her neck.

"– will you forigve me, little bird? –" He muttered in a weak, deep, trembling voice.

At his question a single tear of sadness, regret and emptiness ran from the corner of her eye down to the side of her face, falling onto his forehead.

He felt it and lifted himself on his arm, wanting to look at her, but what he saw apparently made something inside him break.

He clamped his eyelid shut, swallowed hard and pressed his body against hers, burying his face in the pillow.

She didn't know why her hand lifted and laid on his head, stroking his hair with gentle, calm movements, why she felt a squeeze in her heart, why she wanted to comfort him.

Why she let him stay with her that night, cuddled into to her as if he were a small child.

And then the King died.

Her betrothed walked into her chamber the next day, pale, not looking into her eyes, twitching all over, as if in shock.

"My father is dead…" he began, and her mouth opened wide, looking at him in horror, "… and my grandfather demands that I marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters."

She stared at him dully, feeling her heart stop in her chest, her stomach twisting in pain as if she was about to vomit.

"I admitted to my grandfather what I did to you. I refused to let him send you away. You will become a Septa. You will be safe and retain your dignity I wrongfully took from you." He said and flinched hard as she grinned at his words, looking at her in disbelief.

"Do you think I'm surprised? I knew you wouldn't keep your word the day I saw you."

It seemed to her that something in her words broke him, for his lower lip began to tremble without the participation of his free will, his eye turned red, his nostrils twitched in heavy, accelerated breathing.

He was unable to get anything out of himself.

On the evening of the day before she was to leave the Red Keep, she demanded that a bath be prepared for her.

She knew he would come to her, she knew his conscience would not let her go without a farewell, she knew he would want to take her one more time before he abandoned her once and for all.

When she was left alone she slipped under the water, sinking her head into it as well, and closed her eyes, feeling strangely calm as the air stopped flowing into her lungs, a shudder shook her body indicating that some part of her still wanted to live.

It was said afterwards that the prince had found her and pulled her out of the water, that he had sobbed and wailed over her bare body, that he had locked her in his embrace, not allowing anyone to come near her, kneeling with her cuddled into his chest on the cold stone floor.

It was said that after that evening he stopped to speak and leave his chamber, staring dully into the fire for hours, playing between his fingers with a lock of her hair, the only memento he had left of her.

It was said that the prince's heart had died with her.

[madamabelladonna]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: House Dayne of Starfall, bearing the sigil of a white falling star and a sword on a field of lavender. Though sparse in men and coin, House Dayne is renowned as one of the oldest in Westeros. Sworn to House Martell, under the decree of their liege lord, Lord Julius Dayne dispatched the Sword of the Morning, his second son, Ser Merek Dayne, along with his only daughter, to King’s Landing as emissaries of Dorne. Little did they know, the twinkle of a star could ignite the passions of men, dragons, and wolves alike. 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Drama, Coming-of-Age, Explicit Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Violence, Gore, War, Reader eating cheerios with Luke and Helaena while Jace, Cregan, and Aemond duke it out 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 Young Lady Dayne never truly grasped what it meant to be a high-born lady; her mother and father had sheltered her from the vipers lurking in the shadows. Yet, as fate would have it, their protection could only shield her for so long before she was cast into a den brimming with treachery. Green or Black? The choice is hers, but she finds herself drawn to the hue of violet…

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 Young Lady Dayne, finds herself adjusting to her new life at the capital. A gift from Starfall, a steed with a mane like freshly fallen snow. As she immerses herself in the pages of her books, a small figure unexpectedly scampers into her chamber—a boy lost in the game of hide and seek. She finds herself teaching the boy how to read. Only to be seated in the company of Princess Rhaenyra and her small family, sharing a quiet tea.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫 Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕: 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐬����𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 Young Lady Dayne knew survival in the Red Keep required more than caution—it demanded influence. After keeping her distance from Jacaerys, she finally accepted his apology, truly forgiving him. But as he left, she realized it might be long before she saw him again. In his place, a prince in green awaited.

[More in pending...]

This is my first post so I hope you like it, personally, House Dayne is my favorite and I hope it gets more recognition in the next book.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @boiolay @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @mellylla @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @milksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @agoldenwoe @moonliightbabes @day2dream @geminizmoonz

[myownwholewildworld]

veni, vidi, victus sum (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus returns from war with the worst news possible. a/n: considering that i started this story here by posting the end first... may i interest you in how it all started? c: i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. pure angst because i don't know any better. death of a secondary character. w/c: 2.3k

July, 106 AD

Marcus’ right hand shook uncontrollably. So much so, he had to wrap his left around the opposite wrist and squeeze as hard as he could, hoping to stop the tremor that suddenly took hold of his muscles and soul.

He hadn't even had time to wash off the mud and sweat. Nor to process everything that had happened in the last few days. Once his mission was done and dusted, only then and in the privacy of his own company, would he give himself permission to break down. He would be a terrible General if he let himself be dominated by emotion at such important moment for the Empire.

Returning from Dacia after an intense campaign, Marcus had been at the head of the Roman column that would carry out the offensive towards the east of the Dacian capital, Sarmizegetusa, while General Atticus, his inseparable friend to whom he would have blindly entrusted his life, and son-in-law to Emperor Traianus, led the battle towards the center of the town.

That week the Empire had annexed a new region that would bring great wealth. But Marcus, personally, had lost much more than what he truly had gained. Lady Justice had spoken, letting the balance tip completely in favour of collective Roman rule and not his personal one.

Marcus walked between the marble columns of a secluded hallway in the Domus Flavia, the public area of ​​the Imperial Palace on Palatine Hill, as if he was an umbra. He put one foot in front of the other automatically, his mind on a land more than six hundred Roman miles away.

The siege of the Dacian capital to the east had been especially bloody. The enemy had presented a good strategy; the thread of many souls being skewed by the Parcae on both fronts. Among them, that of his own son, Augustus. At eighteen years old, he had been a great military promise, the best candidate to one day replace his father.

If Marcus closed his eyes, he could still remember Augustus’ warm, battered body in his arms. His empty orbs, observing the infinite, reflected the horror of his last seconds in this world. A thick and rudimentary pilum protruding from his chest was a macabre picture Marcus would have trouble forgetting. Its tip so sharp, it had pierced through the segmented lorica with ease, embedding itself in his heart, blood still gushing out.

By the time Marcus’ knees hit the ground by Augustus’ side, Pluto had already claimed his son to join His ranks. The bloodshed had continued to unfold around him, a maddening dance of swords, as if the world had not just stopped —as if Marcus had not just lost the only reason that kept him standing.

His reality had just sunk into the blackest misery and the rest of humanity was there, present yet impassive, blind to his pain.

But there had been no time to grieve — not there, during the darkest hour.

An enemy sword hovered over him, and he had to react.

When the battle died down and his soldiers celebrated the victory, Marcus dragged the corpse of his only son to the edge of some oleanders, where he managed to dig a hole with the help of his gladius and his own fingers.

Time was of the essence, which prevented him from laying Augustus to rest following the rituals of the Roman religion. He could only place a bronze coin over Augustus' mouth as payment to Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, before throwing dirt on him. He then had composed himself as best he could, letting the General's façade fall on his face, and headed east, unaware that his friend Atticus had suffered a similar end.

On one day alone, he had lost two of the most important people in his life.

His mind returned to the present. From his right hand hung the decapitated head of Decebalus, already so decomposed that there was no blood left inside. The coward had tried to escape to Ranisstorum and, in his last desperate moments, committed suicide when Marcus and another officer, Tiberius Maximus, were hunting him down.

Finding his enemy defeated by his own demons was an anticlimactic moment, given the events of the previous days. Tiberius circumambulated towards Sarmizegetusa again, while Marcus and his legion, along with Atticus’, returned to Rome.

He was defeated, physically and mentally. Marcus just wanted to finish that damned mission and return to his villa. An empty one, devoid of a family he once revered.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the throne room, with Emperor Traianus staring at him, a sardonic smile painting his lips. After placing the head of Decebalus at the feet of the Emperor, he gave his last report of war. When the time came to deliver the news that his son-in-law, General Atticus, had perished in battle, the smile faded from Traianus’ face. That would be a hard blow to recover from.

Marcus explained the details that had been entrusted to him, omitting the death of his firstborn and ending with the fact that Atticus’ legion was carrying his corpse through the streets of Rome at that very moment, heading to the basilica of the Domus Flavia to begin with the funeral rites.

At least one of the two would have proper burial.

He said goodbye with deferential courtesy and shuffled out of there. He still had one last assignment: to inform the wife of General Atticus and daughter of the Emperor, you.

With heavy feet, Marcus ambled towards the most private wing of the Palace, the Domus Augustana. One of the maids guided him through the unfamiliar corridors, leaving him in front of a basin raised on a half column. Marcus took the hint, realising that there was still dirt—and specks of dried blood—embedded in his face. He did as he was asked, drying his skin with a linen cloth, before resuming his pace.

Finally, they stopped in front of double doors, and the maid knocked.

A minute later, they swung open.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Marcus bowed his aching back, keeping his eyes on the expensive stone that lined the floor.

“Domina mea (my lady),” he greeted you with deference.

Keeping busy while worry stalked the back of your mind was a colossal task. One you should have been used to by now, but it was nonetheless nerve-wracking.

Having to wait around until you heard news from your husband was not how you wanted to spend your days, but for love you had to. For Rome, you had to. Your husband, Resius Atticus, was your father’s most trusted ally, which meant he was kept away from you for long nights.

You flicked through the pages of the shabby parchment, its ink slowly fading with the passage of time. Finding yourself reading the same paragraph again, you decided to put it aside. You curled up on the chaise lounge, hugging your knees as the sun filtered through the slit window — a ray of sunshine kissing your skin, leaving a warm trail.

Closing your eyes, you revelled in the rare moment of quiet, of peace, a smile lingering on the corners of your mouth.

A knock on the door swept the instant away, and then your heart fluttered uncontrollably.

Today was the day when Resius was meant to return. To his duties in the court, but also to you. You looked forward to settling back into a routine with him, lazy afternoons spent by the private gardens, talking sweet nothings to each other. Despite the years spent by his side, you didn’t tire of him, of your unbreakable relationship.

So, when you swung the double doors open with a pearly smile tugging at your lips, you did not expect to see your husband’s best friend instead.

Your heart suddenly stopped in your chest, swelling to an uncomfortable point. It stretched, a crawling feeling tearing your skin apart from the inside out.

Widened eyes, they locked on his, searching for answers and finding none. Marcus wore an impassible expression, but the way he averted his glassy eyes told you everything you needed to know.

This could only mean one thing. Your worst nightmare taking form, escaping from your dreams and filtering into reality.

Still shocked, you saw the server scurrying away, leaving you alone with the General — but not your General.

“May I come in, Augusta (Imperial Princess)?” his soft voice broke through your blocked eardrums.

Jarred, you nodded, stepping aside to let Acacius in.

You stood there, numb and confounded, your brain trying to find another reason for General Acacius’ visit.

“Please, let us sit down,” Acacius spoke gently, a firm hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the chaise lounge.

This truly felt like a dream, ethereal and foggy, something your vivid imagination had come up with during an unrequited afternoon nap. That had to be it, because this could not be it. You still had a thousand lives to live besides Resius — you had prayed to the Gods for his safe return and they never failed you.

Under Acacius’ direction, you sat down, the pillow underneath giving way to the weight of both of you.

“Domina mea, I regret to be the bearer of bad news. General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword, defending two of his fallen soldiers from certain death,” his words shook your system, the numbness taking hold of all your being.

Silence lingered, and you both sat there with eyes fixed on nothing.

This just wasn’t real, couldn’t be. You refused to register such cruel information, shaking your head to unhear what had been spoken aloud.

“No, you have to be wrong, Acacius. I am sure you are,” you finally replied, eyes looking for his tired orbs. A hand flew to one of his resting on his knee, squeezing it tight. “You are wrong. This must be some twisted joke.”

Acacius’ sight did not lie though. You could see the pain emanating from his eyes, the utter bareness they exuded. With pursed lips, he just stared at you, his free hand hovering over yours on his knee until he stroked it warmly.

“I am truly sorry, Domina mea. I… I wish I was lying,” his voice faltered momentarily. “I lament not having been by his side. Had I been, I would have gladly traded my life for his. I would have…”

Acacius did not finish the sentence, because the wail that tore through your throat interrupted him. A fresh wound split your chest in half, all emotions pouring out in a sudden burst. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and you clutched at your chest, your lungs shrinking with your heart. A burning sensation filled you and then deserted you, leaving you empty, cold — broken.

Losing Resius was a death sentence to your heart, to your soul. To all you were and would be. Life would not—could not—be the same if he was no longer brightening it for you. Hope was no longer your companion, the easy happiness that usually shimmered within you all gone with the blow of a few simple words.

Something crawled inside you, twisting and twitching and breaking and consuming. Something dark, something sad, something shattered. Grief suffocated your heart. This was not pain, this was torment. Living hell.

The raw intensity of it all clouded your mind. Your fractured soul looking for a chink of solace, wanting to cling onto a sliver of hope. Before thinking, you let go of the dam of your emotions, sobs flooding your mouth, as you turned around and hugged Acacius.

Little did it matter the blood and dirt on his worn armour, you needed the comfort of a friendly shoulder. Acacius would understand your pain, the suffering that crushed your soul, because he had also lost his best friend. The two of them had been inseparable for decades — you both had lost someone important that day. He would understand. You knew he did.

Threading your arms around his shoulders, you cried your sorrow in the crook of his neck, kind palms rubbing your back, commending your pain to leave your body. So, you wept until your eyes were bloodshot, until they itched and dried like a river during the worst drought of the century. Trickles of tears stained your cheeks, lashes clumping together under the heaviness of tearful dew.

Time was lost to the dragging pain, and only when Acacius’ hands stroked your shoulders, did you venture a look in his direction, leaning back. The naked expression on his face told you how much agony he carried. The soreness his eyes distilled was on par with yours.

“I am sorry for your loss too,” you offered your condolences. After all, he had lost his best friend. “I trust that your son Augustus found his way back home safe.”

Before their departure, Acacius and his son had paid you both a visit, a meal shared at night between old friends’ jests and company. You remembered Augustus’ enthusiasm to make his father proud on their first campaign together. How Acacius had looked at his heir with adulation and pride — the apple of his eyes. Acacius’ wife had died during childbirth, which had only reinforced the close relationship between father and son.

A feeble smile loitered on his mouth, a brief nod putting your mind at ease. Neither of you needed more suffering tonight.

“He is resting now,” was his succinct reply.

But Acacius always was, so his reassurance soothed your soul a little.

At least Acacius and his son had made it out alive.

[sinizade]

B'ella, the Pale Child (Dark Urges Redeemed)

Class: Warlock (Barbarian subclass)

Romance: Bae'Zel

Besties: Scratch / Owlbear / Wyll / Gale / Karlach

One extra egg among all those eggs wouldn't make a difference, nor would they complain about having two extra hands to fight for the "glory" of their queen. This way, the hatching of this egg surprised the elders of that Creche a little, a child as pale as the moon and with eyes as red as blood that possessed a fury worthy of a demon, certainly that child had something inside it, but the Githyanki wouldn't get rid of a healthy child just because of surpestitions based on one of the babies' appearance... But should they?

B'ella was obedient, precise, deadly, her teachers could see and feel the almost insane pleasure she felt every time she beat her opponents in training, every time she made them bleed and beg... Something so... Sadistic... Even for a Githyanki child, it was unusual to have such an appreciation for death and the ways of killing, but then again, they weren't going to get rid of such a dedicated and useful fighter like her just out of superstition.

Her adulthood was only accompanied by an insatiable hunger, B'ella could have had her uses in combat, an animal, a monster, but when her abilities began to affect other Githyanki they finally realized that having her there was no longer safe or suitable for Creche, so in a clear desperate act they tried to contain B'ella, they tried to tame the monster inside her... The Slayer, but that obviously didn't go as they expected and her sadistic, cruel and psychotic fury spread to everyone in that Creche. Every teacher, every warrior, doctor, student, child, egg, all murdered, torn apart in a bloody dance that spread throughout each hall and that was when she heard a voice, a small creature that praised her... A praise that she never found she was going to receive, told her that there was a place where she could be who she really was, where she could know what it was like to have a family that truly admired her for what she did...

That male human, that Enver Gortash, intelligent man. Tasting Gortash, subduing him to her whims was satisfying, but her devotion was only to her creator, to her god, to her father, Bhaal... But everything had been thrown into the trash with the betrayal of that insolent child, that damned and jealous changeling who took her rightful place.

Waking up on a ghaik ship with no memories left her disconcerted, but her focus now was to get out of there and return to her people and achieve purification. Having someone as adept in battle as Lae'Zel made it easier since the rest of her companions with the exception of Karlach left the pale gith with disgust in her mouth regarding combat.

It wasn't so bad being around that bunch of big noses, they entertained her, they seemed to care about her dark desires, not just for them, but also for her? This was new, not even she remembered the last time she received any kind of help (literally)

Lae'Zel... Zhak vo'n'fynh duj... B'ella could barely understand what she felt, she could barely know what she felt, she didn't know or remember that feeling, but with Lae'Zel everything was clear. .. She was her world, her sword, her flame, the source of her joy...

Finding out that she wasn't a child of Gith broke her, even if she managed to hide it well, it destroyed her completely inside, knowing that the years she spent in her Creche, that her "egg", that her life, was a fake life designed by her "father". That wasn't for her, even if it once had been, now it wasn't... B'ella would no longer be a Bhaalspawn, now she would be a child of Gith and follow Orpheus and her beloved Lae'zel into battle against Vlaakith's tyranny

Some extra information about B'ella

Her memory was "reset" to her times at Creche as soon as she lost her memories, before her dark impulses took over.

She has a strange habit of keeping a lock of her enemies' hair for no reason, she just likes to have a memory of good battles, but when the enemy wasn't good enough she just crushes its head (She has a lock of hair with her from the hair of Minthara/ Ketheric/ Raphael)

Even though she appears to be reserved and cold, B'ella is considered TOO romantic when she is with Lae'Zel and only Lae'Zel, only her source of joy can see B'ella that way

[just-a-ghost00]

FS Series : random facts about them

Group 1 - Smallville

2 of cups, ace of swords, The Fool

They tend to stutter and act silly around the person they like. They get tongue tied easily and those could be tell tale signs they are into you when you meet them.

They are super chatty once they feel at ease and may sometimes act like a baby to make others smile or laugh, especially in romantic connections.

They could be into greek mythology or be a history nerd overall.

They left their home at a really young age to pursue their dreams.

They enjoy dancing.

They tend to overthink quite a lot. When it comes to you, you would know that they are worried when they suddenly stop talking and stare into the distance.

They love travelling and trying out new things. They have a bit of a reckless attitude sometimes and tend to get themselves into tricky situations without intending to.

They always have funny and heartwarming stories to tell about their past and the things they love. They're a good story teller and could want to write a book.

They get lost in their thoughts pretty easily because they are very dreamy which results in them getting lost or losing the train of conversations. They're like in their bubble or on a cloud and sometimes that can infuriate people around them.

They could mirror you in a lot of ways and one thing this person could do to show you they like you is to mimick you or take interest in the things that you like. So if you ever notice this person starting to drink coffee when they've told you several times they disliked it, know they're head over heels for you.

They look way younger than their actual age. They also tend to sulk and pout to make you feel guilty in arguments.

Group 2 - Buffy the vampire slayer

3 of swords, The Devil, Wheel of fortune

Your person could have SM tendencies and some of their kinks involve restraints. They could be into kamishibai, for instance. BDSM overall seems to be their thing.

They can be quite wealthy. Kind of old money vibe.

They can be of a different culture than yours.

They have been to very exotic places in their life, either for work or for vacational purposes.

They are an overachiever and a workaholic. Which is part of the reason why they may be influent and wealthy.

They have gone through a lot of downs in their life. Those downs could have included severe depression, harsh breakups, addictive behaviors, risky behaviors like driving way past the speed limit among others. They could also have gone through a phase of their life where they were a serial dater and were only hooking up for a night or two with various people.

They are a bit of a daredevil. This person tends to take high risks especially if they are heartbroken. They may gamble a lot.

They have a rather dark and intense vibe to them. Their fashion style could be along the lines of gothic / dark grunge aesthetics. They could wear a lot of black, paint their nails, have a lot of tattoos or piercings.

They tend to thrive and do their best when they feel like their back is against the wall. This person is likely to procrastinate a lot only to ace a project or a homework at the very last minute. They work well under pressure and are not afraid of pain. They may even unconsciously seek it.

This person is incredibly lucky, which kinda ties with the previous point. It's like they were born under a good star because no matter what this person does, no matter how chaotic their life may get or how bad their habits may be, they always manage to prevail somehow and come out not only stronger but also victorious and richer than they were before.

Group 3 - F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Queen of wands, 8 of wands, page of wands

This person is extremely outgoing and bold. They immediately light up a room when they walk in and tend to be a bit dramatic.

They could be a drag Queen / King. They could also enjoy acting, performing, being under the spotlight.

This person's sense of fashion is definitely on point. They are extremely attractive and I wouldn't be surprised if they were a model. If they aren't, at least they post a lot of fashion related content on their socials.

They are very active. They are restless and may do a lot of different activities as a way to release stress. This can both include artistic and athletic activities.

This person is very outspoken and tends to advocate for greater causes. They could be a member of a humanitarian organization or could promote such initiatives around them.

This is a person that is very feminine, regardless of their gender. They tend to wear make up and jewelry.

They talk and type extremely fast. They could speak many languages. They are chatty. This is a person that could be of African, Afro American or Middle East Asian descent. I am also picking up on islands all over the world.

They are flirty AF. And also kinky AF. They have a lot of drive, passion, stamina that they hardly repress. They could struggle with ADHD for some.

They can't keep a secret. They love gossiping. They are extremely funny and could enjoy being a comedic. They could also be into rap music.