#Emperor of the Vast Dark

[thelovelydragonleelee]

DA EEPPER!!!!

[alteredphoenix]

Just got slapped with so much worldbuilding in The Hands of the Emperor and I’m only on chapter two.

[asvtrials]

I know you said you wanted ideas and I would love to enable the emperor brainrot. I’ve been wondering how Geta would react to women fighting in the games. I know the timing doesn’t quite work out (his father banned them from participating) but they used to, even high class women participated. The movies aren’t exactly right with the real history anyway. Just a thought I have. For someone so… bloodthirsty, I think it would be interesting…

Thank you for the suggestion, I LOVE THIS IDEA OMG! I can see him being so entranced by such a strong woman. I hope you like this <3

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

Emperor Geta x gladiator!fem!reader, minors dni! masterlist

summary: The moment the older Emperor laid eyes upon you, in the middle of the Arena, he was lost. You were encircled by corpses, every bit of your skin and clothing was coated by the red liquid of your enemies yet you looked divine, so divine that Geta wanted you for himself. warnings/tags: Gladiator reader, sub!Geta x dom!reader, ooc, power play, Geta wants to be topped and doesn't even know it lmao, p in v, choking, description of gore, death and blood

tags: @1950schick @longlivemyblues @reformedkingsmanagent @doodle-with-rhy @whimsicalittletrinkets @edsbug @jakesullyswhore @only4thefics @lillissleepmedicine @badbun5656 @cokepowder55 @idolofthewestcoast @www-interludeshadow-com @ellie-luvsfics @cosmorant @believeinthefireflies95 w/c: 3.7k English is not my first language and I'm not used to writing in present tense. Sorry for any mistakes I make.

── ୨ৎ

The moment he laid eyes on you, Geta knew he was done for.

You were breathtaking in every way he could think of, so much so that even Caracalla noticed his breath catching in his throat as they gazed below from their box.

He knew you weren’t meant for everyone’s eyes.

Your golden skin, dark curls, soft lips, and doe eyes were of such contrast to the tight grip you had on your sword and the redness that stained your clothes. It was all too intense to ignore so that same night he ordered your master to bring you to the palace.

He taps his foot against the marble floor the longer it takes for you to arrive and Caracalla's cackle echoes in the vast room at Geta’s boyish behavior. Geta sends him a warning glare but immediately turns when he hears Thraex’s voice.

“My Emperors!” He calls cheerfully as a servant leads him to the twin thrones. 

He almost forgets to regard Thraex as he searches for you but sends a tight-lipped smile before his eyes fall on your figure. You stand behind your owner, eyes refusing to look away from the floor.

“Thraex!” Caracalla welcomes, throwing his hands in childish delight. “Incredible performance today! You never fail to entertain us!”

“My Emperors I see you have been charmed by this beauty! I don't blame you it's not every day that we see female Gladiators.” He boasts, grabbing your face rather harshly and forcing you to face the Emperors.

Gods, you were even more mesmerizing up close. He didn’t appreciate how Thraex touched you thoughtlessly, his brow twitching at the sight of his dirty nails digging into your cheeks.

The Emperor steps forward and with one wave of his hand, Thraex quickly withdraws his hand and steps to the side. 

Geta doesn't even look at him, he is too lost in your confusing gaze. For once he doesn’t see any admiration or even fear in someone’s eyes. It is something different, so foreign and electrifying…

“How shall we call you, warrior?” He asks, his voice surprisingly stern despite his internal feverish excitement.

“Her name is—” Thraex begins but Geta raises his hand, silencing him immediately.

You remain quiet, unsure of what to do. You weren't told you'd have to speak. Honestly, you weren't given much information to begin with. They just hoarded you to the carriage and brought you here.

You give an uncertain glance to Thraex but your eyes snap back to the man before you when speaks again.

“Don't look at him.” Geta reprimands. “Look at your Emperor,” He says and you can practically feel the arrogance as the word ‘Emperor’ leaves his mouth.

“Emperors!” Caracalla yells from his throne but Geta ignores him.

“How shall we call you?” He repeats, dismissing his co-emperor.

“Y/n.” Your voice is strained when you speak but his lips twitch upwards at the sound.

“Y/n… Delightful.” He murmurs as he searches your eyes for something even he isn’t sure.

“Thank you, Thraex. The servants will lead you out.” He tells the older man who frowns. He wasn’t prepared to walk out without a slave this evening.

“My Emperor, um…” He stammers. “She is rather expensive and I-”

“I can see that.” He interrupts and his eyes run down your figure. His hungry gaze sends a shiver down your spine but you try to ignore it.

“She will stay in the Palatine until her next game, that is if she fights again.” He informs the man, finally turning to him, but not for long. His attention was back to you, his finger reaching for one of your curls. “I'll see how she'll do today and I'll inform you. Do not fret, You will be compensated.”

You narrow your eyes, the implication barely hidden between his words.

You didn't look away from him even when the maids hurried you out of the room. It wasn't out of attraction, although you have to admit he wasn't bad, it was because of fear. 

This felt like the beginning of a very dangerous game. Being faced with hungry predator, yet not being eaten. Waiting for the blow, yet never being hit…

Never sure when you’re going to be devoured, broken, and ruined completely until you're tossed to the side.

The maids lead you to the servants' bathrooms. Normally, you would feel revolted at how they touch you and scuff you, but getting clean after so many days silences any negative emotion.

It was painfully obvious that they were ordered to prepare you as fast as possible. The uncomfortable discovery of just how impatient the man was hangs above you as they dress you. As much as you want to pretend you can handle Geta he remained the Emperor of Rome. A spoiled, entitled Emperor who is used to getting his way…

The servants guide you to his chambers with hushed whispers that you don’t bother tuning to. You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the large doors of his bedroom, uncomfortable in the thin dress they put on you.

A servant gives you a light push resulting in you sending her a glare but you do comply. 

Softly, you give the heavy door a few knocks with your knuckles. You don’t wait much until a “Come in.” reaches your ears.

You enter the grand room and you have to pause for a minute to let it all in. The luxurious furnishing and decor of the bed chambers are a stark difference from the muddy cells they provided to you. It is beyond anything you’d seen before. Geta smirks at your astonishment.

“Come, my little warrior.” He orders, his voice honeyed despite his authority.

“What am I here for?” You ask as you approach him, disinterested in idle chit-chat. As much as the venom threatens to spill from your tone, you make a real effort to sound as polite.

Geta doesn't bother giving you an answer. He merely extends his hand, bringing the back of his hand close to your face, expecting you to comply with his every command.

You hate that he is right. As much as you want to spit on his face you want to keep your head, the promise of living long enough to win your freedom was such a flickering hopeful thought but it kept you from making foolish decisions like spitting on your Emperor’s face.

You eye his fingers, the rings that adorned almost all of them shine in the candlelight. Bitterly, your cold hand reaches for his, and the moment you feel his tender flesh against your lips you feel nauseous but he doesn’t seem to notice, or more accurately, care. His fingers twitch at the contact.

Tender and delicate.

If it isn’t clear by his behavior or extravagant attire that he knew nothing about work, pain, or how it felt to beg for a moldy piece of bread, the softness of his hands made it very clear.

He knows nothing about the suffering that he and his brother put everyone through. Gods, you want to rip him apart.

“What am I here for?” You repeat, dragging each word as if you're talking to a child.

“To entertain me. Aren't you an entertainer?” He answers with a small smirk threatening at the corner of his lips.

“I am a Gladiator.” You correct sharply.

“I see no difference.” He chuckles, stepping back to a table filled with food and wine.

He pours himself some wine, offering you some as well. Although you want to act cold and refuse the liquid looked too tasteful. You accept, bringing the cup to your lips without words. It is as delicious as it looks and you close your eyes for a moment to relish the taste.

“Divine isn't it?” He asks, a pleased smile playing on his lips. You snap your eyes open, mentally slapping yourself for giving him the satisfaction. You nod, setting the cup on the table.

Suddenly he steps forward, closing the gap between you. “You must already understand that I didn't call you here to drink.” He says, bringing his hand to sit on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing your collarbone.

“I am no whore.” You warned, pushing his hand away

His eyes darkened at your words “You are whatever I want you to be.” He says through gritted teeth.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t bite your tongue. “That is what you believe, huh?” You begin, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. “You think we are ants in your Empire?”

He tilts his head, eye twitching. He starts at you as if trying to figure out what he should do to you. The taste of defiance from someone like you was far beyond what he had anticipated for this meeting…He isn’t sure why but it left a sweet aftertaste. Intoxicating is the only word that comes to mind.

Soon enough he snaps out of this mind-fogging haze and grabs your arm harshly. You don’t even flinch, it couldn’t compare to the hardship you had gotten through in the arena.

“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?” He warns, voice breaking in a mix of surprise and fury.

Something compels you in that moment. Is it anger after seeing the lavish life he has while you were rotting away in a cell? Is it a surge of power after bashing the Emperor himself?

You grab his wrist, your grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes widen, glancing between your hand and eyes.

You can’t help the smirk that falls upon your lips when worry flashes in his eyes. It was only for a second but you have seen it too many times to miss it. You don’t miss the way he didn’t pull away either.

A small breath slithers past his lips as he stares down at you, the darkness in his eyes almost gone in the candlelight.

“You’ve brought me here to claim me…You think you can?” You tell him and his look alone was worth your possible execution.

“You dare underestimate me, you worthless—”

“I can snap your wrist like a twig” You interrupt him with a chuckle.

He raises an unconvinced brow.

You convince him just fine with a calculated press of your thumb against his bone. He hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull his hand back.

“But I think you would like that, My Emperor,” You tell him with a wicked smile. It is barely above a whisper but it’s enough to make Geta’s breath catch in his throat. “All you have to do is ask…” 

You can’t believe it. Emperor Geta, the ruthless and heartless Ceasar looking at you like he was about to kneel and kiss your feet if you let him, have his head if you wished for it.

“Can you—” He begins the words catching in his throat, shame catching up to him faster than his words could leave his mouth. “Join me tonight?” He finally manages to say, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Something warm spreads across your chest and your fingers twitch around his wrist before ultimately loosening your grip.

He lets you guide him to the bed without a word. He doesn’t even look back, his eyes already too foggy with desire. Once the back of his legs meet the edge of the bed, he lowers himself.

Geta’s breath fans your stomach, and the thin material of your cloth barely covers you and you shiver. His hands ich to reach for you, to wrap his hands around your waist and drag his lips all over your skin like a starved man but he restraines, looking up at you through his lashes.

Your smirk grows wider at his obedience. 

Your hand snakes up his arm and rests on his throat and he groans, a sound dangerously close to whimper. Shame washes over you when you find your thighs pressing together at such a pitiful sound. 

“My Emperor, did you know…” You begin and Geta forces himself back to reality at the sound of your voice. “That if you slice this little vein, right here—” You murmur while gently running your thumb on a prominent vein in his throat, your tone soothing completely unsuitable for your words. “Death will find you slow and painful…Such feeble beings we are…”

“Have you ever done it?” He asks, nearly innocently. “Given someone a slow and painful death?”

“You would’ve known.” You sneer, your mocking laugh making his cheeks burn.

So you have noticed him looking at you, even when the fight was long finished and you were resting against the burning sand, bodies gushing with blood surrounding you.

His hand creeps up your arm,  A silent plea for you to give him what he wants. So you do.

You squeeze your fingers around his throat making him gasp in surprise. The breathy moan that escaped his lips tell everything you need to know and you press your fingers tighter, your nails digging into his incredibly soft skin.

He throws his head back, gasping desperately. His hand slides down to his stomach but before he could move any further you grab his arm, pinning it against the mattress.

Has he ever felt this weak, this vulnerable? You hoped the answer was no. How could you imagine anyone else seeing him in such a state?

He snaps his eyes open, half-lidded eyes staring back at you with such desperation that you had to resist the urge to give up on whatever this little game was and just sink on his dick already.

“You are enjoying yourself, my Ceasar?” You mock but he doesn’t notice the ridicule in your voice, perhaps he is too used to his enjoyment being everyone’s concern. His answer comes in an eager nod.

Your gaze travels down his body, your eyes lingering on him longer than you would ever admit.

Your eyebrows shoot up when you notice the tent in his toga. 

You could see he likes it but not that much.

Without much thought you climb the bed, the mattress dipping under your knees as you cradle his lap. 

“Mmm…” You purse your lips to stop the sounds that threaten to spill from your lips when you feel his hardness press against your clothed core.

His mind is too far gone, too deprived of oxygen to understand much; he could only whimper softly at the friction.

His breaths come more shallow than before and his hand grips yours.

It would be so easy to just squeeze. He wouldn’t even scream, how would he when all the oxygen was stolen from his lungs?

Nonetheless, you release your grip no matter how tempting the idea is.

He gasps for air, his hand coming to rub his throat, throwing his head back with a long sigh, desperate to fill his lungs again.

Once he finally realizes the position that you've arranged yourself in, his other hand comes to your thing, squeezing lightly as if to ground himself.

You hate that you welcome the action, his warm hands feel begrudgingly pleasant on your skin.

You let him come back to reality, waiting until his chest moves slowly again. He wet his lips with his tongue as his eyes try to focus and for the first time, you notice the tears that sit on his lash line.

You want to taunt him, to call him every degrading name that sat on your tongue moments ago but you simply can’t. Not when he looks at you like he would break apart at any moment. No—when he looks at you like he wants you to break him apart.

So you do the next best thing you can think of, or more accurately, your body can think of. You roll your hips forward, earning a gasp from the both of you.

Both his hands fly to grasp your thighs tighter as you repeat the motion and again until he shakes under you, throwing his head back with a whine.

“I—I want you.” He rasps between soft moans, his voice soft and pleasing.

You pause contemplating for a moment if you should do it the easy way. You have to laugh because why would you?

“You want me?” You repeat with a taunting giggle, grabbing his jaw between your fingers, and forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Yes.” The word comes out in a quick, desperate breath, so fast that it makes your mocking smirk falter for a moment.

“How pitiful. Imagine the Senate seeing you like this. Bet you'll lose what little respect they have for you.” You snicker, running your thumb over his cheek. His only response was digging his nails into the flesh of your thigh.

His reddened eyes blink rapidly but you can still notice the blown-out pupils when you untie his robes, deliberately taking your time. You suppress a smile as he shifts uncomfortably.

Once you finally unbit the belt of his luxurious robe, you toss it to the side completely bypassing the worth of the material. You try to ignore the sudden shake that took over your fingers as you carefully move away his robes, revealing his finely muscled body.

His leaking cock springs up, laying against his stomach and you felt even more self-conscious by simply looking.

A small prideful smile creeps to his lips. You send him a warning glare but he seems to gain his confidence rather quickly, not missing the opportunity to gloat over your little slip-up.

He sits up, the cheeky smile never leaving his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself, my little warrior?” He taunts your previous words.

You narrow your eyes, squeezing his face between your fingers in irritation but his smirk doesn’t falter until you move your hands to your own belt. His tongue runs across his bottom lip, nearly salivating at the thought of your naked body.

You pull your dress over your head hastily revealing your naked body to the man. His gaze explores you with a starving intensity. His hands quickly reach for your flush skin but you swat them away. 

Geta is about to send you an irritated look but you are quicker, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head back. 

He groans and despite his momentary surge of confidence, he doesn’t do anything to stop you but rather bites his lip to stop any embarrassing sound from escaping. 

“So spoiled.” You spit out, pulling harder on his locks.

That little motion seems to break him apart completely as a breathy moan reaches your ears.

“Do you really want me?” You murmur and he nods but that doesn't satisfy you. 

Why should it? You want to hear him beg and cry for you, swallow his pride completely under the promise of pleasure.

You yank his hair harder, making him huff in surprise louder. 

“Yes, I want you. I really want you.” He manages to say through rugged breaths. “...my lady.”

“Good.” You say and you can see something flicker in his eyes at the sudden praise. 

You let go of his hair and rest your hands on his shoulders. With a small push, you lift your bare body from his. Your hand finds his member, aligning it to your entrance and he chokes. You run his tip between your folds making both of you exhale at the feeling.

With a deep breath, you slowly sink down his length. No matter how much you try to keep quiet you simply can't. You can’t help the lewd moans at the burning sensation alongside Geta who hugs your waist, pressing his face between your breasts.

You should've pushed him away, you really tried to make yourself do it. But instead, you run your fingers through his unruly hair, the pleasure too mind-numbing for the both of you to keep up with this game. 

Geta doesn’t miss the opportunity to taste you, kissing and licking your skin hungrily. It started between your breasts, his teeth grazing your skin with every kiss.

His eagerness sends shivers down your spine and a loud moan leaves your mouth when his lips latch onto your nipple, catching it between his teeth and circling it with his tongue.

His hips buckle, drilling his cock deeper into your creamy folds. You moan loudly, grasping his shoulders.

He pauses for a moment, expecting punishment but when all you do is cry out in pleasure his lips curl, his smile mirroring one of a crazed man.

It is for the better that you don’t see the delight on his face. You would never forgive yourself after seeing the pleasure he took in seeing you like this.

Geta’s pace quickly deteriorates into something primal and desperate. Something so uncontrollable that even you couldn't stop. But even if you could, you doubt you would. 

Your nails rake his back with every forceful slam and you cry out when his tip grazes that spongy spot inside you, legs shaking in pleasure. 

“Oh! Oh— Gods!” You moan, sinking your nails into his back.

With a groan, he releases your nipple from his mouth and raises his head, his blown out eyes falling on your face.

You meet his hungry gaze but only for a second before your eyes travel to his spit-covered lips and without much thought, you grab his hair and pull him to you, slamming his lips on yours.

He doesn’t miss a beat and kisses you back with the same insatiable hunger that fills your chest.

You claw and bite and kiss him like he was your last meal. And he possibly is because once the fog of lust wears off he will surely command a public execution.

Your lips part in a silent moan, lost in bliss at the violent orgasm that just hit you harder than you’ve ever experienced. Your walls flutter around his twitching dick and he whines at the feeling. He comes with a loud moan, lips pressing against you as he spills his seed deep inside you. He pushes you close, pressing your chest against his face as you both breathe heavily.

He murmurs something against your skin but you ignore him. You will later find out that it was a quiet promise, not to you but to himself; to keep you as close as he could even if it meant stopping the following games altogether, even if it meant locking you somewhere only he could see you.

── ୨ৎ

a/n: This was a PAIN to write. I was left suffering. I hope you like it and i'm REALLY sorry for delaying this for so long! I think I had such a hard time because 1) sub!Geta feels so out of character and I tried to make this as in character for him and 2) I had no time to write cuz of all the family dinners.

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds I (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atreides has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...

Warnings: dark! fic, 18+ only, eventual DUBCON, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, violence, language, drinking, chubby!reader, dark!Paul Atreides, possessive!Paul, obssessive! Paul, spoilers for Dune Part 2

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Series Masterlist

"Terra Millennium stands as a enomely in the universe for their rejection against the Empire", the hologram records said. "A two-century long battle was waged for the planet through the Great Houses yet the people won through the help of someone they have since called 'The Conqueror'."

Paul had heard of the Terra Millennium, their planet one of lush greenery, vast oceans and an abundance of resources that the previous Emperor had tried countless times to harvest just as House Harkonnen had done with the Spice on Arrakis, but alas, no one had ever been successful in mining Terra Millennium. He had heard that they experience something called 'seasons', he wondered what that was.

Just as he had done with Arrakis, Paul sat in his private room, watching hologram clips of Terra Millennium as his fleet flew to the planet to finally land conquest through the help of the Fremen.

"Anthropologists have never been able to stay long on the planet or among the people, but what has been gathered is the people have rejected the teachings of the Bene Gesserit, labeling it as hertic literature."

Terra Millennium was an odd planet with an odd people who had unusually long live spans, being able to live into their thousands without a single wrinkle or grey, they repented against the Bene Gesserit, the use of the Spice; he had heard of the people of that land believing solely in the ruling Queens because of a crystal, one of immense power that was sought after.

"Characterized by their white hair, the ruling House of L/N have upheld the traditional values of the planet, which has a population of over 1 billion. Only female heirs have been able to inherit the throne and it is rumored that a single crystal that is worn by every ruling Queen is said to hold immense power that has granted its people longevity, peace and prosperity."

A knock interrupted his research, Paul seeing Stilgar walk in followed by Gurney.

"Muad'Dib, we have touched land on Terra Millennium", Stilgar said, "they have responded to our communication message."

"What did they say?" he asked, Gurney chuckled.

"They said if we proceed with our mission, they will see it as an act of war", Gurney said, "they're real hard asses here."

"You've been, Gurney?" Paul asked, curious.

"Once", Gurney replied, "I came with your father on a diplomatic assignment, but that was with their previous Queen Helene. This one is new, just coronated a few months ago."

He thought back to the new dreams he had been having of a woman whose hair was the color of white that hung down near the ground in large curls, whose eyes were hard and the color of lilac with the roar of a great beast that rung in his ears when he would awaken from his dreams.

Unlike his dreams with Chani, these felt different now that he had drunken the Water of Life. His visions of the woman consisted of a gentle breeze sweeping through her hair, it curling around her as she was dressed in a long, white silk dress that clung to her body and trailed in a long train behind her with woven golden in the upper bodice. She stood on a tall pillar of crystal, a tall scepter in her hands that she was raising above her head as the breeze picked up.

Soon, the dreams melted in a great war as crystals encapsulating him, a bright light that blinded him yet filled him with warmth and security.

"Show them the full might of the Empire", Paul said, "after all, they are in the presence of the Muad'Dib."

And it was those eyes that greeted him when he finally set foot on the pavement of Terra Millennium with its tall structures that were made of variously colored crystals.

Neo-Queen Amaris was the regal name Y/N had chosen to go by when she took the throne a mere few months ago. Of course, she went by her name, Y/N in private with those closets to her and only by her regal name with others.

Y/N had heard the rumors of the new Emperor wanting to claim her home, her people; he wanted to bring her planet into the vastly growing empire that he ruled under as a supposed Messiah to the Fremen and Bene Gesserit: Muad'Dib. Everyone had heard of how he supposedly liberated Arrakis and the Fremen people, marrying Princess Irulan as a political move to secure his position as the new Emperor.

Only a few days ago did a message come into their Communication's Hub from the Emperor about finally claiming Terra Millennium for not only himself but for the Fremen as it would be their 'Green Paradise'.

War will come to Terra Millennium if you refuse to submit, the message read.

"My Queen", her advisor, Lord York, said as she sat on her throne. "Reports have come in that the Atreides fleet has made contact on the landing pad near the Capital. Scouts have seen the Atreides Army beginning to get ready."

Lord York was a man of small stature with a head full of bronze curls and dark brown eyes that always looked calculated as if he was already ten steps ahead.

Y/N looked over at Lord York before bringing a hand to the crystal that hung around her neck on a chain that could never be removed from her neck before slowly standing up from her throne that was encrusted in gemstones.

"I believe it is time we greet them", she said, looking over her court. "After all, hospitality is what our people are known for."

And it is not like they have any chance of having their weapons working; outside weaponry not from Terra M had no chance of working and she wondered what their reactions would be once they realized this.

"But before we go", Lord York said, "may I make a suggestion?"

Y/N made a motion to the man, who gave a nod and said, "I believe it is our Queen's best interest to wear your ancestor, The Conqueror's crown and scepter to greet our guests. It would show the great strength you possess, a message to not only the Great Houses but the Emperor as well."

"That sounds like a excellent idea."

Re-dressing in her finest silk and gems, she saw the ruler that she portrayed herself to be to her people: powerful. She was the hope of her people, the force that kept away colonizers and maintained the peace, prosperity and love of their people.

The crystal felt especially heavy in moments such as these, knowing that only those of her blood could properly wield it's magic and power. How it came to be in their hands was a mystery, stories tell that the Conqueror was in battle against the Imperium when it appeared to them.

It was a source of strength, of power and she promised her mother that she would wield it well. That she would do whatever was necessary for their people to continue to thrive and survive, even if it came at the expense of her own well-being.

"You are in the presence of our Neo-Queen", a man said with a thick facial beard, "first of her name, descendant of our goddess Selene and The Conqueror, wielder of the great Silver Crystal, Mother of all, Neo-Queen Amaris."

Paul watched as the man motioned to the woman he had been dreaming about, he could see that as the breeze came that she wore no shoes; all the Terrians didn't despite their silken clothes as they stood amongst the tall crystal structures. They had landed as close to the Capital, finding that there was a landing pad despite the relatively isolated nature of the planet.

"I welcome you, Paul of House Atreides", she said with a stoic expression. "But now you must leave."

The woman, their Queen Amaris, looked upon them with a hint of annoyance as she held a large scepter in one hand that was as tall as Duncan Idaho had been with gold and gem embellishments, but what was curious was that at the top of the scepter where it looked as if a missing piece was needed. The crown she wore on her head was large, glittering in diamonds and curved up into a point as she stood there, her hair having a few small braids that pulled the framing hair away with kiss curls on her forehead.

"Leave?" Paul said with some amusement.

Irulan stood next to him dressed in a silver mesh outfit, a metal hair net that connected over into her dress that held down her short blonde hair. Paul was glad that he Voiced the woman to stop talking, she would not stop and frankly, he had no desire to try and pursue a romantic relationship with the woman after Chani chose to leave further into Arrakis.

His mother stood amongst them, holding the bundled form of his sister, Alia.

"I did not realize a Emperor could have poor hearing", Amaris said, "you are not welcome on Terra Millennium nor do we plan on allowing for you to colonize us. Terra M remains alone."

Paul took in the way she spoke, her accent one he had never heard before and the formal way of speaking. He noticed the large gem that hung around her neck, it sparkled in the sunlight as she stood there and looked to be the size of a her palm.

"Also, we did not apperciate your Bene Gesserit coming", she continued, "spreading their heretic language, you will find them in the Prisoner's Bay."

"You don't believe in the Muad'Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach?" Paul asked.

"We believe in our Queen, may her reign be as prosperous as Selene", the bearded man said.

The Queen just looked at him with contempt, he saw her lip curl a little in annoyance.

And it was that look that made something stir deep in Paul and made him feel something that he never felt before. She looked at him as if he was a bug ready to be squashed underneath her foot

He wanted to possess the woman in front of him, at all costs and he didn't care who he had to kill...

He was going to.

[cherubimcore]

pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader

author's notes: i'm in love with him, your honor

part 1

the throne room of the twin emperors was a place where decisions of life and death were made with a flick of a wrist, its magnificence designed to intimidate and impress. massive marble columns stretched to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, while golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the cold, intricate mosaics covering the floor. at the center of the room stood two identical thrones, one for each emperor, their backs adorned with gilded eagles clutching laurel wreaths.

it was here that you were brought, flanked by soldiers who led you through the imposing bronze doors. you entered with your head held high, your foreign features and proud demeanor immediately drawing attention from everyone. courtiers whispered among themselves, the rumors of your curse swirling in the air like smoke.

caracalla sat on the left throne, his body slouched lazily but his sharp eyes gleaming with intrigue. his tunic was dark red, a bold contrast to the opulence around him, and his fingers drummed idly on the armrest. he looked every bit like the predator you had heard about, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he watched you approach.

geta, seated to his brother’s right, was more composed. his posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, but his gaze was no less intense. dressed in white and gold, he exuded authority and calculation, his mind clearly assessing you like a piece on a chessboard.

the guard captain bowed deeply before addressing the emperors. “great caesars, this is the captive of whom the rumors speak—the woman said to be cursed by venus herself.”

caracalla leaned forward, his interest piqued. “the infamous venus’ wraith. i was expecting... more chains,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement.

you met his gaze without flinching, your defiance palpable. “perhaps you should have brought more, if you think I need them.”

the room fell silent. gasps rippled through the courtiers, and even the guards stiffened at her insolence.

geta raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “bold words for a captive,” he said, his tone icy. “do you not understand where you stand, foreigner?”

“i understand perfectly,” you replied evenly, your voice carrying through the vast room. “i stand before men who believe themselves gods but bleed like mortals.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber. “i like her,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “she speaks with the confidence of someone who doesn’t fear death.”

your jaw tightened, but you said nothing.

caracalla rose from his throne, descending the steps with a languid grace. he stopped just a few feet from you, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement. “they say any man who dares to love you meets a tragic end,” he said, circling you, reminding you a lion sizing up its prey. “tell me, venus’ wraith, do you believe this curse is real?”

your voice was steady, though a flicker of pain crossed your features. “what i believe is irrelevant. the gods enjoy their games, whether we believe in them or not.”

caracalla’s smirk widened. “i don’t fear curses. or gods.”

“that makes one of us,” you replied with a sharp tone.

geta rose from his throne, his movements deliberate and commanding. “brother, don’t let your amusement cloud your judgment. if the stories are true, keeping her here could be dangerous—not just for us, but for rome.”

“and if the stories are false?” caracalla countered, turning to face him. “what better way to disprove them than to bring her into our court?”

the two brothers locked eyes, their rivalry simmering beneath the surface. you could practically see gears turning in emperor geta's head, after a couple second with the twins staring at each other geta sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “it... would be good for rome's fame when the word spreads and the other lands find out we have the infamous venus' wraith here... do as you will. but if this said ‘curse’ brings trouble, it will be your burden to bear since you so adamantly want to keep her."

but that wasn’t all, was it? you saw the shine on geta's eyes while thinking about his brother’s proposition, he came to a conclusion… but you were sure emperor geta would keep that to himself until time’s right, he’s that kind of ruler, no one ever knew what geta was planning to do until he already did it and by the rumors you heard before being held captive it almost always envolved someone with a knife on their backs… literally and figuratively.

caracalla turned back to you, a wolfish grin on his face. “you’ll serve me,” he declared. “you’ll dine with the court and entertain us with your wit. let’s see if this curse of yours has any bite.”

your gaze hardened, but you did not resist as the guards escorted you out of the throne room.

you whispered eerily while being taken away.

"good luck then"

caracalla watched your retreating figure, a flicker of fascination sparking in his chest, ignoring your words.

geta returned to his throne, his expression dark. “you’re playing with fire, brother,” he warned.

caracalla only chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the doors through which you had disappeared. “perhaps. but, as you are very aware brother, i’ve always liked the burn.”

you expected to be brought to a regular cell, a place fitting for a prisoner such as yourself, a dirty prison made for those who the emperors deemed less than nothing, undeserving to have at least the minimum a human should have to survive unscarred, both mentally and physically, a place with little to no sunlight, no bed, only the hard cold floor as a place to rest, and food not nearly enough for a small person to survive making them start to think that the rats running around looked appetizing.

you had accepted this was your fate when the emperors decided to keep you in the palace.

after all the deaths you caused, maybe you even deserve it.

but to your surprise you were brought to the top floor of the castle, a place truly fit for royalty and royalty alone.

the marble halls shimmer in the golden glow of torchlight, with intricate mosaics depicting the victories of rome lining the floors and walls. massive columns of polished ivory and black stone support the vaulted ceilings, painted with celestial imagery to reflect the gods’ favor. every corner of this level exudes grandeur, a constant reminder of the emperors' divine authority.

‘a bit egotistical in my opinion’ you thought ‘but beautiful nonetheless’

while being escorted to one of the three rooms on that floor you tried to think of an actual reason for them to keep there. did emperor caracalla really mean it when he alluded to wanting an opportunity to test their powers against the will of the gods? what about emperor geta with the odd glint in his eyes the more he thought about his brother’s idea to make you live in the palace, you wish you knew what both of them are thinking. were you a spectacle for the court? a new deadly weapon in their arsenal? political strategy? just plain and simple curiosity? all the above?

too many variables for you to get even close to a conclusion.

but one thing you knew for sure, they’ll regret it… just like everybody else.

when the guards opened the double doors of your newest room you were left in awe, staring at the large room with your mouth wide open and eyes shining brightly as if you were a kid looking at their newest gift at saturnalia, it was something you expected in a palace but still, you never thought that one day you would be able to see it let alone live in it.

the centerpiece of the room is a grand canopy bed, draped in layers of silken fabric dyed deep purple and gold, your hands delicately touch the frame, intricately carved with motifs of laurel wreaths and mythical creatures, you recognized the two sirens in the middle of the bed and a phoenix in between them, you turned around seeing tall, arched windows, framed by heavy velvet curtains, opening them left you with a breathtaking view of the city below and the distant hills.

it was perfect.

now that you were finally left alone your stoic facade got replaced by a huge smile, you jumped on the bed, happy to finally be able to sleep on an actual soft bed instead of the hard ones you were used to in hotels you stayed, having to change every other week when people find out you were venus’ wraith.

you didn’t want to think about your past or variables and possibilities like you always had since you discovered your curse, you also didn’t want to try and guess what the emperors were thinking, get inside their heads, you had a feeling you weren’t gonna like there.

you let yourself enjoy, at least for a little bit, the comfort of this tiny piece of your new life, after a long time just feeling ashamed for something that was out of your control, feeling those awful thoughts leave your mind you fell asleep.

after the heavy doors of the throne room groaned shut behind you, the space was left eerily silent in your absence. caracalla leaned back in his gilded throne, the lion motifs carved into the armrests glinting faintly in the dim light of the torches. his fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the polished wood as a crooked smile played on his lips.

“she is… unlike anyone we’ve met before,” he mused, his voice low and carrying a trace of amusement. “bold enough to speak plainly, yet clever enough to know her place.”

geta, seated in the larger throne beside him, steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. the cold silver embroidery of his tunic seemed to match the detached tone of his voice. “boldness can be dangerous. it breeds unpredictability.”

caracalla turned his head slightly, his piercing gaze narrowing on his brother. “and yet, unpredictability is what makes her intriguing, isn’t it? someone who defies tradition, dares to enter our halls, and yet does not cower. i see why the city speaks of her in hushed tones. do you think she feels the thrill of having someone’s life in her hands for something as simple as falling in love?”

geta’s lips tightened into a thin line, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering flames of the brazier. “intriguing or not, thrilling or not, she is still an outsider. a foreigner. her presence here invites gossip, and gossip can lead to dissent. we already walk a thin line with the senate.”

caracalla could be many things, bloodthirsty, a monster, impulsive, the list goes on… but on the contrary of many think, he wasn’t stupid, of course because of his disease his mind gets cloudy every once in a while, but right now his mind was as clear as crystal, he knew his brother wasn’t telling the whole truth, maybe he wasn’t even telling the truth in the first place.

but it wasn’t worth it to confront him, geta would only antagonize him, making him believe it was all in his head, his mind would be foggy and confused, making him act and feel insane like everyone believes him to be.

perhaps they were right.

but right now caracalla wanted nothing fogging his mind, especially when it was full of you.

caracalla waved a dismissive hand, the ruby on his ring catching the firelight as he smirked. “let them talk. let them wonder. she is no threat to us here.” his voice dropped, taking on a darker edge. “unless, of course, you plan to fall in love with her.”

geta’s gaze snapped to his brother, his composure unwavering but his tone sharp. “i am not the reckless one here. whatever amusement you find in her will not distract me from what’s supposed to be our duty to rome.”

caracalla laughed, the sound echoing through the chamber like a predator’s growl. “oh, come now, brother. you see the potential as clearly as i do. imagine her in the court, an exotic symbol of rome’s dominion over even the most defiant.”

maybe if he pushed a little geta would open up about his plans, once in his life he would trust caracalla with something, anything, but of course that didn’t happen.

geta remained silent, keeping his thoughts behind the usual cold and calculating facade.

caracalla’s smirk faded, and for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. then he leaned back again facing away from his brother.

well, it isn’t like he’s telling the whole truth as well.

the tension between them lingered like smoke in the air, unspoken truths and unacknowledged fears weaving an invisible web.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the arrangement. l General Marcus Acacius

Summary: you have to ask General Acacius for help and you know that only one thing can convince him

Warnings: anger, mention of attempted rape, Acacius is violent, breeding kink, mention of slavery, meantion of death

A/N: I had a few sentences in my head, I saw a few scenes, and I wrote the rest of the story. scribbles.

[PART 2]

The dark sky was covered with shining stars, and the area was silent when you appeared in front of General Acacius' house. The tall and vast building, just like its owner, made its visitors feel respect and a hint of fear. But you didn't have time for that.

You almost ran up the short stairs and banged on the door. The doorman was surprised by your late visit, but he took you deeper into the house without any questions. You both walked along the corridor lit by burning torches until you stood in front of the open door to the main room where, despite the late hour, its owner was supposed to be there.

"General." the servant walked in, bowing, “Lady Y/N has come to visit.”

""Bring her in," a deep and soft voice replied, but you didn't wait a second longer.

"General Acacius, please forgive me." you said, entering the room and nodding quickly. "I shouldn't have visited you this late, but I couldn't wait. This matter couldn't wait."

The room was illuminated by soft light, and the cool evening air flowed in from the open window. The general was sitting behind an ornately carved desk, looking through some papers, but he perked up visibly when he saw you.

The white robes he wore highlighted his sun-kissed skin, and you were surprised at how noble he looked even when he wasn't wearing his armor.

“Y/N, you know very well that you are always welcome in my home.” he replied, standing up and walking over to you, "What did I do to deserve your lovely company on this pleasant evening?"

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on it.

"I'm afraid that the matter I came for will destroy your peace, General." you replied, "But I don't know anyone else I could turn to. Only you can help me."

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you carefully. His brown eyes bored into you so much that you could almost feel him beneath your skin. He always had this effect on you, from the moment you met him you knew you would never find peace again.

"I think you overestimate my abilities." he muttered, smiling lazily, "I'm just an ordinary soldier."

"I don't think so."

"I'm listening."

"General..." you started, but he immediately interrupted you.

"Marcus. Let's drop the titles if we're talking in private."

You nodded.

"Marcus." you started and he tilted his head to the side slightly, listening to your voice. "I'm sure you know my situation and what happened a few days ago. My maid, Margo, has been arrested."

"I heard about it."

"Then you know how unfair it is to her. Meanwhile, as I have been informed, she will be sentenced. During the next gladiator fights. Along with common criminals and scum. It shouldn't..."

"That's the law." Marcus interrupted you, "Your slave broke it by attacking one of the senators. She injured him."

"She was defending herself!" you raised your voice in anger "What was she supposed to do when that bag of dung tried to rape her!"

“Hold your words, Y/N.” he raised his hand "I don't know if you've forgotten, but she's still a slave."

"She's a woman. And my friend."

"It doesn't change the fact that she attacked a free man in a high position."

"Did you explain in the same way what you did to me at one of the last receptions in the Emperor's palace?"

The words fell out of you like arrows that instantly hit Marcus. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, and his eyes darkened.

The memories of that evening still loomed between the two of you. That was a hard and long evening. Too much wine, music, suffocating aromas from incense. 

Marcus felt intoxicated not so much by the wine he drank but by your presence. You were his unattainable goddess. His fame and heroism meant nothing when he stood before you, and he couldn't even be sure that looking at you wouldn’t bring down the wrath of the Gods upon him.

And then it happened. Marcus found you alone on one of the balconies and his lust finally got the better of him. His lips crashed against yours brutally, strong arms pulled you against his body so tightly that for a moment you felt paralyzed. Even though he felt your resistance and struggle, he thought for a moment that he could take you by force. Here and now.

And then you took advantage of his moment of weakness, freed yourself from his arms and slapped him, hissing that even if he drowned the whole world in blood and threw all the treasures at your feet, you would never be his.

The brutality he was capable of terrified you. And even though you pretended that nothing had happened between you, and Marcus apologized to you for his intrusive behavior, that crack was still there between you.

And now you were standing in front of him, asking for help despite all the resentment you might have felt towards him. Because wasn't Marcus watching your every move? Wasn't he the one who took every possible opportunity to be close? So why were you so afraid of him? He wanted to adore you, honor you on an equal footing with the Gods. He would give you the whole world because he already gave you his heart a long time ago.

“Marcus…” your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Please.. No, I'm begging you.”

Your knees went weak under you as you knelt before him in supplication.

"I'm begging you, do something. I don't know anyone else who could stand up for me..."

“Please get up, love…” he muttered, confused by your behavior.

"Marcus..."

"Get up, for God's sake!" he roared and you quickly got up from the cold floor.

You saw the wildness swirling behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw and thrashed around like an animal in a cage. After a while, however, he sat down in the chair, clasping his hands and looking at you carefully.

"Why this one slave girl?" he hissed, "You can have a new one. I can give you a dozen new ones!"

"I could ask you the same thing." you replied quietly.

Madness.

His blood boiled at the thought of comparing you to this woman. You were more than anything else. Yes, he knew perfectly well that at his beck and call, a dozen other women, hundreds of other women, would take your place. But you were engraved in his heart like words in marble, you became his treasure and blessing in one person.

You walked over to him slowly and crouched down by his lap. Your eyes were shining and your chest was heaving with nervous breathing.

"Marcus..." his name sounded like a prayer on your lips, "I'll do anything... I'll give you anything you want, but try to help me. I'm not asking for more. I don't want you to incur the Emperor's wrath, but you're the only one who can speak to him..."

"You're asking for so much..." he replied calmly, and his hand tentatively moved to touch your smooth cheek, to caress it for just a moment, "What can you give me, Y/N? You know that I would do anything for you, just for your one tender look..."

Your fingers found his hand and you kissed his knuckles.

"I will give myself to you." you whispered, "I'll give myself completely to you..."

His eyes widened in surprise for a second, but then his eyebrows knitted together as if he was trying to understand what you meant.

“Y/N…”

"I will be yours." you continued, staring into his dark eyes, completely determined, "I will be your wife. I will be loyal, devoted, and humble."

"Do not say that." Marcus interrupted you.

"I will give you what you want, General Acacius." your fingers gripped his hand tighter. "I will give you an offspring. Many healthy and strong sons. And as many beautiful and wise daughters. They will be the pride of your house. That's what a man as powerful and wise as you wants, isn't it?"

You knew your words resonated with him. They definitely hit his loins, because his body tensed and his breathing quickened. The general had a soft spot for you, you knew it perfectly well. You were flattered by his attention, but you were afraid of his power and the violence that hid within him. He wasn't like any other man you knew. Maybe if you had met in another time and place…

But the image of you swollen and full of his baby was so tempting for him.

“Y/N, is this what you want?” he asked "Will you put your life on the line for hers?"

You nodded, and Marcus knew he would do the same for you.

"Do you think... Do you think you could ever love me? That you would learn to love me? I don't want you to look at me with disgust and fear..."

Your warm hands cupped his face tenderly. A soft beard laced with gray hair tickled your skin pleasantly. You looked into the eyes of the man who had brought glory to the Empire, and now he sat before you, uncovered and uncertain. All desires were stirring within him and only you could give it purpose.

"I'm sure it will happen, Marcus." you replied "I never thought you were a bad person. Maybe if we had new chances..."

"I will never hurt you, love. I won't let anyone hurt you. I will make you the happiest woman in the world..."

"I know that." you smiled softly.

He leaned carefully towards you. His warm breath touched your lips, and after a moment you tasted them again.

Marcus kissed you tenderly and gently, as if he was afraid that he would lose you again in a moment. But when you kissed him back and your lips parted slightly, he didn't need any more. He immersed himself in you, kissing you passionately, stealing your every breath and almost leaving you breathless.

You were like an antidote to all his pain and fear. The promise of a better tomorrow.

He rested his forehead against yours, sighing softly.

"You make me your servant, and I humbly accept it." he said.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair and Marcus purred softly.

"I'll talk to the Emperor tomorrow. I can't promise you anything, love."

"That's enough for me. I want to know that I did everything I could for her. I'm leaving our life in your hands, Marcus."

"Don't talk to anyone else about this. Go home." he gave further instructions, looking at you with tenderness. "You must show up at the next gladiatorial games."

"Will you be there too?"

"Yes, I will find you. But listen, you have to be careful now. One wrong move and the Emperor could change his mind. If I can convince him..."

"Thank you for at least trying..."

Marcus stroked your face tenderly.

"If you knew how much I could do for you... Go home. I'll see you soon."

You kissed him one last time and after a while you were escorted to the door by his servant.

The promise to try to save Margo gave you a little hope. You knew you would do anything for her and General Acacius was the only person who could change the Emperor's decision at that moment. Did you also seal your fate? Maybe...

But we will all do anything for the people we love…

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[n0vazsq]

Forever | FA14 x Reader

pairing . . . emperor!fernando alonso x concubine!reader

summary . . . You'd always been nothing but a mere presence in the royal palace, but when the emperor suddenly asks you to have dinner with him, everything changes

request . . . no!!

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . so i had to do extensive research on royal positions and shit for this but yeah i hope you guys like it!!!

. . . The grand hall of the royal palace was covered in luxury, its tall walls gleaming in the warm glow of the countless lanterns. Despite its grandness, the air inside felt suffocating.

You stood in a line of courtiers and concubines, your pulse beating hard against your skin.

Today was the emperor’s audience, and though you had served in his court for over a year, you had only seen Emperor Fernando from a distance. Rumors of his sharpness and calculating demeanuor following him wherever he went.

"Presenting His Majesty, Emperor Fernando," a herald announced, and the hall fell silent.

The doors swung open, and he entered. Emperor Fernando, ruler of the empire, commanded attention without effort.

Clad in deep crimson robes embroidered with golden dragons, his presence expelled authority. His piercing brown eyes scanned the room, and for a moment, you felt their weight land on you. A shiver ran down your spine.

The emperor settled on his throne, an eye catching seat carved from dark wood and covered with rare gems. As the audience progressed, you kept your head bowed, praying you would remain invisible in the sea of attendants.

But fate had other plans.

"You there," Fernando’s voice rang out, steady and commanding. Your breath hitched as you realized he was addressing you. "Step forward."

You obeyed, your heart pounding strongly in your chest. Standing before him, you dared a glance upward, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held an undeniable intensity.

"What is your name?" he asked, his tone softer now but not less authoritative.

You said your name, voice trembling. "That's my name, Your Majesty,"

He repeated it, almost testing the sound of it. "Tell me, how do you find life within these palace walls?"

The question caught you off guard. How honest could you be with the most powerful man in the land? You chose your words carefully. "The palace is beautiful, Your Majesty, though its magnificence can feel… overwhelming."

His lips curved into a faint smile, a rare sight that sent whispers through the court. "Overwhelming? I suppose even gold loses its beauty when seen every day."

"You will join me for dinner tonight," Before you could respond, he gestured to an officer that was standing near him. "Ensure preparations are made."

Your eyes widened. Dinner? With the emperor? You barely managed to stammer out a "Yes, Your Majesty" before retreating to your place in line. The remainder of the audience passed in a blur, your thoughts consumed by the unexpected summoning.

Later that evening, you were escorted to a private dining room. The space was smaller compared to the vastness of the throne room, though still richly adorned.

The emperor sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed yet upright. He motioned for you to sit.

"You look nervous," he observed, pouring you a glass of wine himself. The gesture was charming, a far cry from the strict ruler you’d imagined.

"I am unused to such… attention, Your Majesty," you admitted, accepting the glass with trembling hands.

He laughed, the sound warm and unexpectedly human. "And I am unused to honesty. Most would say whatever they think I wish to hear."

"Then I hope my honesty does not offend you," you said, your courage helped by his demeanor.

"Quite the opposite." He leaned back, studying you. "Tell me, what did you do before you came to the palace?"

The question pulled you back to a simpler time. "My family ran a small vineyard. I spent my days tending to the vines and preparing wines for market."

"A vintner?" He seemed genuinely intrigued. "And do you miss it?"

You hesitated. "Sometimes. The work was hard, but there was freedom in it. Here, everything feels… controlled."

His expression darkened briefly, as if your words struck a nerve. "Freedom is a rare luxury in the palace, even for an emperor."

The dinner continued with surprising ease, the conversation flowing as if you were old acquaintances. He spoke of his childhood; a rarity, you gathered, and you shared stories of your village life.

By the time the meal ended, you felt a strange sense of familiarity with him, as though you’d glimpsed the man behind the crown.

"Thank you for joining me," Fernando said as you prepared to leave. "I find your company… refreshing."

The warmth in his voice left you speechless. With a respectful bow, you left, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

Days turned into weeks, and your interactions with the emperor became more frequent. He often sought you out for conversation, valuing your honest perspective.

The court was fulled with speculations, some jealous and others curious about your sudden rise in favor. You, however, remained uncertain of his intentions.

One evening, as you walked in the palace gardens, you found him waiting beneath a blossoming cherry tree. The sight was almost surreal, the fierce emperor standing amidst a cascade of delicate petals.

He greeted, saying your name to get your attention, his tone softer than usual. "Join me."

You approached, the smell of the flowers filling the air. "Your Majesty, this is a surprise."

"Fernando," he corrected, a hint of impatience in his voice. "When we are alone, you may call me Fernando."

The informality caught you off guard, but you nodded. "Fernando, then. What brings you here?"

"You," he said simply, his gaze locking onto yours. "I have ruled for many years. In all that time, I’ve learned that power and wealth mean little without someone to share them with."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. Was he implying what you thought he was?

"You intrigue me," he continued. "Your honesty, your strength, your personality; they are rare qualities in a place like this. I find myself drawn to you."

You searched his face for any sign of dishonesty but found none. His confession left you torn between disbelief and a fluttering hope you dared not acknowledge.

"Fernando, I am only a mere concubine," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What could I possibly offer an emperor?"

"Everything," he replied without hesitation. "You see me not as a ruler but as a man. That is a gift more precious than any treasure in this palace."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to hope. Under the cherry blossoms, with the world fading into the background, you took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance between you.

And as Fernando reached for your hand, you knew your life was about to change forever.

 taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[cookybananas]

Into You - Unburnt!Darth Vader x Reader

authors note: y'all can't stop me from writing unburnt/vader fics

summary: your husband, Lord Vader, is awfully cold towards you. Until one day, he begins to open up to you

"Let me into your heart..." You begged to your husband, whose backside faced you. His large frame faced the large window to your shared bedroom. "Can't you see my devotion to you? How much I-"

"Silence!" Vader barked, already growing annoyed at your words. You quickly shut yourself up, furrowing your eyebrows in frustration at him now. It had been 6 months since you had wed the Emperor's right hand man. From the start of the marriage, you had been nothing but a loyal wife who cared for him, despite him not showing his feelings for you in return.

As a former princess, your parents had stressed that you needed to learn how to be the ideal wife for your future husband ever since you were young. They had enrolled you into sewing classes and medical classes, believing that these traits would serve you well. Your mother had taught you to cook as well. She had always said that the fastest way to a man's heart was his stomach, and that meant that you had a cook a feast fit for king, and in this case, it was your husband, Lord Vader.

The efforts you had went through to show Vader your faithfulness to him were tiresome. At first, you had convinced yourself he just didn't know how to express his feelings towards you, but you were delusional. You now beginning to think he simply wasn't interested in you, but you wouldn't give up on him, and you didn't know why.

Even if you felt lonely, you knew the purpose of your marriage was to serve the Sith Lord, and only him. At times, you find had yourself missing your parents, your people, and being on a physical planet. You hated living on the Death Star, the grey interior sucked the life out of you. It didn't help that you could only stare into the dark and vast universe that had surrounded you.

-

Vader had sensed that you had been feeling distressed and had offered you a getaway in one of the luxurious penthouses on Coruscant, to which you happily took him on that offer, hoping that he would also join you the duration you were there. Unfortunately, he would only be there for a few days before the Emperor had requested his presence in the outer rim territories.

On the second night of your luxurious stay at the large penthouse, you began to do one of the many activities that helped you ease your mind: cooking. The two guards whom you had gave the task to retrieve your groceries had returned. Vader had entrusted them to look after you while he was gone for the time being.

After putting the groceries in their rightful place, you began prepping the ingredients for some bivoli tempari with a side of calamari chowder. Cooking was an escape for you; you didn't have to worry about anyone or anything else as you let your mind and hands wander, it felt like second nature to you.

The oven beeps, telling you that the bivoli tempari had finished baking. You finished setting the utensils on the table for you and the two guards, you thought that they could accompany you and that they would probably enjoy this meal better than the cafeteria food on the Death Star. They were a bit hesitant at first, perhaps worried that Darth Vader could walk in at any given moment, knowing that he wouldn't like the idea of his guards getting close to his wife.

To your surprise, the two guards were very easy to talk to. You discovered that their names were Knox and Adam, both very simple men who had the goal to fulfill their duty and were passionate about the Empire. You began to feel at ease, feeling more comfortable in the penthouse after having dinner with the two soldiers.

-

On the fifth day of your stay, Vader had surprised you by showing up two days earlier than his expected date. The doors to the elevator revealed a Vader in critical condition, you rush over to him, dragging him into the living room to patch him up. This wasn't the first time you had to patch him up. There were times your husband would come into your chambers injured after a mission. Other times he would wake you up to help him put on a batch patch on his back, but this time, he needed more than that. What felt natural to you, you began strip him of his black clad armor to get to the wounds.

"The...The helmet." He said weakly, his modulated breathing was hitched. Your eyes widen at his request, you had never seen him without his helmet before. Your hands were shaky as they slowly made their way to undoing the outer shell of the helmet, lifting it up from the neck gaiter.

"Maker..." You whispered under your breath, eyes widening at how gorgeous the man that sat in front of you was. His yellow colored eyes met your e/c orbs. His sandy curls were damp from the sweat he accumulated during combat. Your husband's hitched breathing brought you back to reality as you began to analyze his body from injuries.

He had a large gash on his left shoulder and ribs. You run into the kitchen to retrieve your medical box, now opening it on the table you began to work on him right away.

The atmosphere between the both of you was silent, but tense. Not a single word was muttered, other than Vader's occasional hisses of pain when you applied some bacta ointment on his wounds. An hour had passed while you had patched your husband up, without thinking, your e/c orbs met his as you cup his cheek with your hand.

"I'll make some soup to make you feel better hun." You kissed his forehead before walking back into the kitchen. It was in your nature to be nuturing, it was perhaps one of your best attributes that many people loved about you. For Vader, he hated it. He hated how caring you were, despite all the things he had put you through, you were forgiving and still cared for him. He felt he didn't deserve the woman like you.

Vader remained on the couch, his hands in his head, still stunned at what you did. It was the first time you had touched him, the first time you kissed him in way that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter.

A feminine hum shook him out of his thoughts, when he turned around, he was met with your backside torwards him. You were swaying your hips, as you hummed along to one of your favorite artists, Kuma Marden.

Vader couldn’t help but stare in awe, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile at you immersed into the music as you cooked. He didn't know what overcame him, but he knew he couldn't just sit there helplessly as you cooked.

“Allow me to help you my dear.” Your eye slightly widen at his suggestion, before you quickly nodded at him. Vader raises his hand toward the cupboards where the silverware and plates were. Using the force, Vader motioned the now, floating utensils and plates into the direction of the dinner table. You chuckled at Vader’s helpfulness as he carefully set the table with the use of the force.

“Take a seat darling, dinner is almost ready.” Your soft, yet gentle voice rung through his ears. With a screech from the chair, Vader plopped himself down in the chair that was head of the table. You made your way over to him, holding bowl containing some sort of stew that was steaming hot. Vader’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the bowl in front of him. It had been years since he had last seen something this appetizing.

With his hunger gnawing at him, Vader dug into the hearty stew. Glancing over at your husband, you couldn’t help but smile at his hastiness, before returning your focus on layering some jogan fruit on the purple-filled tart. The sound of the spoon hitting the table had made you nervous. “What’s wrong? Do you not like it dear?” You stopped in your tracks, whipping your head where your husband sat, growing nervous at his response.

"This is...This is very delicious my dear." He uttered out before digging back in. You let out a sigh of relief, smiling to yourself, content that you were able to satisfy your husband. What you didn't know, memories had began flooding into Vader's mind. The stew you had made had a familiar taste, if not the exact same taste of a soup his mother had made for him when he was a youngling.

"Well, make sure you leave some room for dessert then honey." You reply, slicing a piece of the jogan tart and plating for him. You place the plate in front of him. Realizing your husband was still shirtless, you go fetch one of his black robes that hung in the closet in the bedroom.

You had just missed the look on his face. Vader loved jogan fruit, and for it to be in tart form? Even better. He began scarfing down the dessert the moment you had turned your back.

Returning to the dining room, you see Vader washing away the plates he had just finished eating off from. Noticing you out the corner of his eye, he turned off the sink, wiping his hands dry on one of kitchen towels. You make your way over to him, helping him put on his black robe. He turns around to face you, allowing you to tie his robe altogether.

Sensing his gaze on you, you look up to him and give him a small smile before walking away to finish cleaning up, not giving him the chance to thank you for the dinner. Vader stood there, slightly hurt at your action.

The both you spent your evening winding down separately from each other. He could swear you were force sensitive or something, especially whenever he walked into a room you were in, you were quick to pardon yourself into a different room. He was getting just a tad bit annoyed, was he really that awful to stare at? Was he really that intimidating for you to be around?

He had found you in bed, sitting against the headboard, reading away at one of your books. Vader removes his robe and throws it on the vanity chair, leaving himself shirtless. Still immersed in your book, you feel the bed dip next to you, as your husband lets out a sigh of content after getting into a comfortable position.

For once, you sensed that your husband was finally opening up to you. Never did you ever see his face before going to bed or waking up. He had always made sure you didn't catch a glimpse of his actual face, maybe he was afraid of what your reaction would be.

You could feel his eyes burning through your skull. Beginning to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, you decided to speak up.

"How was your day hun?" Attempting to ease the awkwardness that had formed between the both of you. He didn’t respond, but you felt him grab your right hand that had been resting on your side. He began tracing your palm of your hand with his metal pointer finger, making you look over at him.

Now that he had your attention, your eyes lock on each other, your breath hitches at his intense yellow eyes.

"Sometimes I don't appreciate you enough my darling." He whispered to you. You were taken aback at his words, never did he speak such words to you, or just speak to you in general.

"Those rebels really got you messed up today don't they?" You poke at him, recalling that his physical state a couple of hours ago. Vader chuckled at your words.

"You could think that...But I mean it, really." His sincerity showing through.

You shut your book and place on the nightstand, unsure what to say to him. You couldn't run away from him this time.

"Perhaps you should get some rest." You suggest, wanting to avoid where the conversation was leading to. Turning off the lamp, you lay down on your side, your back facing him now.

Vader was starting to grow upset at your dismissive behavior, but he knew why you were acting this way. He had realize how cold he had been to you since the start of your arranged relationship. He never wanted this, but of course the Emperor had forced this upon him. He knew one day you would be collateral damage if something were to go wrong.

The past few months, Vader had been dealing with some inner turmoil. Conflicted with the idea of falling in love, the idea of falling in love with you. But now, he was desperate for your attention, deprived of it. Without thinking, Vader moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

At first, he could feel how tense you were, but you soon relaxed in the comfort of his large, strong arms. Your heart was beating fast against your ribcage. Vader was never physical with you, but you couldn't help but enjoy this very moment. Everything you had wanted to him to do, you were given it tonight. You knew it would take time for him to come around. Realizing your actions may have been hurtful to him, you turn around and face him.

“Perhaps I was too little rude to you.” You whisper to him. Your hand cupping his cheek.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.” He cupped your cheek, his thumb gentle grazing the bottom of your lip. “May I?”

“Y-you may.” You breathlessly let out. His lips finding its way to yours.

His lips were soft against your plush lips. You pull away from him, trying to process what had happened. You rest your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that.” You murmur, now resting your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his torso, tightly embracing him.

Vader couldn’t help smile to himself at your words. As you began to slip into your slumber, he couldn’t help but comb his fingers through your hair before dozing off himself. Perhaps he should keep you around longer.

-

authors note: thanks for reading yall!! xx

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

High King Peter is Magnificent.

They say that his hair is spun from the purest gold from the holy lands of the Emperor Beyond the Sea, that his eyes are a brighter, more potent blue than any sapphire ever mined and polished, that his lips are soft and pink like the first rosebud of True Spring. They whisper of the ribbons and flowers woven into his hair and the delicate golden crown on an equally golden head, of the gentle smiles that curl over his plush lips and the crinkles around his eyes when he laughs loud and joyful.

They talk of his beauty in reverent tones, sing praises and erect shrines to honour him, and they call him Magnificent.

They don't speak of how the roses and ribbons in his hair are the exact colour of spilled blood, dark red like the paint he smears across his eyes when riding to war. They don't speak of how his gaze carries the weight of the Great Ocean— a vast, open, endless sea that swallows everything in its path, ruthless and without mercy. They don't speak of how his lips are bitten and chapped, curved up into smiles that should appear soft but are more a baring of sharp fangs teeth than anything else. They don't speak of his battle cries, loud enough to make the very earth beneath their feet tremble.

They deliberately don't speak of how Beauty is sometimes described as Terrifying, how Angels are feared by all that lay eyes upon them, about how Celestials are the farthest from Human one can get without losing the human form.

Long Live High King Peter the Magnificent, God amongst Mortals.

[stellar-solar-flare]

S T E V E R O G E R S

This list has all my Steve Rogers works, sorted by length (longfic, oneshot, drabble/headcanon). I have noted down which ones have an AU version of Steve - works with just 'Steve' are about the Avenger we know and love. All my work is for 18+ only but stories have ratings based on their specific content.

MAIN MASTERLIST | AO3

Beautiful star dividers by @steviebbboi, thank you.

L O N G F I C S:

A Fairytale Of A Disaster | Steve x Doctor!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been stood up by her Valentine's Date. Or has she? Romance, fluff, meet-cute, hurt/comfort. COMPLETE, 4/4.

Brilliant Steel (AO3) | Steve Rogers x OFC, platonic Bucky & OFC | Explicit

The AI Head Strategist, Captain Steve Rogers's world implodes as a wave of inexplicable, supernatural events washes over the globe. The problem: the brilliant mind that might be the key to solving all this belongs to a woman Steve once scorned, and she won’t be happy to find him standing at her doorstep. In an effort to save the world, Steve and Bucky team up with a woman that Steve once thought would be much more than a teammate. In a universe much more vast and stranger than anyone ever thought, they’ll have to learn to rely on each other — wits and gifts and weirdness and all — to keep said world on its rails. WIP - 5/x chapters published.

For Centuries (AO3)| emperor!Steve x Stark!princess!Reader | Explicit

As you, the only daughter of King Howard Stark, arrive at the court of Emperor Steven the Righteous to be wedded and crowned the Empress of the Centurial Empire, your husband-to-be is not what you expected. This is a 'From Political Marriage to Love Marriage' story, featuring lots of romantasy elements, court politics, and protective, righteous Emperor Steve Rogers. The slowest of burns. WIP - 19/x chapters published.

Equinox (AO3)| soft dark!mob boss!Steve x superpowered!Reader | Explicit

When you’re caught in the crossfires of a war brewing underground, Steve does what he has to. And as you get pulled deeper into his world, it may very well turn out that starlight can scorch, too. A dark romance story about a woman scorned and a man who is so much more than he seems. WIP, 10/x chapters published.

Volatile | Steve x scientist!Avenger!Reader | Explicit

Reader has been subjected to an aphrodisiac while on a mission. Steve and the medical team attempt to find a solution. Smut with feelings, eventual fluff, eventual happy ending. COMPLETE, 3/3.

O N E S H O T S:

Cinderella Magic | Steve Rogers x Reader | T+

The entire thing had been like something out of a movie, starting from how Steve – to you just Steve, one of the regulars at the bookshop you ran – had barged into the store yesterday and blurted out that he desperately needed a date. Fluff, romance, friends-to-lovers. 828 words.

Every Bit As Magical | Steve x Avenger!Reader | G

When the car stopped, and Steve went round to open the door for you and help you out, you were practically bursting with curiosity. Tumblr Prompt: "Steve Rogers + a day at Disneyland?" Fluff, romance, established relationship. 567 words.

Malogranatum | soft dark!Avenger!Steve Rogers x mob boss!Reader | Explicit

“You know there are lines I do not cross,” you said. Tumblr prompt: "Steve + Mob AU + ”Would you really do that for me?” + nefarious." Dark romance with themes of obsessive love. AU - canon divergence & mob themes. 2,417 words.

Warmth | Steve x chronically ill!Reader | Mature

Steve is the most caring husband and the best heating pad in the world. Even on the bad days when you don't feel easy to love. Hurt/comfort, established relationship, protective Steve Rogers. 1,771 words.

Worthy | Steve Rogers x Reader | Mature

You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a year. When a journalist is out to get you, you will have to stand together and come out stronger. Romance, angst with a happy ending, fluff & hurt/comfort, protective Steve Rogers. Reader has past trauma and unspecified mental health issues. 2,045 words.

H E A D C A N O N S & D R A B B L E S

kink headcanons for different versions of Steve | Explicit

fall-themed dates with Steve headcanons | Mature

getting ready for a Halloween Party with Steve | T+

coming home to Steve after a long day | G

tempting Steve at a Halloween Party | T+

a 3-sentence fic about Steve being a good dad | G

[boldstarks]

Giedi Prime (House Fenrir Dune AU)

word count: 1498 Words pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader warnings: none (yet) summary: you arrive on Giedi Prime for the Na-Baron's birthday celebration, but you have another task ahead of you.

Before you arrived on Giedi Prime, you didn't believe a place could be completely devoid of color, but as you stand on one of your father's heighliners looking over the planet, you have come to believe what they say. You peered at the black and white planet below from the bridge as the ship waited for its permission to land on the surface. House Fenrir was one of the many invited to the celebration for the Na-Baron's twentieth birthday and one-hundredth gladiator fight.

Even from outside the atmosphere, you can see the planet is heavily polluted from the fervent industrialization led by House Harkonnen over the centuries.

A nervousness settled in your stomach when you entered the planet's orbit, and your father's reservations about the match weren't easing the anxiety creeping through your bloodstream. Today was the day that you would begin to seduce the Baron's heir.

"We could always go back home," the archduke said. He has joined you at the window.

"It would not serve our house to make an enemy out of the Harkonnens," you reply in a monotone voice.

They were known for maintaining a cruel and tyrannical grip over their worlds. Violence and war were ingrained in their culture, and you had no doubt they would inflict that bloodshed on your people. If their treatment of the people of Arrakis was any indicator of how they treated those who displeased them, you knew they could do the same to Fenrir.

"Wise words," Lady Aurelia, your father's concubine, said.

Lady Aurelia was the closest thing you had to a mother after your own had died of a mysterious illness during your adolescence. You knew she did not see you the same way, though. Your father openly favored you and your older sister, Maron, over her two sons. To her, you were simply an obstacle in the way of her eldest son inheriting your father's title.

"They could reverse engineer our harvesters or simply kill us and take over production, and the emperor wouldn't bat an eye," you said, turning away from the grim image of the planet that you would soon call home if all went according to the Reverend Mother's plan.

"I hate the thought of leaving you in this place," Vulcan says.

Lady Aurelia sighs. "Y/N can take care of herself; I've seen to it."

"Lady Aurelia is right, father. I am more than capable of completing the task that the sisterhood has given me," you tell him.

Your reassurance only causes the worry lines around his mouth and forehead to deepen.

"Your Grace," a servant said.

The three figures at the window turn, and the servant curtsies quickly in respect.

"We have been given permission to land, Your Grace. We await your command," the servant says and curtsies again.

You watch her nervously scamper off. It seems that Vulcan wasn't the only one on edge today.

The landing was relatively uneventful, and the surface of Giedi Prime was just as bleak as you imagined. There were no natural plants in sight, and the air had a bitter taste to it that coated your tongue, throat, and sinuses. It made you miss Fenrir bitterly, with its vast oceans and thick forests that enveloped the less developed parts of the planet.

In the light of Giedi Prime's black sun, your ice blue dress looks silver. It's form-fitting to your body with a halter neck and leaves your arms bare. The look was completed with teardrop-shaped pearl earrings set in silver hardware.

A female servant is already waiting for you when the ship lands. She is pale and completely devoid of hair. She wears a dark-colored dress of a peculiar cut, and she keeps her eyes on the floor.

She curtsies deeply when you step off the ship with your father and Lady Aurelia into Harkonnen Palace's ship dock.

"I have been ordered by the Baron to show you to your quarters before the spectacle, Your Grace," the servant says in a small, timid voice.

Your father opens his mouth to reply, but the girl turns on her heel quickly and hurries toward another crowd of visitors being led by another woman in an identical dress. She waits to let the guests from a house you didn't recognize pass before continuing her beeline to the door.

You see Vulcan and Aurelia exchange a glance before all three of you follow after her.

The inside of the Harkonnen Palace is just as bleak as the outside. It is made up of identical black and white hallways; one could easily get lost in them. The servant girl expertly navigates these identical hallways without raising her eyes. She's obviously been here for quite a while. You wonder what horrible things she witnessed, or perhaps endured, in her employment here.

The woman is completely silent until she arrives at a nondescript slate gray door with a black panel installed on the wall next to it. "This is your room, Lady Y/N, and your parents are right beside you."

She motions toward an identical door to the left.

Lady Aurelia goes to her and your father's door and presses her hand to the panel. The panel glows, and the door slides open.

"What did it just do?" your father asks, puzzled.

"The doors to your quarters are programmed, so you need your handprint to get into them, Your Grace," the girl responds. "The Baron has found guests feel more secure when they are the only ones who have access to their living space."

Your father nods and presses his hand to the panel. Lady Aurelia walks into their room without another word.

"Just knock if you need anything, darling," Vulcan said, following her inside.

Their door slides shut behind them, leaving you alone with the servant.

"How did I find my way around?" you ask.

The girl makes eye contact with you for the first time.

"I strongly advise you not to walk around without someone to escort you, My Lady," the servant girl said firmly. "This is not a place where one wants to get lost."

This wasn't a request; it was a warning. The girl's eyes darted back toward the ground. You place your hand on your door's panel. It warms slightly when it scans your handprint. The door slides open, and you step inside. The servant girl won't meet your eye again before the door slides shut.

If you were anyone else, you would feel as though you had stepped into the belly of the beast. But you're not just anyone; you're Bene Gesserit. You're exactly where you're meant to be.

---------

You sit on an elevated platform that sits slightly lower than the one occupied by the Baron Harkonnen, the Reverend Mother, and your father, the Archduke, along with an unknown count and his wife. The crowds in the stands below are packed with Giedi Prime citizens. The black sun has once again washed the color out of everything. You were provided a pair of small field glasses to view all the fights through.

You're sitting with six other Bene Gesserit sisters that you have never met before. Despite knowing little about them, having some of your sisters here is a comfort.

In some twisted way, you looked forward to having your way with Feyd-Rautha. The Reverend Mother Helen described him as violent, calculating, and isolated. The Baron and his brother, whom they called the Beast, were neither fit to raise an emotionally intelligent, stable child. That only made your job simpler. It doesn't matter how physically strong Feyd-Rautha is; he's sexually and emotionally vulnerable. And you could mold him into whatever you see fit.

The opening fights are lackluster. It's obvious the opponents have been drugged to ensure the safety of the Harkonnen gladiators. You noted this with distaste and nearly rolled your eyes. The Harkonnens claimed to be the most dominant, well-trained fighters in the galaxy, but they couldn't be bothered to truly fight someone without resorting to petty vices and trickery. Nevertheless, the crowd roars with satisfaction whenever blood is spilled on the sand of the gladiator pit.

Now comes the main event: Feyd-Rautha's one-hundredth kill in the gladiator pit. Was this the measure of a Harkonnen man? Slaughtering drugged prisoners was supposed to be a show of power and strength while wearing a shield.

A horn blows, and the crowd begins to shriek and whoop once again. In the arena, a large set of doors slide open, and the Na-Baron emerges from the darkness beyond the doorway, a knife in each hand. He raises them toward the sun and circles the pit. The light of the black sun glints off the blades. He's hairless, like the other inhabitants of his planet. He's dressed in light black armor and practically preens for the crowd before kneeling. He bows his head in respect to his uncle and dedicates this win to the man.

The Baron is satisfied by this display, and the barbarism begins.

taglist: @ariesmai

[thelovelydragonleelee]

Gar Poneys....

[sebastianswallows]

girldad!Feyd Headcanons

— WARNINGS: angst, but also fluff — A/N: In the canon, Feyd’s daughter with Margot was named Marie Fenring, and she dies a tragic death at quite a young age. This is going to be a completely self-indulgent fix-it. Enjoy ✨

Sure, he’s the most violent and unhinged madman this side of Gamma Waiping, but even Feyd knows there’s a time and place for everything.

The time being when the Atreides are defeated and the Emperor rewards him and he’s free to go after the Fenrings with his Harkonnen troops.

First, they find Count Hasimir, a frail little man with rodent-like features and thin greying hair. The Emperor’s oldest friend, and the best assassin in the known universe. Feyd knows better than to take him on in single combat, so he has his men deal with him while he goes after Margot.

He finds her in the furthest room of their castle past a cadre of guards that he makes short work of. She’s holding a little girl’s hand… Small and pale with thick dark ringlets, she looks just like he did as a child. He can tell even past the thick visor of the helm he wears — something made to not only protect but also block out sound. Margot knows it’s him just by his gait. She speaks, but it doesn’t matter. Her voice has no effect this time.

He sees the flash of a laser on the wall as his men join him and block the only exit. Feyd walks over to Margot, uncoils the little girl’s hand from hers, and takes her away. Lady Fenring will be brought to Kaitain to answer for her crimes against the once-young na-Baron. The Bene Gesserits, humbled after their near defeat on Arrakis, will not defend her actions — she has already served her purpose anyway.

The little girl looks up at him as they walk away with an unsettling and knowing light in her dark eyes. Feyd gazes down at her and, although she could not see his face, it was as if they’d always known each other.

But he also notices her little legs can hardly keep up with his stride. Oh, that’s right, children are smaller… He stops, kneels, and lifts her up into his arms as he carries her back to the ship.

He was actually nervous about taking off his helmet in front of her. What would she think of seeing a Harkonnen for the first time? They were so different from the soft and sunkissed people of the planet she was raised on…

But she had an eery calm to her even at the age of seven standard years. She regards him no differently than before and also does not acknowledge any need for reverence, even when he tells her who he is.

“Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” “Hello.” “And what’s your name?” “Marie.”

He found himself genuinely shy when he informed her he was her father, and was all the more surprised to find an impish smile grow on her face. “I know.” Margot must have told her after all…

She doesn’t cry, she doesn’t seem afraid, but Feyd comforts her the whole way to their home planet. He pets her dark crown of curls as she sits beside him on the ship, supports her back when she drinks, and makes out of galactic maps the most unusual of toys to distract her with on the long journey back. None of it comes naturally to him and for the first time he has to think before he acts. It leaves his nerves rattled, but every time she looks up into his eyes and smiles so innocently he gains his calm again.

Giedi Prime was not the first place he had in mind for raising a child, but the other planets he could lay claim to — Lankiveil and Arrakis — were not great choices either. Now that he was Baron, this was where he had to be — at least until the Emperor decided who should govern Arrakis following the trouble with the Fremen. The Corrinos left a cadre of Mentats in charge to oversee the change for now.

She hates the planet at first, scrunching up her little face at the stark white light during the day, at the poisonous smoke, at the vast black wastes filled with petrol. Feyd engages an ecologist the first week Marie is there and plans a series of greenhouses for her with the best water filtration systems spice can buy.

“Why can’t the whole planet be like this?” she asks when he first shows it to her. They walk through young trees, Feyd dodging thin branches of raw red and green while his daughter skips ahead like a lamb. “Because it just can’t,” he mutters. “But why?” “Because it would cost too much.” “How much?” “I don’t know.” “Why not?”

A secret communication arrives to the Emperor inquiring whether he has room in his court for a new assassin now that Hasimir Fenring is gone.

His days are split between official duties, training in the arena, and playing with Marie. He discovers a part of himself again when he is with her — that innocent part that had been lost or buried when he first got to Giedi Prime. There is a satisfaction in making it for her a less brutal arrival, even a pleasant one.

He finds her laughing as she runs through the long halls, tugging on the lances of the guards — who look horrified at the sight of a playful child for the first time, but stay obediently still — and throwing rocks into the oil pools outside the palace to gawk at the pretty rainbow colours.

She loves the vaporous transparent gowns the servants wear, and the servants love her too. They dote on her, fearfully at first but more boldly when they notice Feyd’s approval. The retention rate goes up starkly at the palace, as does the average longevity.

Everyone is puzzled about what to do with her hair, but Marie teaches Feyd to braid it the way her mother did. She’s not shy about berating him either whenever he gets it wrong.

And most nights he falls asleep with her in one arm and a holographic storyreel in the other. He wants to be the sort of parent he only briefly had, the kind he vaguely remembers from his years on Lankiveil.

He dreams of his mother now more than he ever did, and wakes up feeling sorry for how much he falls short. He has no idea how to care for a child, no idea of how to raise her, but he knows he wants to try. Wants to succeed, for her. Marie might not have been an intended child, the way he was, but she was his own flesh and blood and he’d be damned before he made her feel unwanted.

His harpies love her, of course. But he fears they do a bit too much and dismisses them not one month after Marie arrives on the planet. While he’s never indulged, he can only imagine with a frightful shiver how sweet and tender a child’s flesh is.

To the consternation of his people, he flies in tutors from other planets for her. Philosophers from Ecaz, musicians from Chusuk, biologists from Lernaeus, and even a historian from Kaitain itself. She has a Mentat but no Bene Gesserit to serve in her education. His uncle had been wrong about a lot of things, but the scheming of witches was not one of them.

Her bedroom — more white and pale blue than the standard inky black, and decorated with pink ribbons — has a court of dollies on one side and toy swords on the other. Feyd’s love of weaponry does not escape her and, in her childish innocence, she’s fascinated by it all. He takes delight in this, of course, but worries too. Imagining his little child with blood on her hands scares him, and it makes him wonder what sort of person his uncle was to encourage it in him.

In loving her, Feyd’s never felt more unloved himself. Sure, he had his mother and father at one point, but all of that was taken from him when he was Marie’s age. Since then, nobody had cared about him, nobody had even wanted him unless it was to fulfil a purpose. Not his uncle, not his brother, not even Margot…

He comforted himself now that he’d spared Marie of such a fate. His little girl would not become a glorified breeding horse for the Bene Gesserits nor a pawn in the Emperor’s games. He would fill her life with all the things he never had.

Marie grows as the gardens grow, and Feyd begins to speak with the professor from Lernaeus and a retired planetologist from Acline about plans for terraforming Giedi Prime, and one day putting Marie in charge. Her lessons become more structured.

A fact to which she protests, but not for long. She is clever for her age, and understanding, and nobody can explain to her better than Feyd that, although learning can seem useless and boring compared to play, she needs to prepare for the years to come.

“You like the gardens, don’t you?” “Yes…” “And you like eating fruit, right?” “Yes, and smelling flowers.” “What if you could do that all the time, then? Not just in the greenhouses?”

She comes to like the skies of Giedi Prime as well, and the way fireworks look like ink blots. Her every birthday is marked with an array of black and white that make the sky a work of art.

Marie never asks to be the sort of Baroness that always lays around, because Feyd doesn’t do that either. As she grows older he starts to spend more time with her during the day, letting her sit in on meetings, and they debate for hours afterwards on what course the Barony should take. He finds she is more brave than he is, but more reckless too.

“No, little melon, we can’t just declare war on them.” “But why? You know they’re spying on us…” “Yes, but we have no proof.” “Of course we have proof. How would you know otherwise?” “Proof needs to be physical or recorded.” “Let’s record them spying, then.” “Well now they know that we know, so they will have a different approach.” “I still think war would end the problem faster. Or challenge them to a duel!” “I’m getting too old for this…”

They see more of the planet together too, venturing to the caves and crevices that run beneath the surface, taking samples of the native life bubbling in hot springs and collecting crystalline samples.

He takes her to Lankiveil for her fifteenth birthday and they sail together through its icy floes. She loves the sign of whales off in the distance and sounding the ship’s horn, although the local food leaves much to be desired.

“It smells weird.” “It’s fish.” “They stink…” “You want a salad instead?” “Yes, please…”

By the time she turns eighteen, the Emperor has decided to put Arrakis back into Harkonnen hands, and Feyd is terrified. As bad as Giedi Prime is, he wants to see her on Dune even less. Marie can tell this, observant as she is. She’s grown more quiet when she’s thinking and less rash with her decisions, but loud when she wants to be, and daring.

Feyd doesn’t know what to expect of Arrakis anymore and has mixed feelings about it, but he knows one thing for certain: anyone who’s a threat to his daughter there, dies.

“I’ll miss Giedi Prime,” she says as they’re approaching orbit. “It’s finally getting green in places, and rainclouds have begun to form…” “You can go back any time, you know,” says Feyd immediately. “I won’t keep you on this piece of hell…” “I’ll stay,” says Marie. She has the same strange determination she had in her eyes the day they met. “I heard it has old terraforming stations… I’ll want to visit them one day.”

It isn’t easy ruling a desert planet, even one that’s been subdued, but the new spice flow makes it worth it. Feyd keeps Marie close, teaches her everything, watches her grow, and soon she’s sent in delegations reporting to the Landsraad. She represents House Harkonnen better than her great uncle did — and, to Feyd’s pride, better than he ever could.

[deusvervewrites]

I would say it is weird that people think Midoriya is childishly naive when his very first phrase of the story is "not all men are created equal", when the first chapter has Midoriya going about how he was deluding himself, when he talks again and again how lucky and blessed he is, but we have already concluded Horikoshi needs some sledgehammers.

But yeah, people seem to look down in a way at empathy, when having empathy despite everything Midoriya has gone through shows his strength. He could have easily just have given up, but that isn't who Midoriya is.

I've touched on it before, and others have gone into far more detail about it, both in other media and in general, but there's a deceptively cruel undercurrent throughout an alarmingly vast percentage of media. A single, insidious idea that has been reused and recycled and repeated.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Think about that for a moment. Really, think about it. Why does the villain have to die? Think about all the works out there about the cycle of revenge. Think about all the works out there about how you should be kind to one another. Hell, just pick a Disney film. No matter how Heroic the hero. No matter how central mercy is to the theme. And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Sometimes they dress it up fancy. A Villain rejects the offered hand only to accidentally kill themselves, as in Tarzan or countless others. Or their own scheme ends up killing them without the Hero doing it. Sometimes it is the hero, by some accident.

And it makes sense, right? The villains do horrible, awful things, and many of them show no signs of remorse or even stopping. Taking them out is for the best, right?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why.

How can they not choke on the hypocrisy. How can they stand there and tell us that love and compassion and understanding will lead Darth Vader from the Dark Side but the Emperor needs a one-way trip down the reactor chute?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

It's much cleaner, as a narrative. When the noble hero slays the evil king, there's never any depiction of the inevitable succession crisis that would ensue. Imagine having to... reform? From the worst possible version of yourself, a character in blood stepped in so far that, should they wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er? Having to try and do better? Even if they could never atone? Even if it could never be made right? But yet. But yet. You still have to live and do better?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why?

I know. Help us all do I know that there are people out there that will not change. Are staunchly against changing. Would die before they ever had a second thought about their actions. But. But. They are still, first and foremost, people.

And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

WHY?

This world has no end of fools who mistake weakness for strength and boast their foolishness from the rooftops. People who think that kindness is a weakness and compassion a curse.

I can't help but wonder what this world could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy.

Since recorded history began, people have sold their hearts for power. This weakness should not be celebrated. Power means nothing.

Midoriya's empathy is his greatest strength. It's the thing that makes him a Hero.

And I'm glad that there's been a trend lately in Shonen Jump towards empathic protagonists. The Promised Neverland. Demon Slayer. Dr. Stone. My Hero Academia. All of these works can't help but wonder what this world could be.

How are we meant to make the world better if we can't imagine a better world? How are we meant to dedicate our lives, knowing that perhaps that kind world is far away from here, that we may have to miss it because it's far beyond our years, if we think it's impossible?

WHY DOES THE VILLAIN HAVE TO DIE?

WHY IS IT EASIER TO SEE THE ENEMY THAN A PERSON?

WHO ARE YOU LETTING CONVINCE YOU THAT DEATH CAN BE DESERVED?

People act this way about Midoriya because that's how we are trained to experience media. He is, by the nature of his kindness, a subversion of expectations. The idea of treating the enemy like a person, understanding why they act the way they do, why they want to hurt, that's... difficult. It can be hard to remember in the face of human cruelty and depravity. But you must. If you can't understand then you can't prevent it. Yes, there are people who must be stopped. Yes, characters in fiction reflect this fact.

Even so.

To say that the villain must die, that is a justification of violence that has been used by real humans to cause real harm.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

As I said above, media has shifted recently. It's small, and I doubt it will be mainstream anytime soon, but the shift is there. Not just in shonen, but other places as well.

"We have a saying, my people. Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it."

-Wonder Woman, Gail Simone

[megraen]

Chapter One - Vessel of Venus

WORD COUNT: 5,673

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung

Imperial Palace - Rome 190AD

Lucia lay on her soft, silken feather bed, gazing at the marble stone ceiling without thought or care. She had been lying there for hours, having hardly slept a wink at night. She wasn’t sure if she was just restless or was wracked with anxiety over today.

All the senators of Rome were gathering at the Imperial Palace, ready to send off General Acacius on his conquest of Numidia, as the two new emperors ordered. Caracalla and Geta were twins; therefore, they were made co-emperors when their father passed away just four years ago. Both were not that much older than her, but they were adults, just twenty-one years of age, ambitious and naive to ruling a vast Empire as glorious as Rome.

Lucia’s grandfather had been Emperor once. Marcus Aurelius had ruled for nineteen years before being murdered and replaced by his son, Lucia’s uncle, Commodus. After Commodus’s death, within weeks, a senator named Lucius Septimius Severus convinced the senate to vote him Emperor. He only ruled for seven years. Lucia couldn’t help but ponder how long these twin emperors would last, as they always seemed to die like flies, with some other power-hungry soul grasping for the throne for themselves.

“You’re still in bed?!” The shrill and lecturing tone of her mother made her turn her head, seeing the woman standing in the open chamber doorway with three imperial enslaved people behind her, all female. They waited patiently as Lucilla darted around the bed, forcing her daughter to sit up. “I expect more from you. You’ll be eighteen soon.” She continued to lecture, pulling Lucia to her feet and guiding her to sit at a small vanity table. Lucilla gestured to the enslaved people, and they rushed in to prepare Lucia.

They combed at her dark hair, pinning it and ensuring her cheeks were rouged with crushed rose petals. Having spent so long trapped within the imperial Palace, Lucia’s skin was attractively pale, adding to her richness.

Lucilla approached with a pale gold silk chiton draped over her arms, holding it out to the enslaved people. They got Lucia to stand before stripping her out of the cotton gown tunic she’d used for sleeping. They dabbed a rich, scented perfume on her naked body before helping her into her dress, clasping the metal pins that held it to her frame. Lastly, they pinned jewels to her ears to create the final adornment of her garment.

“Perfect.” Lucilla smiled. But it was a forced smile. She rarely truly smiled anymore. The years hadn’t been kind to her. The gods had taken away everyone she’d loved, leaving her daughter untouched, yet as soon as the senators began clawing for power before Commodus was even buried, they had locked Lucilla and Lucia within the Palace, using the excuse that they were ‘guests under their protection’. It was all lies. As long as Lucilla had a working womb, she could birth an heir for Rome.

Lucilla was fortunate to have married a good man after the death of her family. Yet, Lucius Septimius Severus kept sending the man away any chance he could, ensuring no child would take root in Lucilla’s womb. And now, with him gone and his sons as emperors, Lucilla’s husband was being sent off to fight another war to add another kingdom to Rome’s Empire.

“Come, let’s not keep the Emperors waiting,” Lucilla spoke, latching onto her daughter’s wrist and pulling her out of the chambers. Lucia looked deathly bored as her mother guided her to the throne room. General Acacius wouldn’t enter until his wife and stepdaughter were by his side, which meant delaying his send-off and would anger the two co-emperors. The twins were eager to see the conquering of Numidia and, no doubt, had many other kingdoms in mind to add to their growing Empire. But wars took time and resources, something that was limited. Soldiers and people died, crops withered, plagues came, floods and fires. It took away from Rome, limiting her ability to grow and expand over nations.

General Acacius had been pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the throne room, listening to those within talk and mingle, voices raised. His tardiness wouldn’t go unpunished, but so would entering without Lucilla and Lucia. His rank as general was one thing, but his wife and stepdaughter were considered princesses of Rome, and the peasants greatly admired the women. Acacius turned his attention sharply when he heard the sounds of sandals clicking against the marble floors. He wants to smile at the sight of the two women who held his heart but signed instead. “You’re late.” He hissed lowly, his brows creasing.

Lucilla frowned and gestured behind her to Lucia. Acacius’ face softened at the teen, noticing the displeased look on her face.

“My sweet Rosa…” Acacius reached for his stepdaughter, taking her by the shoulders and bringing her in close, hugging her tight. Rosa had been a nickname he’d given her when she was eight after she had made a crown of roses for both her mother and stepfather at their wedding. “I will return to you and your mother.” He promised.

Lucia continued to scowl as he pulled away from the embrace. “You’re going off to war again. Only the Gods know when you shall return, or even return at all.” She spoke sombrely. The last two campaigns he’d let had lasted three and five years, a total of eight of the ten that he’d been her stepfather. And she feared he wouldn’t return each time, knowing that Acacius was the only man in Rome who cared for her and her mother, not wishing to use them for his own glory and power.

General Acacius might have been the only perfect soul left in Rome. He didn’t desire riches or power to have a name held in history. All he wanted was for Rome to survive and its people to prosper.

“Here,” Acacius pulled a chain from around his neck, revealing the necklace hidden under his arm. He carefully guided it over her head, allowing the pendant to rest just past her breasts. “It had been my mother’s. I’ve always worn it to have her with me. I want you to have it so you know I will return for it.” Acacius spoke. He smiled when Lucia studied the pendant, twirling it in her fingers. It was an old coin adorned with gold and pearls. It wasn’t the most precious piece of jewellery or even something that screamed wealth with its simple design, but the meaning behind it had Lucia’s heart swelling.

“Then I shall keep it safe for your return,” Lucia spoke firmly, letting the pendant fall from her fingers. Acacius nodded, approving of the idea.

“We mustn’t keep the Emperors waiting any longer.” Lucilla pressed, interrupting the sweet moment between the stepfather and stepdaughter and guiding her husband to the large ornate doors. Lucia fell into place behind them just as Acacius gestured to the guards to open the doors. The sound of the loud hinges echoed as they were pushed open, silencing those inside the throne room.

All eyes were on Acacius and his wife as they walked through the hall, approaching the twin thrones of the Emperors. Yet Lucia could feel eyes on her. Senators gleaming at her with ambition. She was just like her mother. A golden womb that bore the potential for power and the next Emperor to be born to a wealthy and influential family. Lucilla and Acacius were already aware of the whispers and plotting of several senators, who looked at Lucia, waiting for them to sink their claws in and bind her to them in marriage. But it wouldn’t happen. Lucilla wouldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t have her daughter face the same fearful encounters as she had.

It was common for noble-born girls to be married by fourteen, two years after becoming marriageable in Roman culture. Until Lucia reached twenty, she was protected from the Lex Papia Poppaea law, which dictated that a woman must be married by the time she was twenty years old or face penalties, such as being barred from inheritance if her mother and stepfather were to pass. It had been ironic that the law had been decided long ago by two unwed senators.

They stopped before the thrones and bowed, with Acacius placing his fisted hand over his heart in a salute. Geta and Caracalla smiled at the sight, but their annoyance was evident.

“I thought you’d miss your send-off,” Geta said calmly, yet his voice sounded threatening. He was lecturing Acacius for making them wait.

“Apologies, your majesties. My stepdaughter was mourning my departure.” Acacius stated, looking at his Emperors. The excuse was meant with narrowed eyes from the senators, many seeming it flimsy. Acacius and Lucilla didn’t flinch. The general knew to be firm with so many eyes on him, but Lucilla struggled inside, one straw from breaking her facade.

Geta and Caracalla looked past the married couple, their eyes on Lucia. She was meeting their gaze, just as courageous as her mother. Geta’s lip twitched.

“I see,” Geta said. His eyes travelled back to the general. The twins had lived at the Palace since they were eleven and, with that, spent their days playing with Lucia in the Palace gardens, just as caged as she was. But as the twins aged, they had drifted apart from her, their interests taking on the more expected whoring and drinking of teenage boys, while Lucia drifted towards reading and music.

Geta had gestured for an enslaved person to step forward, carrying a well-forged sword, to be gifted to Acacius for his new campaign. The general had accepted it graciously from Geta. Caracalla stood still, watching it all occur, clearly bored and not wishing to be there. He wanted to be in his chambers, chasing naked enslaved women around as he laughed and drank himself into a stupor, yet his twin had stressed formalities. They had to be united and imperial in front of Rome’s populace and its senators; at least, they came off as weak and effortlessly brought down by others who sought their throne.

Acacius stood poised as the enslaved person attached the sheathed sword at his waist. “It is a fine weapon. You honour me, your majesties.” He bowed again, the enslaved person stepping away. Geta smiled, pleased with the praise.

“We expected the conquering of Numidia quickly, general.” Caracalla drawled. There was a cheeky smile on his face, boasting of his power and influence within the throne room. Many senators nodded along and murmured. Acacius kept a straight face. Unlike the senators and Emperors, he knew war. He knew it wasn’t easily won with just thought alone. It took strength, determination, planning, and loyalty. As long as his men were well-fed and in good spirits, they had a fighting chance.

“As my Emperors command.” Acacius bowed again.

Geta smiled, ushering everyone from the throne room to the palace steps to see off the general and his army. The two emperors strolled behind, uncaring to take their time. Unlike Acacius, they were allowed to be late. The populace cheered as they lined the streets, some weeping for their husbands and sons going off to fight, not knowing if they would ever return.

Acacius had given Lucilla a long and passionate kiss, his hands cupping her face like he never wanted to let go. The public cheered at the sight, enthralled by the general’s love for the princess of Rome. When Acacius finally and reluctantly pulled away, he turned to Lucia, pulling the teen into a tight embrace.

“Be strong for your mother,” Acacius whispered into her ear. “And do behave yourself.” He lectured when he stepped away, giving his stepdaughter a pointed look. Lucia smiled as she watched him step down the long carved stairs to this awaiting chariot and second-in-command, Darius.

Lucilla wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her close. Both needed comfort from one another as they watched the chariot begin to move down the paved streets, the formation of soldiers moving behind towards Rome’s docks, where a fleet of ships would be waiting for them.

Streets of Rome - Rome 195AD

The Praetorian Guard ran through the streets of Rome, shoving any poor citizen that happened to be in their way aside as they searched for their target. It was the thirteenth time Lucia had managed to abscond from the Palace, sneaking out in some ungodly manner and hiding among the populace, increasing each time she did. When she did, the twin Emperors had sent their royal guards after her, knowing that only their best and personal guards could drag her back to the Palace safely. The Emperors had held many investigators into how the woman was escaping their Palace, deeming it a risk to her safety and their own. If someone could sneak out, someone could easily sneak in, and that someone could be an assassin.

It was no secret to the populace of Rome that Lucia had a knack for sneaking out and evading the Praetorian. Every time the people saw the guards running through the streets, they knew it was because Lucia had escaped. Some more affluent Romans liked to bet on how long the guards would take to find her and return her to the Palace.

One Freewoman, Fosca, stood in the doorway of her home, watching a handful of guards run past with a bored expression. She was the wife of Darius. She had been alone with her husband’s departure to the Numidia war five years ago. While she had been with child when he left, the Gods had been cruel to take her son from her when it had only been weeks old. Her eyes narrowed as the last soldiers rushed by before finally reentering her home and shutting the door behind her.

“They have passed!” She yelled out, stepping through the entranceway into the atrium and around the shallow pool that collected rainwater. Her home was in an upper-class district of Rome, given her husband’s rank as second-in-command. Around her, her family’s slaves scuttled past, their eyes down as they didn’t wish to anger their mistress. Fosca stepped into the tablinum, an office space used for entertaining guests that overlooked the gardens at the back of her home. There sat Lucia, dressed in a slave’s gown she’d stolen from the Palace. “You look ridiculous,” Fosca commented, sitting on one of the sofa opposite the princess.

“No one looks twice at a slave,” Lucia commented. It was a wise statement. The only women who seemed to have eyes following them were wealthy ladies due to the fortunes attached to their names and their great beauty. As an enslaved person with dust and grime on her skin, Lucia didn’t look appealing, and if a man did happen to touch her, she could claim to serve a powerful senator, making them flee from the influence that offending a senator could bring. One didn’t touch another man’s slave unless he was willing to pay a hefty sum for his offence.

Fosca rolled her eyes. She clicked her fingers impatiently at a passing slave. “Why do we have no wine?” She snapped, making the slave bolt to the storeroom to fetch a good vintage. Fosca would only want the finest for entertaining Rome’s royalty. Fosca lounged back on the sofa. Her golden hair curled and perfectly styled, and her body draped in deep red stola. Lucia found Fosca to be a strong personality, a bold and forceful woman when interacting with others, making Lucia ponder if Darius had chosen the woman because of how much she reminded him of his fellow soldiers.

When the slave finally returned carrying the wine and two goblets, they quickly placed them on a carved stone table and poured each glass to the top. Fosca outstretched her hand expectantly, and the slave gave her a glass. She smiled when she could finally take a sip, the rich taste flowing over her senses. Lucia swirled and sniffed her glass before taking a sip. While the wine was indeed good, it couldn’t compare to the collection at the Palace.

“So…what made you flee luxury today?” Fosca enquired, eyeing the younger woman. Fosca was only four years older than Lucia and married her husband when she was seventeen. Sadly, she had yet to bless her husband with a single child, which was hard to do when he was often away at war.

Lucia wanted to snort at the question but held back. Of course, Fosca would call her life luxury; she hadn’t experienced being locked away and followed by enslaved people and guards day and night. She and her mother were prisoners, unable to communicate or see the world outside the Palace.

“A cage is still a cage, no matter how gilded it is,” Lucia remarked, earning a quirked brow from the woman. The blonde’s eyes followed Lucia as she moved into the doorway overlooking the well-maintained gardens. “Had I been born male, I would have been sent away like my brother. I know not if he is alive or dead, but he is free from Roman politics.” She stated firmly. Lucia pondered what type of man her brother had become now that they were twenty-three. When she saw herself in a looking glass, despite being twins, Lucia knew her brother would look vastly different to her, as he was male and she female. But did they look similar now to when they were children? She thought of Geta and Caracalla. They had similar characteristics, but they had never been identical look-wise.

“Then marry.” Fosca retorted boredly. “You are a woman with a fertile womb. Any man would be fortunate to call you wife.”

Lucia rolled her eyes noticeably as she turned to face her friend. “It is this very womb that keeps me caged. The Emperors fear me baring a son that would threaten their rule, just as their father feared my mother doing the same.” Her hand came to rest on her stomach, just over her womb. “Even if a suitable man came along who I could love, they would never allow me to marry.”

“Then marry one of them. They’re both handsome, rich and powerful.” Fosca sighed, clearly having no interest in such a conversation. She did not understand Lucia’s plight and didn’t wish to, deeming that the younger woman’s issues could all be fixed with marriage—and they usually were. Lucia frowned at the suggestion. Yes, Geta and Caracalla were handsome, rich and powerful, with many young women throwing themselves at the twins and risking scorn and death for giving the men their virtue in the hopes of marriage; the Emperors were still her captures.

Fosca groaned dramatically. Handing her wine off to her slave, she got to her feet and stomped towards Lucia, poking her hard in the stomach. “You’re twenty-three, you won’t have your youth and beauty forever, and soon your womb will wither. Turn your prison into your key to escape rather than sneaking out and causing trouble for all of Rome.” Fosca’s words were spat from her pained lips like venom, painting a far harsher version of Fosca than Lucia was used to. “Our Emperors are twenty-six, and soon they will need heirs.” The blonde tried to reason.

“So you suggest I turn myself into a breeding sow?” Lucia asked callously. Fosca snorted and rolled her eyes. All women were breeding sows for their husbands; it didn’t matter if it was a slave or a Freewoman of various castes. It was a glory for a woman to provide her husband with sons; the more, the better. Lucia’s face softened when she realised why Fosca spoke to her so coldly and without heart. Ten years of marriage, and she hadn’t a single living child to so for it. In the eyes of Rome, Fosca would be deemed cursed or barren, and it would be all her fault Darius had no children. Lucia hadn’t wedded yet and had never tried to fall pregnant; therefore, the matter of her fertility was a mystery and something Fosca could be jealous of.

“Forgive me, my friend,” Lucia murmured, searching Fosca’s hazel eyes for an understanding. Fosca relaxed, understanding that she had overstepped towards someone of a higher status than her, but the scowl didn’t fall from her face.

“You’re forgiven,” Fosca grumbled. She moved back to her spot on the sofa, and her hand outstretched toward her slave for her drink to be returned to her. As soon as the goblet was back in her hands, she took a large gulp of the wine, wishing to calm herself further.

Lucia sat beside her, her fingers tightening around the stem of her cup. “I do not think I could ever trust them,” She said, looking down into the rich red wine and seeing her face reflected on the surface. Fosca’s eyes narrowed as she thought about the statement. It was well-known between the two women that General Acacius and Darius held no love for the two Emperors and didn’t even trust the twins. Many whispered about Geta and Caracalla being tyrants, using Rome as their playground. Lucia knew never to leave her chambers when they held their debaucherous parties, the Palace littered with intoxicated nobles drinking and fornicating. There were rare moments when Caracalla would coax nobles into sword fights just for entertainment, Geta smirking as he watched.

“Make them trust you,” Fosca spoke earnestly. She reached out a hand, touching Lucia’s thigh motherly. “Men would let a pretty face lead them off a cliff if she battered her eyes hard enough. All of Rome’s influential men see you as a pretty face and a walking womb with no thoughts inside your head. Let them.” She suggested, sipping her wine coyly.

Lucia sat quietly, thinking about her friend’s advice. It was true that no man took a woman seriously in Roman culture, expecting her to be subservient to what he wanted, even if she was the wife of a powerful senator. Women were considered weak and simple-minded, unable to measure up to their male counterparts. But to use that very thought against them was tempting and dangerous. If Lucia had attempted such a feat and been discovered, there would have been no telling how far Caracalla or Geta would go when their rage controlled them.

“Now, you’ve taken up much of my time, and I don’t wish to have the Paediatricians kicking down my front door,” Fosca spoke, rising from the couch and handing her empty cup to the slave.

Lucia obeyed, standing up. “They won’t expect to find me here. The wife of a loyal Roman soldier, they would expect you to hand me over.” Lucia said she would drink the last of her wine before placing the goblet on the carved stone table. Fosca laughed at her friend’s observation. The guards most likely did expect that. They also assumed Lucia would go to ‘obvious’ hiding places, such as busy markets, taverns or plays. Fosca walked her through the lavish home to the entranceway, adjusting the shawl to conceal Lucia’s face better.

“You be careful now.” The blonde lectured, eyeing her friend sternly.

Lucia chuckled. “And you.” The two women hugged briefly before Fosca opened the front door and peeked outside to ensure no guards were in sight. With a nod to Lucia, the princess slipped outside, quickly casting her eyes around the busy streets for anyone watching and paced away from Fosca’s home. To anyone, she looked like a slave being sent on an errand by her mistress, but Lucia still needed to keep her guard up. Rome wasn’t as safe as the senate deemed it to be, but they strolled around with their guards without a care for the peasantry.

She looked at Palatine Hill in the distance, home of the Emperors and the senate. It was a collection of temples, government buildings, and the Palace of Domitian, all surrounded by walls and heavily guarded. It was the seat of Rome’s power, nestled between the Colosseum and Circus Maxima, where the Emperors could travel safely to gladiator fights and chariot races. The Palace of Domitian was built over a hundred years ago for Emperor Domitian and all the Emperors who followed. Some smaller villas, such as the House of Augustus, couldn’t compare to the majesty of the Palace of Domitian.

Stepping closer along the walls that circled Palatine Hill, Lucia peeked around the corner, searching for any guards who could be patrolling, but saw only the guards keeping watch over the entrances. None of the lower public dared to get too close. They would never be allowed onto Palatine Hill’s grounds as they were not nobles or senators, and only enslaved people who bore the Imperial brand on their skin could pass.

Making her way to the aqueducts that boarded the high walls, Lucia stayed out of sight as she pushed a large bush aside and crept forward. Hidden low in the wall and behind a cluster of bushes was a metal grate that gave access to a secret tunnel into the Palace of Domitian. Lucia wasn’t sure when it had been built into the Palace structure, only knowing that her grandfather had informed her mother about it, and her mother passed that knowledge on to her. The young woman assumed it was a hidden escape route built for a previous royal family. Such precautions were deemed necessary with the dangers that constantly loomed over the Emperors and their heirs.

Lucia knew that Geta and Caracalla did not realise that the secret tunnel existed, much to her and her mother’s benefit; if they had, they would have taken action to ensure it was inaccessible.

Slipping inside a long, dark passage, with only the straight ongoing trek to guide her, Lucia ignored the sounds of rodents that scrambled past her feet until she reached the end of the passage. A false wall acted as a door into a storeroom in a far dark corner to hide the comings and goings of those who knew of the passage from spying eyes. Lucia entered quietly, pushing the wall closed while glancing around, noticing the room was empty of any lingering slave or servant. She reached for a basket, holding a fine chiton and a jug of water to clean her skin, quickly using a rag to wipe the purposely placed grime from her arms and face before finally changing her clothes. Folding the slave’s tunic and shawl into the basket and tucking it away from being easily noticed, Lucia made for the storeroom door, slowly pushing it open and peering outside.

Smiling, Lucia stepped into the hall and made quickly for her chamber. She knew if caught, she’d be taken straight to the Emperors, where they would lecture her and confine her to her chambers as punishment, just as they did every other time she snuck out, but it did nothing to discourage her. Being chamber-bound or locked to the Palace was just as bad as the other. Lucia needed to experience Rome, its people, and what existed outside of Palatine Hill. The coy smile on her lips fell when she rounded the corner to her chambers, spotting two guards outside the doorway, something the Emperors had never ordered.

“Ugh…” Lucia grumbled when the guards snapped their attention to her, their eyes narrowing coldly. They took one step towards her, their posture threatening. “Yes, yes.” She muttered, her hands raised defensively. “Lead the way.” Lucia stepped forward, one guard leading her while the other followed behind, ensuring she couldn’t flee.

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

The twins lounged back on the plush sofas of the Palace banquet hall, surrounded by some of the finest prostitutes money could buy, each one scantily clad and faces heavily painted. Caracalla was laughing garishly, a goblet of wine in one hand as his free hand traced over the skin of the closed woman, leaning into him eagerly, wanting his sole attention. His eyes flickered to his older twin brother, Geta, pacing the room hastily while sipping his wine. The sight made Caracalla’s lips quirk.

“Relax, brother. Calm yourself with one of our guests.” Caracalla suggested, running his hand along the thigh of a prostitute, the woman giggling fakely at his touch.

Geta scowled. “Lucia is missing, and you can only think of whoring?” He stopped pacing, staring down at his brother with an exasperated look. Caracalla shrugged, muttering that ‘she was only a girl’. Geta’s hand clenched. “A girl who could bear an heir who can steal Rome from us.” He hissed, trying to address the importance of Lucia’s detainment to their care.

“Then we should kill her,” Caracalla suggested, shrugging playfully.

Geta stared at his brother, wondering how thoughts formed in his brother’s brain. It seemed Caracalla was only ever interested in sex, drinking, narcotics and violence. Geta shook his head. “The death of Lucia or Lucilla will cause an uproar among Rome’s people. They love their princesses too dearly.” It felt like the millionth time that Geta had to explain something so simple to his brother, but Caracalla just frowned, clearly bored by such a notion. Geta groaned, going back to pacing and drinking his wine.

His gaze flicked when a guard entered the room, and Geta felt his blood rush. “Did you find her?!” He asked hastily, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. It had been several hours with his men searching Palatine Hill and Rome. He didn’t understand how a single woman could evade the Praetorian guard, the elite Imperial soldiers trained to be capable of anything.

The soldier nodded. “She’s returned, your majesty.” He spoke awkwardly, revealing that the guards hadn’t been responsible for finding Lucia. Geta’s jaw was tight, but he gestured for the guard to bring her into the hall.

Lucia strolled calmly into the room, her eyes draping over Geta and Caracalla. The younger twin wasn’t paying her any attention, too focused on the painted whores that surrounded him, but it was Geta that was staring down at her menacingly. “Emperor Geta.” She bowed, acting as if she hadn’t had the city being torn apart to find her.

Geta’s lips twitched. “Your respect is ill-placed.” He commented, stepping closer towards her. His eyes flickered to the guards behind her, and they stepped out, leaving the pair somewhat alone. “Three hours. That’s how long the Praetorian have been searching for you.” His tone was even, but Lucia could hear the bubbling of his anger. “You must cease these reckless endeavours,” Geta ordered sternly. “You and your mother are our guests for your own protection, a privilege you greatly take for granted.”

Lucia’s brows twitched. His ideas of ‘guests’ and ‘privilege’ differed significantly from hers. She was followed day and night by slaves, servants and soldiers, bound to the private wings of the Palace of Domitian and its gardens. If she were a guest with privileges, she could walk freely, without eyes following her, and leave Palatine Hill whenever she desired. “You may lie to yourself, your Majesty, but do not lie to me,” Lucia spoke, her eyes narrowing and meeting his heated gaze. “I see no protection in a gilded cage. I am a Freewoman of Rome, yet I have less than a slave.”

Geta visibly flinched, his anger starting to overwhelm him. How dare she speak back to him in such a manner, to talk down to him like he was a fool. He was Emperor, and all of Rome was his to command.

“If you have no more need of me, I shall retire for the evening.” Lucia bowed. She didn’t allow him to speak before turning sharply and exiting the banquet hall. Geta yelled in frustration, tossing his goblet harshly against the marbled floor, spilling its rich red contents across the white stone. It had dinged when it made contact, its echoing sound and Geta’s roar earning the eyes of the prostitutes and Caracalla. The prostitutes swallowed thickly, a shiver of fear going down their spines at having witnessed the man’s sudden outburst, but Caracalla scowled, his mind once more wondering if it would be easier to kill Lucia than deal with her ongoing trouble.

Geta closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe and calm himself. Since Lucia started sneaking out and causing havoc last year, she has become annoying. He had preferred her when she had hidden away in her chambers, stuck reading poetry or playing the lyre. When she was quiet and hidden away, Geta didn’t have to even think of the woman. Now, she was acting out almost daily. It would be easy to send her away, but they had to keep her close. Unwed senators had become persistent in wishing to speak with the girl, and Geta knew why. They wanted the power and influence of marrying a princess of Rome and having a son born of that union become Emperor.

Everyone was out to see Geta and Caracalla fail, to see their reign end, just so those who envied them might have the opportunity to replace them. Lucia was the key to their end. Caracalla couldn’t see it, but Geta could.

[dfortrafalgar]

Gift of Belonging

Luffy x GN Reader

Life didn't have a purpose without Luffy.

Warnings: Fic from my 100 followers poll!!! can be read as either platonic or romantic, mentions of self deprecating thoughts but nothing too severe, just some short, feel good, reassuring hugs from our favorite straw hat-wearing captain <3

Taglist: @bokutosbiceps | @luffy0s | @surgeonoffish

You were at the end of your rope when you joined the straw hats, but who wasn’t?  You weren’t special in the grand scheme of the world’s most infamous pirate crew.  You couldn’t compare to the tumultuous lives of the rag-tag bunch that had quickly become your lifeline, you had nothing on being the child of an abusive royal family, or the last survivor of a decimated nation, or the unfortunate witness to the killing of a friend or parent, or a literal god.  You weren’t a cyborg or an animal or a reincarnated being hundreds of years old.  You were just… simple.

And yet, the Straw Hats made you feel accepted.

They made you feel wanted.

And no one had wanted you more than Monkey D. Luffy.

You still struggled to accept the boisterous boy’s words when he welcomed you aboard his grand ship.  You had put up an argument, insisting that you would only get in the way, that your strengths paled in comparison to the rest of the crew, that you had no business being a part of the inner circle of one of the Emperors.  But not a single eyelash was batted in the direction of your plight.  Simply endless stares of patience, waiting for you to finally bite the lure and climb up the gangway and officially join the Straw Hats.  And when you finally did, Luffy had said the words that had stuck with you since then.

“I don’t care who you are.  You’re special and you deserve a spot in my family.”

It was as if the world opened up around you for the first time.  Instead of seeing your surroundings in black and white, colors infiltrated your retinas in ways you had never experienced.  Suddenly, the sunshine that beat down on your skin felt like a pleasant hug from the world, rather than a punishing burn against your weary being.  Food you ate and drank every single day tasted extra good because it was always cooked with love and affection, the flirtatious cook not caring at all where you had come from.  Luffy and his crew made it known from the second they met you that you were deserving of love, respect, and friendship.

And you couldn’t lie… the first few days were overwhelming.

The Straw Hats were loving.  They were really loving, and their unique ways of showing they appreciated you were slowly building up in your veins like a disease until one night, when you were on watch, you cracked.

You broke down.

You sat on the stern of the Thousand Sunny, gazing out from the white-painted railings and over the vastness of the dark ocean and seamlessly blended in with the sky above you, the only light shining on you being from the twinkling stars millions of light years away.  Quiet, salty tears flowed down your cheeks, your shoulders clenched as you wrapped your arms around yourself, sniffling into the collar of your shirt.  You loved your crew, you really did.  You began to realize that you loved them more than you ever loved anyone else in your life, and that thought somehow scared you.  Like you were unprepared.  Like your heart had been so deprived of love for your whole life that the overabundance of it in such a short time caused your brain to short-circuit.  And you cried.  You weeped on the Sunny’s back deck, into the calmness of the night.

Until the sound of clopping flip-flops climbing the steps to where you sat alerted your attention, causing you to freeze up, holding your breath, wishing your tears could evaporate away.

“Hey, what are you doing up here alone?”  It was Luffy, his usually exuberant voice a rare form of calm as he approached you.  He wasted absolutely zero time in plopping himself onto the hard deck beside you, extending his legs and holding his arms out, hands behind his head.

You stayed hunched into yourself, trying to hide your shame in your hands.

“Hey… are you alright?” he asked, his voice somehow even softer.

A faint sniffle from you was all your captain needed to hear.  He sat up with a start and grabbed your shoulders with his calloused hands, yanking you around to face him.  Your eyes were wide with shock at his actions, but you stayed frozen.  It’s not like you could run anywhere, the man was made of rubber.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed, an intense stare that bored into your skin.  “Did someone say something to you?  Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head, wiping your tears away on your arm.  You took a deep, shuddering inhale before finally forcing your shoulders to relax.  “No… no one said anything to me.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Luffy, despite not being overly emotional in normal circumstances, was scarily good at reading people.  It didn’t matter if you couldn’t outright say what was bothering you, he would eventually figure it out with that convoluted tunnel system of a brain.  His adorable lips curled into a pout as he analyzed your face, picking apart every twitch of your muscles.

You inhaled once more, turning your face away from him slightly.  “I’m just… not used to this.”

“Not used to what?”

His questions, and the feigned clueless tone of his voice almost made a smile crack onto your face.  Another talent of Monkey D. Luffy: he was like a wrecking ball for the walls you built up around yourself.

“I’m not used to… this.”  Your hands circled around you, gesturing to the ship, causing Luffy to finally drop his hands from your shoulders.  “Being a part of a crew.  You guys are… too nice to me.”

Luffy was ready with a response immediately.  “We could never be ‘too nice to you.’  That’s impossible.  We love you.”

Your lip quivered slightly.  “That’s what I’m not used to.”

“Being loved?”

There it was.  You feebly nodded.  “Yeah.  That.”

Your captain scooted across the deck closer to you, if that was even possible.  He was basically flush against you at this point.  He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm bear hug, his fluffy black hair tickling the skin of your cheek.  “We love you because you’re special to us, we don’t need a reason for that,” he described.  His voice faltered, as if he wanted to say something else, as if he was trying to add to his words.  Instead, he squeezed you into him, closing his eyes as he felt your muscles grow limp.  ‘We love you, but I love you more.’

“I just wish it was easier for me to accept that,” you whispered into his shoulder, struggling to hug him back.

Luffy’s embrace didn’t relent.  If anything, he tried to pull you in closer.  The force of his hug made you lose your balance on the floor, falling over on top of him, your chin hitting his shoulder.  But he still didn’t let up.  He held firm, squeezing you as if you would fade away into dust if he let go.

“Luffy–” you wheezed against his skin.

“What?”  He sounded completely oblivious.  “I’m going to keep hugging you until you don’t feel sad anymore.  No more crying,” he demanded.  “Captain’s orders.”  His last sentence held a hint of playfulness, the smile he surely wore on his face coming through the sound of his voice.

He must have been contagious, because your own grin slowly grew on your lips.  After what felt like hours, you finally reciprocated his hug, curling your arms under him and letting yourself finally relax in his embrace.  You knew Luffy had odd ways of showing he cared, but this was definitely unexpected.  Unexpected, but not necessarily unappreciated.  His presence emitted a warmth akin to summertime air, his existence like the calming breeze of the open ocean that wafted around you and circled you in comforting drafts.  Luffy never judged, never wavered, never ceased to let his crew, and now you, know how truly grateful he felt to be able to live his life with his favorite people.

You made a slight movement to stand up, but Luffy’s arms tightened their hold around your back.  “Not yet,” he grumbled.  “I don’t wanna stand up yet.”

“Is this how you comfort everyone on the crew?” you asked, your voice coming out muffled as you spoke into his neck.

“Hmm… not necessarily.  Everyone’s different.  Chopper really loves hugs, and Zoro lets me hug him, but sometimes Nami and Robin can take them or leave them.  Usopp likes hugs but doesn’t like to admit it.”  A smile crawled to your face as your captain rattled off the preferences of your fellow crewmates, the ways in which he perceived their unique and individual personalities bringing a comforting reassurance to your heart.  “I feel like you really like hugs, and you clearly needed one right now.”

You bit the inside of your lower lip, trying to bite back the tears that formed in the corners of your eyes.  The tension escaping your body dissipated in large waves, leaving you with nothing but warmth and comfort in the arms of the man who had surely saved your life.

And for the first time since officially joining the Straw Hats, you began to feel truly, unconditionally loved.  It was miraculous.  All it took was a single hug from the nicest, most selfless person you had ever met.

Someday, you’d be sure to return the favor for Luffy, even if he wouldn’t accept.