#god on the gilded throne

[floriumm]

Some of my favorite books this year. Were they all 5⭐️? No, but they all left an impact on me in some way.

Anywho, I made a new bookstagram yesterday because I wanted to keep my plant posts and books posts separate. If you want to follow more of my bookish posts my ig username is @pinklattes or on fable.

[lightdancer1]

A bit of original fiction:

i-nishi-Azarath

i-nishi-Azarath

i-nishi-Azarath.

The chants were what woke them up. Humanity had discovered another dimension, a brilliant golden paradise, where all was golden and ivory, a shining beautiful realm that had proven an inexorable temptation. That had led to this expedition. To the experimental use of an interdimensional drive. To the realization when they entered that it was a trap, that the dimension was alive, that something animated every part of it and that they had been lured into a trap.

i-nishi-Azarath

i-nishi-Azarath

All are one in the Azar

The chant changed. The fourteen survivors, chained to chairs, looked up. The inhabitants of this place looked human enough outwardly. Yet they were not. Little tells, eyes that shone like stars, faces that swelled and became lumpen and then shrank. The maddened revelry. This place of beauty was one of horror, and the worst part was merely breathing here was changing them.

The arch-priest, whose outfit was very like that of a twisted mockery of a Cardinal's robes turned and then there was a grisly moment as the flesh swelled and something rose, not the size of a man but a twenty-five foot colossus made still larger by armor that was dark green, gauntlets seeming to breathe as four starlight eyes shone and sharp teeth gleamed.

Mine the hands that heal,

mine the hands that kill,

mine the hands that stilled the wine-dark sea

Mine is the lightning-flash!

Mine is the House of Pain!

The giant squatted and those eyes looked at them.

The conqueror sought to make fair walls and to mine gold and ivory, in a manner that would make them worthless.

Twin voices echoed, one a dulcet voice with an accent that was Spanish, or proto-Spanish. Sultry and one that drew the ear to listen. The other a roaring howling gale that smashed through minds and left them twitching and bleeding, blood flowing from noses and eyes and ears, near-epileptic fits.

You saw ivory and gold and like all the little maggots you are, the skulking apes of Terra could not resist the temptation to grasp what is beyond you. I was once one of your kind, born in the Dispersion in the land of Sepharad to a woman named Julia. She was of a people who worshiped one lord, the Holy One, Blessed Be He. She betrayed her kind and her people, and turned to false gods and when a real one stepped out of shadows, why she played the whore.

The monster grinned.

Julia Domna, apostate, encountered a son of the stars who took a daughter of man for a wife and now here, a world you sense is me, as I am it. The very air mutates you, but don't worry. As with this cardinal whose flesh I wear you shall remain yourselves. All the great dreams made real, utopia become chains with blades attached. I have devoured stars and galaxies and universes and species of so many kinds your little minds would break with it, but I too am half your maggot-kind, the entropic worms that gnaw and fester within the guttering corpses of the lands you call home.

Even in madness, I know that which I am half thereof. The other half, well....

The creature shrugged.

And then their eyes began to glow and their teeth became sharp and they too chanted

All are one in the Azar

And then they were freed, and the power faded and they were on their knees. They rose from them, staring as the monster still looked at them.

As I said, you retain your minds. And now you will return, on your starship. Fourteen knights surviving out of seventy-six, so small a number and such arrogance. An entire planet and your greatest doomsday device....

An object, held in the giant's hand and then with a light twist it opened it and the shining core of a weapon was held up and swallowed, the creature humming.

No, they had eaten it too and the God on the Gilded Throne's gaze flickered through all of them and all was glory and ectasy and agony......

The starship returned, fourteen survivors. They were strong, and they were healthy. And when they spoke the air began to change and strange things to crawl within the bodies of those that heard and slowly ivory and gold began to creep out from them.

[cryobabiess]

Can you write a fic where the reader came to the palace as a new and untouched slave and is really beautiful (also her body). And like Caracalla and Geta want her but she is sassy and refuses but the second they touch she is really shy and acts innocent because she is a virgin but they didn‘t know?

Inter Duos Deos

pairing: Geta x Reader x Caracalla Tags: Light nsfw, implied threesome, dubcon

AN: Reader is named after the gorgeous Sherouk Farid 👀 Enjoy!

It is a miracle by your god that you've kept your virtue intact considering your unfortunate circumstances. The Roman army was civil enough to transport the female prisoners of war on a separate ship from the men. You quickly understood this not as an act of mercy, but of preservation.

A general dressed in leather regalia had grabbed you by the flesh of your arm, separating you from the other women being rounded up like cattle. He inspected you with an intrusive eye, hardened gaze lingering on the linen tunic falling off your shoulders. He forced your jaw open and ran his finger along your gums and the flesh of your cheek.

"This one appears to be in good health. No signs of disease, and quite the sight. Bring her to Palatine. They should find good use for her there. Atilius will deliver her."

They brought you to your conqueror's palace, where you were cleaned and perfumed with incense and oils. The servant girls offered wisdom as they plated your long hair into ornate braids. In hushed whispers, they warned against looking the Twin emperors in the eyes and urged you to keep your head down; do not show fear, for they will revel in it. Back home, amongst the grain fields where you laboured, there was talk of the two holy sons of Rome and their lust for blood and war; it was only a matter of time before they exercised their divine right and sent their men to the shores of your humble village.

As you stood before the great god emperors Caracalla and Geta, with hair and robes spun from gold, you thought they looked more human than what the rumors described.

"My lords, It is my greatest honor to present the spoils of yet another successful campaign!" An older man with thick black kohl lining his eyes pushes you towards the center of the throne room, gold bracelets chiming with his enthusiastic movements.

You discreetly glance at the twin emperors through your eye lashes only to see the elated grin of Caracalla, who eyes you like a starved animal. His aquamarine irises travel the length of your body, lingering on the round of your hips. The servants dressed you in nearly transparent chiffons and delicate gold jewelry, as per Caracalla's request.

"Such beauty you've brought us, Atilius! And to think you found it amongst savages." He jovially exclaims, leaning back against his seat.

"From where does she hail?" The taller brother, Geta, stands from his gilded throne and descends down marble steps. His dark gaze, though equally as ravenous, is more calculated than his brother's.

"From a small conquered village south of Aegypti. And salvaged from a grain field, none the less! Like a jewel plucked from dirt."

"Does she have a name?" Geta inquires.

"Is she pure?" Caracalla interjects.

You speak before your handler speaks for you.

"I am named Sherouk." You declare the name your father gifted you with pride and meet Geta's domineering gaze. He startles at your confrontation, his once pleased grin straightening to a hardened line. Atilius raises his palm to strike you, but Geta catches his hand before it makes contact with your cheek.

"Leave us, Atilius." He commands, unbothered by your words. Your handler looks at you with unease before dutifully retreating from the throne room.

"How bold! She will make for interesting nights. I want to be the first to taste her, brother." Caracalla laughs, sufficiently entertained by your futile resistance.

"I should sooner die by the blade on your hip." In the mere seconds it took to say the words, outrage erupted in the throne room. Caracalla stood from his seat in an instant, fingers hovering over the dagger sheathed at his belt as he strides across the marble floor. Geta holds the space between you and the spurned emperor, his palm colliding with Caracalla's chest.

"Peace, Caracalla, peace."

"Why do you permit her to insult us?! Allow me to grant her dying wish!"

Fear strikes you then. You hold your head high, close your eyes, and prepare to feel the cut of a blade, but it never comes. Instead, you feel the feather-light touch of a pair of hands ghosting over your shoulders, cold metal rings brushing down your exposed breasts and the supple curve of your womb. You gasp at the foreign sensation, your body tightening and your sex awakening. You open your eyes to see Geta's arrogant expression. His fingers dip lower, pushing past the thin layers of your dress to glide through the folds of your cunt. Caracalla's rage is replaced with curiosity as he watches his brother raise a single digit to his mouth to taste your essence. A shaking breath escapes you along with your feigned bravery. Desire takes hold.

"Ah, I understand now." Geta exchanges a knowing glance with his brother. Your facade of strength has been compromised.

Intrigued by your obvious arousal, Caracalla positions himself behind you to take greedy handfuls of your tits, his thumbs plucking at your hardened rose-bud nipples.

"Is it true, brother? That a bitch that guards riches barks the loudest." Caracalla rests his chin on your shoulder as he kneads your tender flesh in his hands. You can hear the smile in his voice.

Geta takes your face between his palms, caressing your flushed cheeks.

"Sweet Sherouk," His low voice is as saccharine as molasses, but false. "what riches do you guard?"

[eleanor-is-probably-my-real-name]

—Claws Of The Wolf—

Emperor Geta x reader (1.8k)

Summary: Captured as a slave the gods seemed to hate you, because it was your poor soul, who was chosen as a gift to the Roman emperors. And one of them in particular caught interest in you.

A/N: that man did something to me. Like, truly. However, enjoy! (English is not my first language, not proofread)

Rome was to be the capital of everything, the center of the entire world. Shining bright, it was the sun over earth, and no glory and no splendor could ever overshadow it. That was it, what they promised you. A promise that seemed as true as the sun blinded. And burned.

This was burned painfully into your mind, when they branded you the first time in Rome. They had attacked your poor village in an unfortunate province. Roman soldiers, invincible bringers of suffering, slaughtered on the battlefield and enslaved everything they found, right after the blood. And if you have ever thought that you could slip away from their claws, then you were foolish. Your fate was sealed as they carted you through half of the Roman Empire, lying in chains. Food and water were thrown at you just enough, so you wouldn’t perish right away, and when you found out that you of all people were to be sent to Rome with some other poor souls, some prisoners envied you. 

You, however, could only pity yourself. 

You were bought. A young woman you were, and they said, you’d have a pretty face. And maybe it was that face of yours that would bring you all the misfortune. It was just a year that you stayed at that wealthy family, preparing meals, cleaning the beds and tidying everything up when your landlord had had one of his excessive feasts. And only because of that you learned how to be quiet and still, vanishing in a room, so everybody forgot your little existence and told you all their secrets without the awareness of doing so. 

You were left alone. 

Until your landlord, a slimy man, was invited. Invited to the palace by the twin emperors themselves. There was a feast to be, of which you didn’t know the occasion for, and you couldn’t have cared less about it. But when the landlord of yours became a guest of honor, he decided that there was no way around making an extraordinarily expensive gift. No honor was too low for the tyrannical emperors of the Roman Empire, and because the gods seemed to hate you and took a liking in your miseries, it was you who was picked as a gift for the emperors. 

You had a pretty face, they said. 

And just like that, you found yourself lost between massive marble columns and opulent, important people, all overflowing with wealth. Wrapped in the most ornate fabrics and gilded in expensive jewelry, you were led through endless halls of glory in the palace. You stayed quiet, hoped for anything to happen that would drag you away from the bloody claws of the emperors, but the gods showed no mercy, watching you without interrupting your suffering. Oh, damn these cruel gods!

You, with the landlord and guards, stopped in front of the largest of doors in this palace, and for a glimpse of a moment you thought of running away, fleeing your fate. But you decided that the death that would follow this pathetic attempt would be the most ignoble. So instead you raised your chin, high up, when you were brought through that door and into the people-filled hall. There were hundreds of them, shining with wealth and money and watching you uninterested. 

And then you saw them, and your hands got sweaty. Worshiped like gods and bathed in every gold, they sat on their thrones, gilded leaves of laurels crowning their red hair. Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta. And when the vain landlord bowed in front of each of them, their names trembling over his lips, you knew which was which. And you didn’t know who you should detest more. Emperor Caracalla, with his childlike grinning, slumped in his throne—disgusted, you pictured him stating death sentences with that laugh. 

Or emperor Geta. His eyes were much darker, his mouth joyless and when his gaze hit your eyes, you realized what a cruel man he was. You had trouble holding his gaze; like a wolf watching the rabbit, that was the way he looked at you. He was hungry and just waited for the smallest sign that showed weakness, an opportunity to lick blood, before you finally fell into his claws. 

And you decided that you would not give it to him. That satisfaction of absolute power over everything and everybody—you would thwart that happily, even if that meant you getting into more unfortunate situations.

“Your highnesses, my emperors, Your Glory and Power shines and overshadows every of my brightest days and darkest nights of my humble being”, the landlord brabbled, and you wondered if he would have shared the bed with the emperors himself, if he hadn’t had you, “This honor to attend to one of your breathtaking feasts is the greatest I could have ever had to enjoy.”

You observed the emperors during his endless crawling and kissing. Caracalla’s glance only touched the landlord occasionally, being more occupied by his cherished ape, who was ridiculously dressed up and probably had more freedom than you could ever dream of. 

Geta, on the other hand, watched the bootlicker in front of him with a stone-hard gaze, knowing very well about his loyal pretense. You were thankful that his eyes weren’t resting on you anymore, because he waited for something, expected something. And that something was you. 

Geta didn’t waste himself on answering the landlord‘s words and only demanded with his gaze that he 'd go on. Goosebumps made their way down your spine, coldly and mercilessly, and yet… interested. You were completely intrigued by his presence, but something had piqued your curiosity for this man—and still, you wanted to run away.

 “Your highness Caracalla, your highness Geta, I have therefore, as a promise of my highest regards, decided to bring a gift for you.“

 Geta, now sitting more upright, leaned forward. His gaze, that inevitable gaze, lay once again on you: your hair, your hands, your hips, and your face. And there was something unsettling in his dark eyes. Desire?

Your heart raced.

 “From my personal servanthood,“ Caracalla watched you now, too, his head cocked, “I am bringing you this beautiful woman.“

 He said your name, and you didn’t bow to the emperors right away. You waited a couple of moments too long, and when you finally bowed, then with an irritating slowness. Knowing very well of this action and understanding it very much, Geta’s gaze had darkened even more when you raised your head back up. The corner of his mouth was now twitching dangerously angered downwards. Not that anyone in the room noticed that small shift of his manner; people had drifted too far away in a delirium of wine and money to see details like this.

But you saw it.

And he knew.

Hours of feast passed, and no one seemed to ever get tired. People drank, ate, and drank more and you stood in the shadow of a massive column and wondered whether your miserable new situation was miserable enough to finally lose your belief in the gods. You stayed not far from the emperors. Geta had made it clear to you that you leaving on your own was not wished; you had no other choice than remaining near him, there, where he could eye you. Just like a beautiful, beautiful statue.  

And so you did not dare move from this position, even though you wanted to. But everything in this new place mounted over you, from the massive walls to the presence of the emperors—there was no chance for you. You gladly accepted the role of a statue, standing among the people but being not seen for anything other than your beauty, everything else being forgotten about your presence.  

You had a pretty face, that’s what they have all said.

And just when you believed that your place in this night was not changing anymore and that you would be left alone once again, the whole attention of Geta suddenly shifted to you. It was just a small hand movement, barely noticeable, and yet it was a command you could not escape.

Again, you didn’t react right away, waited a couple of seconds too long, testing his patience, before taking slow and small steps towards his direction.  

And he waited. He waited until you reached him, until you were close enough to smell his scent. And without anything being able to prepare you for it, he grabbed your wrist in such a quick motion and dragged you down to him, that you stumbled helplessly and humiliated onto his lap. You bite your lips, suppressing a scream of shock.

“They say you have a pretty face, do you know that?“, Geta spoke with a soft voice.

He said it into your ear, he was that close. The tip of his nose ghosting over your rosy cheek let shivers run down your spine, which you desperately tried to push away—and failed.

“I‘ve heard of that,“ you cracked out. 

You were too overwhelmed by the demanding presence that made your blood run faster and robbed you of your last bit of confidence. Stiff like rough sandstone and holding onto his shoulders, you sat on Geta‘s legs, which were wrapped in the heaviest fabrics. You tried not to meet his gaze, holding your head still in one direction only, past his face.

“They are right.“

One jewel-covered hand stroked over your thigh, searching for a slit in your fabrics to finally feel your bare skin—to claim it. And something deep down in you, a small traitorous part of yours, only wished for this very moment, where your skin would be desecrated.

Geta cocked his head, and you heard the smirk in his voice when saying, “Why so silent? I would have expected you to be far more sharp-tongued.“

He wanted something from you. But he didn’t want it right away, because his hand suddenly left your leg, leaving a cold shiver for you, and he inhaled deeply the scent of your hair before pressing you off his lap into a standing position. Blushing deeply out of anger and… desire, you abruptly stood in front of him, having no idea of what you were supposed to do now.

Geta had had a goal to twist you, to turn you, to unsettle you, and he had reached it. There was something that entangled you about him, and you just did not know how you could escape this foolishness of yours.  

Now he was sitting in front of you, grinning victoriously, and spoke: “I will have you brought to a room, where you can wash yourself, and in an hour I will find you in my chambers.“

Then he left. Disappeared between the people. And you, left alone but not freed from the wolf, shivered like a rabbit that would very soon find itself caught in claws. And you damned Rome.

[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.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the pained peace treaty

fused with the foe, chapter one

a/n: oh wow, i have no idea how to introduce this beast of a story except to say hi, hello, welcome! i really hope you enjoy this story, as well as the rest of the trilogy, idk if i've ever gone as in depth and all out with any story as i have with these.

summary: “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, abusive father (like super bad. he is a garbage person), wedding, blood, injury

word count: 4813

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“Your majesty, I must warn you, if, gods forbid, our people come to discover the great lengths you’ve been willing to go in this disagreement over the past two decades, they might start an uprising. And if you keep going, then it’ll turn into a full-blown war and you know our kingdom wouldn’t be able to survive that, not with them. Our city’s walls may be high, high enough to keep out any beasts that may wander this far south, but it wouldn’t keep them out. You know better than most how people from Eflorr are. If you don’t wanna lose your crown, one way or another, then I’d strongly advise that we come up with some peace treaty.”

“I know, I know…” King Ivan leaned back in his gilded throne with a huff, the quality of his voice was as thin as his towering frame, “a trade I think should suffice.”

A different advisor then timidly pipped up, “but our mines ran cold ages ago, what could we possibly offer that would be satisfactory?”

Not lifting his cold gaze, the king stared at a fixed spot on the marble floor as he said, “I know one thing the king lacks that we may be able to provide for him… a wife.”

“A wife–,” both of the men’s eyes grew wide, “but do you mean–, your majesty, she is your only daughter, are you certain this is the fate you want her to have? Those people are barbaric! If one of the dangers that rule the north doesn’t get to her first, one of their citizens surely will. Sire, what if history repeats itself?”

“Then let it do so. In fact, perhaps this could have been her purpose all along and I just didn’t realise it. Couldn’t see past my own rage to grasp how useful she actually could be…”

Sharing a nervous glance, one of the advisors asked, “should we send for her? See if she agrees with the plans?”

“No, I’ll tell her when the time is right. Wouldn’t want her to do anything stupid and ruin the one good thing she could ever provide,” finally lifting his stony gaze, the king commanded, “make the arrangements, I’ll see to it that she doesn’t ruin it.” 

Deep within the opulent halls of the gilded palace, standing grand and safe behind Ingorn’s tall city walls, twisting up towards the clouds, up in a window in the western tower, there you sat. 

Book in your lap, you leaned back against the small pillow you’d propped behind you to make the wide windowsill more comfortable. Small paper butterflies hung from strings above and some dangled so low that the childhood craft that still decorated your window trickled the crown of your head. Flipping the page, your fingertips brushed down over the illustration that appeared in the agricultural tome you’d found in one of your brothers’ rooms. 

As long as you put it back before Angus returned then you’d probably be good. And if he were to somehow notice, then as long as he didn’t rat you out to your father then it would be alright. Both Angus and a few of the others that were closer to your age, Oliver and Francis respectively, were always a bit of a gamble whether or not they would do such a thing. They didn’t always have the same spirit as the eldest pair of your older brothers, Xavier and Callum. 

You missed them so much your heart ached. The older they got, the longer their diplomatic missions seemed to stretch out, making the quiet palace that much more lonely in your solitude. 

A knock then suddenly boomed at your door, causing you to jump edgily in your seat before you slammed the book shut and nervously stuffed it behind the firm pillow. 

“Come in!” you called out, swiftly straightening out your dress that had crumbled around your legs at the comfortable seat. As the door to your room slammed open, the figure that stood in it caught you by surprise, “Father–, oh, hello,” you straightened your posture that much further at his arrival. 

Skipping over any niceties, King Ivan simply stated, “you need to pack up your stuff.”

Your brows knitted into a fierce furrow, “what?”

“Not everything, of course,” he cast a cold glance around the room though didn’t take a step to enter it, “just the things you are particularly attached to.”

“I��m sorry, I don’t understand,” your head lightly shook from side to side, “where am I going?”

When his eyes finally gave you the time of day, it swiftly dropped to the floor as a heavy sigh flowed from his lips, “why do you have to be the spitting image of her…” the muttering was unfortunately just loud enough for your ears to catch. His disappointment was always just loud enough for your ears to catch. When he entered the room and you moved to get up, he swiftly said, “stay seated, Y/n,” before he planted himself next to you on the wide windowsill, “now, everything is already set into motion, so we don’t have time for any of your theatrics,” not looking you in the eye, he frostily told you, “you are to be married. A carriage has just arrived a few minutes ago to pick you up and transport you to Eflorr.”

“To Eflorr?” your gaze grew wide, “you wish for me to marry someone there?”

“Not just someone, you are to marry their king.”

“I–… I–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your rosy dress, “but father, you can’t–, I can’t go live with the people who killed mom.”

“We don’t know if they actually murdered her. But I do know that you did,” his glare locked upon you as he let himself seethe, “if you hadn’t been born then she’d still be alive,” the fact that the only thing he blamed more for his late wife’s untimely demise then the kingdom she’d perished in was you, remained a point that the sovereign had never been shy about sharing with you for as long as you could recall, “your duty is to protect and serve this land, this crown,” your eyes naturally fluttered up to gaze at the twisted gold balanced upon his head, “if you don’t go through with this, then those savages will come pillage and ruin your home. You are, regrettably, the very last hope this kingdom has of survival. You have no choice, Y/n. This marriage is the only thing that can stop a war we would never survive,” exhaling slowly, he then dominantly nodded in a concluding fashion, “pack your stuff, you have an hour.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as your bottom lip quivered, “an hour? But–, can’t we wait at least a few days before I leave? Can’t I get a chance to say goodbye to at least one of my brothers? None of them are home yet.”

Regret instantly washed over you as your father’s nostrils flared angrily. Seizing your arm in a bruising grip, he yanked you close as he hissed, “you listen, and you listen carefully, you little brat. You have been the bane of my existence ever since you took your first breath. You took away the love of my life. You don’t deserve a goodbye, you don’t deserve anything. Do you think I got a goodbye when your mother suddenly went into labour on that diplomatic mission? No. All I got was you. Not another son, but a living, breathing reminder of what I lost that day,” your eyes squeezed shut as your cheek tingled at the memory of his strikes, “now, be a good girl and go wet his prick, give him a few babies, do anything he’d fucking please, so that him and his barbaric army doesn’t come here and slaughter everything you know and love.”

“Your highness, are you cold?” the high-ranking warden sitting across from you in the carriage noticed the shiver that your body couldn’t seem to shake. 

Tearing your eyes off of the scenery along The Emerald Path that the narrow window granted you a view of, you glanced back at the warrior. The brown hair he had practically tied off at the base of his neck blossomed into a dark beard. A bare palm clasped over an inked one in his lap as you met his gaze and said, “no, I’m–…” in truth, you were scared, so scared that you were trembling like a leaf, but you couldn’t tell the foreign king’s advisor that, too much weighted on your shoulders, you couldn’t screw this up, “no,” glancing back out of the window, you only stared a moment at the sparse cottages that slowly came into view on the rolling hills before you turned your head again and let the nauseating nerves control your words, “pardon me, Barnes, is it?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Sir, how much further till we get there?” your quiet voice echoed within the carriage, “it’s just–, it’s been days.”

“Oh, not long at all,” he shook his head lightly, “actually,” the knight leaned forward in his seat and cast his glance outside, “if you look out the window now, right there,” a small smile tugged at his lips as his finger shot up to point, “that river, that means we’re getting close to Borün city.”

As the river then suddenly curved before the dirt road, the clomping hooves of the horses that hauled the coach resonated as they trotted over a stone bridge. 

Twisting your head, you glanced out to your right and spotted farmlands curve over the rolling hills that swiftly blossomed into thickets and towering flora you’d only assume was the southern perimeter of The Noll Woods. Books about this kingdom had been banned in your homeland for as long as you could remember, but even though you were essentially going in blind, you still weren’t completely ignorant when it came to the dangers that called that sprawling forest its home, not that you were an expert in the slightest, but your brothers had from time to time told you tales of the monsters who dominated in this part. From giant and twisted insect-like creatures, to mischievous pixies, to even the rare dragon, those stories had always been your favourite. Apart from the rare occasion where Callum would share stories with you about your mother. Being the eldest, he was the only one who truly remembered her. 

Instinctively, your fingers fluttered up to fiddle with the opalescent stone that hung from a chain around your neck. In the middle of the milky jewel was a small rune engraved into it. You had no idea what it meant, but your fingers had still traced the carving countless of times before as it had hung from your neck for as long as you could recall. It hadn’t been till you were a ways into your teens that you’d come to discover that it had belonged to your mother. 

Casting your glance out the other side as you passed a tall watchtower, behind the wide city stables unfolded a port town so quaint that it surprised you. Over the small valley of gabled roofs towered a central tree, and beyond all of that, the sparkle of the sea caught your eye, a sight you’d never beheld before, haven not only stemmed from a landlocked metropolis, but also not haven been permitted to leave your room as much as your heart had desired. 

“This is Eflorr?” you asked as the carriage began to roll up the winding path to the stone castle that loomed on the cliff, granting you a new view of how the river that you’d crossed slid through the city and spilt into the ocean.

“This is Eflorr, your highness,” the corners of his lips twitched at the sight of how wide your curious eyes were. 

“It’s–… it’s–…” your stare danced over the lush ivy that climbed the solid towers, “not what I expected…”

“What did you expect?”

Tearing your gaze away from the window, you blinked, “oh, I didn’t mean–,” suddenly worried that your shock had come out sounding rude, “I just–… I don’t know a lot about this land,” in the few tales you’d heard about this place, there had been a running gag that the people of Eflorr had lived so close to the dangerous beasts that called this part of the continent their home that they too had turned into monsters, “it’s just different than I imagined.” 

Ascending the jagged hill and passing through the front gate, it opened up into a wide courtyard before you felt the carriage finally roll to a stop. 

The wagon creaked gently as Barnes stepped out first, though when his boots were firmly on the cobblestone, his frame twisted as he reached an outstretched hand back for you to grasp in support of your own exit. Ever so apprehensively, you slid your own palm into his as your other twisted in your long skirts before you slipped out of the carriage. 

Letting go of his gasp, the soldier's low timbre washed over you as your head tilted back to take in the vast stronghold, “his majesty, unfortunately, couldn’t be here for your arrival as there was a bit of a dryad problem further up north he had to take care of,” you gaze tore away from the fort and fell upon him, “but I assure you he should be back in time for the wedding.”

“Oh, alright,” you breathed, unsure if that fact made you feel better or worse about the entire predicament.

“If you’d like, I can give you a brief tour of the castle,” he offered as he led you towards the main entrance into the castle proper, “or if you’re exhausted after the journey, then I can just show you directly up to your chambers.”

Offering him a polite smile, you nodded, “a tour would be lovely, thank you.”

He only briefly went over the buildings surrounding the courtyard you’d entered into, as they were mainly designed as barracks and various other facilities for the local wardens, though the horses that stuck their heads out of the royal stalls in the corner did catch your eye before you moved on inside. 

Barnes’ voice echoed in most of the chambers he showed you in the castle’s western wing. The vast stained-glass windows that were in the ballroom for instance took your breath away as you saw how the light streamed through them and warmed up the room with glittering little rays of colour. 

Behind the great halls, squeezed in between and connecting the two major parts of the fort, there you crossed through a much more quiet and lush courtyard. The pebble paths that curved around the central fountain too curled around various topiary bushes that were trimmed to perfection like living sculptures. 

Though as your guide showed you the eastern wing that crested over the foaming sea below, your curiosity got the better of you. 

“Hey, Barnes?”

Slowing his leisurely stride, he tilted his head slightly, “yes, your highness?”

“What are dryads?” your brows knit lightly together, “you mentioned there was a problem with them, but what are they?”

“You don’t know?” he glanced over at you, clearly trying to mask his surprise as you shook your head, “oh, well, they are forest spirits, nymphs,” he explained as you roamed deeper down a broad hallway on the second floor, passing many private chambers both to your right and your left, “it’s not uncommon for them to wander and bother the folks who live further up the coast. Have you never encountered one? They are not as uncommon in Obelón as most of the other creatures that thrive this far north.”

“No, I’ve never seen one…” you shook your head as a low sigh flowed from your lips, “never really seen anything…”

“Not much of an outdoorsy person?” he guessed in a light-hearted tone. 

Forcing a smile, you replied, “you could say that…” as you hadn’t been allowed to be one even if you wanted to. Passing a set of double doors that stood wide open, the sight inside made you halt your steps, “is this the library?”

Shadowing you as your feet crossed the threshold, he nodded, “yes, it is,” then pointed back over his shoulder, “and your quarters are right down that hall.”

Numerous grand bookcases stood lined up all the way down to where a tall window allowed the sunlight in and let it stream through the rows. 

“Can I–… would it be alright if I read some of them?” 

“Of course, your highness.” 

“Would you mind showing me which ones I’m allowed to read?” you briefly peeked back at him as a bubble of anxiety fluttered in your belly, “I don’t wanna accidentally read something that I’m not allowed to.”

Barnes then blinked back at you a moment before he uttered, “your highness, you can read each and every one of them if you’d like. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to read whatever you wish? They are yours after all, or will be after the wedding,” the corners of your lips twitched upwards as he then asked, “would you like to peruse the titles now or do you want to see your chambers?”

“Oh, uhm,” you tore your gaze away from the tomes and turned back, “I’ll look later.”

“Alright,” he nodded, extending his inked arm to show you the way. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open to the room at the very end of the hall, his voice rang out once more, “this is the peacock suite,” following him inside, he settled to a stop near the exit for you to explore the space on your own, “you can, of course, change anything you’d like for it to match your taste.”

“Thank you,” you breathed as you slowly made your way deeper into the chamber. It was gently divided with a more formal area towards the front where both tufted couches and a crackling fireplace stood, as well as a set of doors that opened up to a quaint balcony. Towards the left, under a swirling archway, twisted a broad canopy bed up towards the tall ceilings, warm with blankets and furs, and in the corner, by a breezy partition, stood a deep cobber bathtub.

Haven not noticed that he’d moved, you then heard as Barnes creaked the doors to a close, “if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

With a loud creak, the heavy double doors opened before you and revealed the grand hall. As soft music gushed out, you nearly didn’t recognise the space from your tour the other day as it was now decorated with vibrant flowers and flowing banners that dropped down from the high ceilings above, as well as being completely packed with a swarm of people. A thin path parted the giddy crowd right down the middle towards the opposing grand door that guards opened simultaneously to yours. 

A shaky breath filled your lungs as you stared at the man crossing over the threshold. The flickering candlelight caught the honeyed shine of the locks that came down to tickle the nape of his neck. A bit darker, his short beard was full and warmed up the bottom half of his gruff features. He sure looked like a man who could slay a kraken with his bare fists, as the soft fur cloak that draped over his shoulders did not conceal his bulky physic one bit. The neckline of his indigo tunic stretched low enough for you to see the concave of his fuzzy chest and the impressive battle scars that broke up the rippling flesh. 

You’d seen the portrait of the king that hung in the hallway that stretched up towards the throne room, but to see him before your very eyes, in flesh and blood and not precise paint, was something else entirely. 

The long and embroidered train of the blue silk kirtle you wore dragged across the store floor behind you as both you and the monarch slowly stepped into the chamber to join in the very middle. 

The enchanting music stopped as you reached one another and the parted paths to either exit slowly closed as the crowd gathered and enclosed around the sacred vow that was about to ensue. 

Parting the sea of people like a divine force, an elderly woman, with a braided grey mane so long that it hit the floor, stepped up beside the both of you. 

“People of Eflorr,” the crone’s calm voice boomed, “today marks a day of unity, a day of peace, and most of all a day of love. Like a seed planted in the soil, tonight we will all witness this relationship blossom and go on the journey of growing into a magnificent tree, with roots strong enough to endure any storm, to propagate new seedlings that will watch over and shade our kingdom when yours have fallen.” 

Looking to the king, she handed him a small dagger from her belt and spoke, “blade across skin,” and he reached out for your right hand, “strike out your seedling’s love line,” your breath hitched as you felt him slice the top of your palm. Crimson blood trickled down onto his own hand as yours rested atop it, “and claim it as your own,” he flipped the blade around and handed it to you, before presenting you his own palm, open in yours. He didn’t even blink as you hesitantly pierced the calloused skin and traced the line already adoring his broad palm, “weave your lines together, so they become the same,” he then moved to clasp your hands together, his wide grip engulfed yours completely. Your teeth sank into just the faintest bit of your bottom lip at the fresh sting of your wound as it bled into his, “and may this scar serve you as a reminder, of the vow you made on this momentous day.” 

And as the last of the matron's words flowed from her lips so did the roar of celebration that erupted throughout the crowd as the festivities of the night bloomed at an instant.

The feast had been nothing short of immaculate. Countless of dishes had been spread out on the crowded banquet tables ranging from the savoury braised legumes to the sweet and shiny pies. It was an impossible task to try and taste every one of them, but an excuse you still used to stay glued to your seat and not get up and mingle with the boisterous gathering of strangers. 

As a stark contrast, you thought you only noticed the king take two bites before he rose to greet some latecomers who had arrived. Laughing and chatting with the sea of people, he hadn’t offered you a single word, barely even a brief glance the whole night. Though your gaze still followed him from your seat up at the high table as he moved through the crowd like they were all his dearest friends. 

When the moon had floated up to be high in the sky, clearly visible on the other side of the stained glass, your head had dropped down into a propped-up palm as a deep yawn forced its way out of your frame. 

“Are you tired, your majesty?” a deep timbre suddenly found your ears, a specific tone that caused your spine to straighten out at once. 

Whipping your head to your right, your weary eyes grew wide as you saw the king again at his seat, “no, I’m alright,” you hastily coughed out, “I’m so sorry for behaving like that in your presence. This party is exquisite.” 

“It’s alright, you can yawn,” you suddenly felt the need to look away now that his ocean stare was finally fixed upon you, “it’s late, I was about to retire for the night as well, so I can only imagine how you must feel. If you’d like, I could escort you back to your chambers. I’m not sure how familiar you’ve become with the castle since you’ve arrived, but even I can still get lost when the corridors are this dark and I’ve indulged in perhaps one too many goblets of wine.”

A flutter of nauseating nerves rushed within your belly, but even so, you still pushed through and forced a smile, “if that’s what the king desires, then sure, you can escort me.”

It was your wedding night. You knew what was about to happen. 

Or, actually, you didn’t quite know what the marital act entailed, but you were sure a man such as Steve had enough of an understanding to take charge. All you knew was what little you’d been told. To strip down naked, not whine or scream, and do as he tells you. 

The soaring butterflies within you only grew more ferocious as you followed his long stride throughout the castle. Out of the ballroom and through a cold stone hallway, when you crossed the bridge that linked the two wings over a part of the cliff that descended dramatically, you nearly doubled over the parapet to empty your stomach over the town of Borün that blossomed below. 

But with a shaky intake of breath, your fist closed around the silk of your skirt as you settled yourself and forced your feet to keep moving. Even as you passed the threshold into the eastern part of the castle, you still shadowed the monarch up the many steps until his broad palm held the door to your chambers open for you to enter. 

The fire had been lit while you were gone, and the room was encased in the warm glow. 

“Did, uh…” you heard the door close behind you as the king attempted a bit of small talk, “did you have a nice time tonight?” 

“I did, your majesty,” you kept your answer brief out of fear that he’d hear the tremble to your tone. 

Slowly turning his back to you, his gaze washed over the room, “are you pleased with your bed chambers?” he settled to face the balcony, the door slightly ajar to let the night breeze seep through and rustle the sheer curtains, “because if you don’t like it, if you’d rather have a view of the town then the sea, then that’s an easy problem to fix.” 

“I think the view is just fine from here, but thank you,” you answered politely as you gathered up the last bit of your courage and reached back to undo the long row of buttons that went down the spine of the light blue dress. 

When the silky garment dropped to the floor, the quiet rustle was enough to draw the king’s attention.

First offering you just a quick glance over his shoulder, he then swiftly whirled around completely, “what are you doing?”

Weaving your fingers in the thin material of your chemise, you blinked back at his stunned features, “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?” sure that he could already see everything through the sheer, white fabric. 

His feet didn’t move as he asked, “what are trying to do?” before he averted his gaze to the stone floor. 

“Well,” you uttered quietly, “it’s our wedding night.”

“Oh…” was all he breathed. 

“To be transparent, I’m actually not quite sure what’s to happen, but I do know it’s something,” reaching up, you took the gold and twisted circlet, that crowned your head, off and carefully sat it down on the side table to your left, “I don’t know the details, I just know that I should strip down. Do you know what we’re supposed to do?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, “yes I do, but, your majesty, please, keep your clothes on,” his gaze flickered back to you as you slowly began to hike up the last layer. 

“Why?” your fingers froze, “isn’t it a tradition here for us to–”

“Well, yes, but–…” he let out a strained sigh before slowly stating, “I’m gonna go.” 

A chill crawled up your skin, “…oh, I see…” you uttered quietly as he crossed the room, “did I do something wrong?”

Halting in the doorway as he ripped it open, “no, you–…” but the rest of his words crumbled as his gaze settled upon you one last time, instead letting a low sigh flow from his lungs, “sleep well,” and added nearly subconsciously just before the door slammed shut, “goodnight, dove.”

Even though a wave of relief washed over you, a sting of hurt also followed suit as the king left. 

Had you done something wrong, or did he just find you that repellent, that hideous, that he refused to perform his marital duties?

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[lu-dao-writes]

A Hard Pill to Swallow

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: Feng Xin and Mu Qing have always been at each other’s throats, and you’ve dealt with it, but now you can’t.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Spoilers for vol 2, gn!reader, reader is a martial god who served XL, mentioned blood and injury and death, arguing (MQ & FX), ambiguous relationships and ending.

𝘼/𝙉 The ending is open ended, but I like to think it’s Jun Wu that visits you, hehe, cause that man is sus. But hope you enjoy. I’ve been unable to do much lol, but I managed to do this while sick. Also!! If anyone finds and gets the reference I used, I fucking love you fr🤣💕. ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

You were the first to arrive at Xiè Lián’s recently erected palace, mind still reeling from the meeting that occurred an hour ago.

Xiè Lián had admitted to a huge crime, claiming he was the one that slaughtered Láng Qiānqiū’s family during the Gilded Banquet.

Xiè Lián, who was nothing but righteous and good, killed the monarchy of Yǒng'ān because he “couldn’t stand to see them on the throne”.

Yeah, you don’t believe that. Not one bit.

Xiè Lián greets you at the door looking a little disheveled, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his non-injured arm. You wince at the blood and at your foolishness for forgetting to bring something to alleviate it.

“Oh, hello,” Xiè Lián offers bashfully.

“Ā-Lián,” you sigh, reaching out to grasp his sleeve, and he grips yours before allowing you inside. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, I-I just needed to see you.”

Xiè Lián waves off your apology with a smile, sitting down. “Don’t worry it doesn’t even hurt. Jūn Wú did enough.”

“But—.”

The doors open and light footsteps come towards you and Xiè Lián, Mù Qíng soon appearing. His dark eyes meet yours before cutting to Xiè Lián, a scoff leaving his lips. “What? Expecting Fēng Xìn? As if.”

“Mù Qíng,” you start warily.

“What are you doing here?” Xiè Lián chimes in softly.

“The emperor detained you in your little palace. He said His Highness Tài Huá couldn’t come, but I’m not him,” Mù Qíng replies flippantly, digging into his sleeve. He fishes out a small porcelain bottle and tosses it to Xiè Lián. “It’s pitiful watching you sling that bloody arm of yours. Use it or don’t, but no one else is going to help you.”

Mù Qíng has a little smirk on his face, reminding you of a pit viper. It makes you frown disapprovingly, but Xiè Lián doesn’t acknowledge his attitude, and instead he opens the bottle and watches as the medicine does it’s work.

“So did you really slaughter the royal family? How’d you do it?”

“Mù Qíng!?” you exclaim, appalled by his inappropriate excitement and questioning.

“What are you doing here?” Fēng Xìn’s naturally boisterous voice startles them all, but Mù Qíng’s shock turns into something more ugly, disdain washing over his morbid excitement.

“I’m a guest here like you and anyone else is. Last I checked this isn’t your palace.”

Fēng Xìn glowers at him before briefly making eye contact with you before approaching Xiè Lián, his face softening. “Your Highness, what you said at the Palace of Divine Might-.”

“Yes,” Xiè Lián cuts in softly, finality in his voice and expression. “I killed them.”

Fēng Xìn pales along with you, and Mù Qíng looks briefly startled before going for Fēng Xìn again.

“What’s that expression for? Don’t make me laugh.”

You sigh and rub at your temples. “You guys-.”

“It’s not for or about you! Get lost!”

Mù Qíng looks excited again. “That is rich coming from you! As if you’re so loyal; how long did you stay around for again?”

Fēng Xìn grits his teeth, his fists tightening at his sides as a fire is lit ablaze in his eyes.

Xiè Lián fiddles with his his sleeves anxiously, a slight look of anguish on his face. “Please you two, let’s not talk about this right now..”

You on the other hand, typically the calm one and their mediator, are not feeling the aster. Your pulse is thrumming and frustration begins to bubble in your belly. “Okay, stop this right now,” you demand.

But of course yours and Xiè Lián’s pleading goes unheard.

Mù Qíng takes a step closer, finger poking at Fēng Xìn’s chest. “Some say you left because you couldn’t stand to see your former master fall from grace. Tch, such a pretty excuse, but we all know the real reason. You just couldn’t stand to spend the rest of your days cleaning after a broken man!”

“You shut your fucking mouth!” Fēng Xìn practically roars, swinging his fist at Mù Qíng, hitting the delicate looking man square in the cheek, causing him to stumble back into the cabinet, holding his cheek as he glares daggers through his curtain of dark tresses.

You and Xiè Lián gape, the latter standing up, sending his chair backwards.

“Fēng Xìn, Mù Qíng, stop!”

“You think everyone is as vile as you, but I don’t take joy in watching him suffer!” Fēng Xìn snaps, throwing another punch, but Mù Qíng dodges and smashes his own fist into Fēng Xìn’s face.

“Enough!” you exclaimed, only to be ignored and the two to ruthlessly attack one another, breaking a few pieces of furniture.

You escort Xiè Lián out safely before trying to break the other two up from their brawl, but it ends up with you getting shoved aside aggressively by Mù Qíng.

Just as your ass hits the floor, the main doors to Xiānlè Palace opens and a swarm of deathly spirit butterflies come inside, fluttering past Xiè Lián and heading straight for you, Mù Qíng, and Fēng Xìn. You’re yanked behind Mù Qíng as he and Fēng Xìn use a shield to protect themselves, and you from the swarm.

But during this you’re frozen, appalled that you were just shoved by someone you’ve been close to since before you ascended. You watch as Xiè Lián doesn’t put up a fight with Huā Chéng, who steals him away.

You say nothing as chaos goes down in the communication array, only eventually piping up in your private communication array with Xiè Lián. “Ā-Lián…?”

“Ā-(Y/N)?”

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I promise.”

You believe him this time, especially as he looks so comfortable with Huā Chéng beside him. You bravely look at the Ghost King. “Keep him safe, please.”

Huā Chéng acknowledges you with an assured little smirk and a nod before he and Xiè Lián both disappear.

Although Huā Chéng is feared, you’ve always trusted Xiè Lián for the most part.

Fēng Xìn and Mù Qíng are still arguing with one another, their voices infuriating you.

“Why are you lying and saying he escaped!? We watched Huā Chéng kidnap him!”

“Is it really kidnapping if he didn’t put up a struggle?” Mù Qíng snaps dismissively. “Get off my ass!”

“You bast-!”

“Enough!” you shout. “Stop it! Just stop it! I’ve had enough!”

The two looked at you with bewilderment, and in return you gave them a vicious stare, eyes stinging slightly as your fists trembled at your sides. “Both of you are so fucking selfish, you know that? First you fight in front of His Highness and bring up your issues you either have with yourselves or each other, wrecking his palace in your brawl, and you disrespect his feelings, as well as mine, when we both asked you to stop! You’re both so wrapped up in yourselves and each other that I’m sick of it!”

“We-!”

“I-!”

“Shut up! I’m done! Done hearing both of you! Get over yourselves! If you want to actually look for him, then do it! Don’t ask me to meditate your petty arguments anymore!”

It’s quiet for a moment before you start hearing other voices.

“I’ve never heard General Qiáng Yǒngmíng get so angry before…”

“Someone finally told those two to shut up..”

“Poor General Qiáng Yǒngmíng. Dealing with those two for this long and finally snapping.”

You feel mild embarrassment as you realize you broadcasted your rant in the communication array, but maybe some humiliation is what these two need, but you doubt it’ll do much. With a huff, you make your exit and ignore Fēng Xìn’s pleas, heading to your palace to hide away.

“Ā-(Y/n), thank you,” you hear Xiè Lián murmur, sounding very faint now.

“Anything for you, Ā-Lián,” you reply, falling into your bed, just as your palace doors open.

[onlyseokmins]

ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.    

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.    

Cold.    

Lonely.    

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.    

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged. 

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage. 

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge. 

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present. 

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes." 

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand. 

Was that love? 

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice. 

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes." 

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed. 

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption. 

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his. 

And still, he waits. 

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?" 

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright." 

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too." 

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to." 

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself. 

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him. 

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips 

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

[lightdancer1]

Dinah of Domdaniel sat in a chair, munching on bread dipped in olive oil. It was her fate to vanquish the terror that stalked the stars called the Great Azar, the God on the Gilded Throne, the Undying Flame. She knew it. The strange bit was that so many people kept seeking after her. The angels Marusarel, Sachiel, and that strange blind elf. Various lords of Pandaemonium and even a few of the more unpleasant cosmic entities that clustered at the highest level.

Even a few of these people, these strange armored beings in armor that looked like metal woven into a flayed hide. Part of her was sitting and eating, the rest of her was watching a confrontation. There was another being, in silver armor, flying with light erupting from her visor as the shimmering distortion broke.

She could have ended the fight, but she couldn't help but admire this Vishori Heshatani. There was something about her that drew the eye, the speed, the raw power, the dynamic flexibility. Her gaze lingered on her motions, the sleek strength and the brute force that, with the shield shattered moved and struck two solid blows that cracked the armor, leaving a frightened Xenten on his knees, his arms splitting to six limbs, a shimmering distortion trying to form and then a sense of Presence and the distortion cracked again.

Vishori removed her helm and she saw that dark green face with its long black stripes, the beautiful tips of her ears, the casual contempt in her expression and that dripped into her words.

She spoke in an aristocratic accent and the fire in her eyes blazed and then there was nothing but a pile of ashes. Dinah stood up then and walked toward her. The armored being stood still then, a strange look in her eyes. Bemusement-sorrow-regret-awe-horror-denial. She could feel the emotions like a wave but she was Urhalzantrani and she was of Sepharad and the power that wafted out was as nothing to her even in youth.

For a moment her hand touched her cheek and she tilted her head as the alien stood still in front of her.

What is it that so many people fear?

She simply looked at her with regret and closed her eyes and vanished in a shimmering distortion like water skipped across a stone.

You are at the center of a time traveling war. For every assassin sent back to the past to murder you, another warrior is sent to protect you and kill the assassin before they get a chance. As the bodies pile up, you still don’t have the slightest clue why you’re so important to these people.

[novaursa]

My Blood And Bone

- Summary: There were many times when Maegor tried to win your favor, before they locked you away. And he never forgot their insolence.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: These events happen before Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

- A/N: This was requested by @oxymakestheworldgoround , so here is more Maegor. 🙂

Aegonfort was a cage gilded in gold, its walls bearing witness to the secrets and treachery that brewed within. It was here, beneath the shadows of the Iron Throne, that your uncle's gaze followed you, the weight of his presence suffocating and inescapable. He had always been there, lingering in the periphery, his stormy eyes dark with something unspoken, something forbidden.

You were Y/N Targaryen, second daughter of King Aenys I and Queen Alyssa Velaryon, a jewel in the crown that your father held with trembling hands. But jewels were meant to be coveted, and Maegor Targaryen was not a man content to admire from afar. He was fire and fury, a beast unchained, and you were the treasure he sought to claim, no matter the cost.

It began with a gift, a blade forged in the fires of Dragonstone, its steel as dark as his intentions. “For you, niece,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the sword’s hilt pressing against your palm. “To keep you safe.”

Your father had frowned at the sight, his unease palpable. “She is a princess, not a warrior, brother,” he had said, his tone edged with the discomfort of a man who knew his words were futile. But Maegor’s smile was sharp, a predator’s smile.

“A princess should know how to defend herself, should she not?” His gaze flickered to you then, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. “It would be a shame for her to be unprepared should danger arise.”

The court whispered, of course. They always did. Maegor’s infatuation was no secret, nor was the growing tension between him and your father. But it was Visenya, the Dowager Queen, who saw what others chose to ignore. She watched with the keen eyes of a dragon, her silence a tacit approval of her son’s desire, for she, too, believed in the old ways, in the purity of Valyrian blood.

When Maegor took you riding on Balerion, the Black Dread, it was not a request but a command. “Come, niece,” he had said, his hand outstretched, the great dragon’s scales glistening like obsidian beneath the sun. “Let me show you the sky.”

You hesitated, your father’s warning echoing in your ears, but the defiance in Maegor’s gaze was irresistible. You took his hand, and the world fell away beneath you, the wind whipping your hair as the dragon soared higher and higher. His arms encircled you, strong and unyielding, and for a moment, you felt as though you were truly flying, free from the chains that bound you.

But Maegor was not content with mere flights of fancy. He sought to claim you in ways that words could not express, his touches lingering, his gaze possessive. When he found you alone in the godswood, your fingers trailing through the cool waters of the pond, his presence was a shadow that loomed over you, heavy and demanding.

“You should not be out here alone, niece,” he said, his voice a growl that sent shivers down your spine. “The court is full of vipers.”

You looked up at him, your defiance flickering like a flame. “And what are you, Uncle, if not the greatest viper of all?”

His laughter was dark, a sound that resonated in your bones. “Perhaps,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “But I am a viper who would kill for you, who would burn the world to keep you safe.”

Your heart pounded, your breath catching as his fingers trailed down your neck, a whisper of a touch that spoke of desires long suppressed. “You are wed, Uncle. The gods forbid such thoughts.”

“The gods,” he spat, his eyes blazing with fury, “have never cared for me, nor I for them. They saddled me with a barren bride, denied me the one thing I desire most. Why should I bow to them now?”

His words were blasphemy, and yet there was a truth in them, a fire that kindled something dangerous within you. But before you could speak, before you could give voice to the storm raging inside you, your father’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Maegor!”

King Aenys stood at the edge of the grove, his face pale with anger, his hands trembling. “I will not allow this,” he said, his voice shaking with the force of his will. “You will not defile my daughter, my blood, with your twisted desires.”

Maegor’s eyes narrowed, the cold fury in them a stark contrast to the heat of his words. “You think you can keep her from me, brother? You think your weak words and weaker will can stand against what is meant to be?”

“She is not meant for you!” Aenys’s voice cracked, the desperation in it ringing clear. “She is a child, my child. You will leave her be, or I will see you banished, see you—”

“See me what, Aenys?” Maegor stepped forward, his presence towering, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “See me banished again, as you did before? Send me away and hope that will be enough to keep her from me?”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Your heart raced, your eyes darting between your father and your uncle, caught in the tempest of their rage.

“You will leave her be,” Aenys said at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Or I will see you destroyed, brother or not.”

For a long moment, Maegor said nothing, his gaze locked on you, the intensity of it searing into your soul. Then, slowly, he inclined his head, a mocking smile twisting his lips.

“As you command, my king.” The words dripped with venom, but he turned away, the promise of something dark and dangerous lingering in the air as he left.

Your father sagged, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

You could only nod, the ache in your chest a hollow, aching thing. For in that moment, you knew that Maegor Targaryen was not a man who could be denied forever. He was fire, and fire would always find a way to consume what it desired most.

Aegonfort buzzed with the vibrant energy of your name day celebrations, a festival of color and laughter. Musicians played lively tunes, their melodies weaving through the air, while courtiers and lords offered their congratulations and admiration. It was a day meant for joy, for the lavish display of courtly grandeur, but beneath the surface, tension simmered, a crack in the facade.

King Aenys, your father, had spared no expense in organizing the grand hunt in your honor. Noblemen mounted their steeds, hounds barked eagerly, and the banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the breeze as the hunt began in earnest. You stood beside your mother, Queen Alyssa, her smile warm but her eyes watchful, ever the vigilant protector.

Yet it was not the festive cheer that held your attention; it was the shadow that loomed on the edges of the gathering, the one presence that seemed to darken the day’s radiance. Maegor, your uncle, clad in black armor that gleamed ominously under the sun, was a brooding storm amidst the celebration. His gaze lingered on you, piercing and unrelenting, and it took all your composure to return his stare with a steady, if uncertain, gaze.

He had barely participated in the hunt itself, choosing instead to ride apart from the others, his attention fixed on something far more personal. You could feel it, that coiled tension within him, the intent that hummed like a drawn bowstring. And then he was gone, vanished into the woods, leaving a wake of unease behind him.

Hours passed, and the hunt returned, triumphant. Stags and boars were brought forth, the prizes of the chase, their bodies laid at the king’s feet as an offering to your honor. Applause rang out, voices cheering, but the absence of Maegor’s dark figure loomed over the festivities like a shadow.

Then, like a harbinger of doom, he appeared.

He rode into the courtyard, alone, his horse’s flanks lathered in sweat. Draped over the saddle, still warm and bleeding, was the heart of a great stag, its size and weight staggering. The sight drew gasps from the crowd, the murmurs of celebration turning to hushed whispers of shock and awe.

“For you, niece,” he said, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. He dismounted, lifting the bloody trophy with a strength that seemed almost inhuman. “A gift, to honor your name day.”

The heart, dark and glistening, dripped blood onto the pristine stones of the courtyard as he carried it to you. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes locked on the macabre offering. It was a brutal, savage gift, one that spoke of conquest and possession, of a man willing to tear the heart from the chest of a beast to lay it at your feet.

Queen Alyssa was the first to react, her face paling as she stepped forward, her voice tight with barely concealed horror. “Maegor, what is this madness?”

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on you, a challenge in his eyes. “A stag’s heart, the very symbol of life and power. To hold it in your hands is to understand what it means to conquer, to take what you desire and make it your own.”

Your hands shook as you reached out, hesitating before you touched the still-warm flesh, the blood staining your fingers. You understood the meaning, the dark symbolism of his gift. He was offering you more than a bloody trophy; he was offering his loyalty, his devotion, his savage, unyielding heart.

But your father, King Aenys, would not have it.

“Enough!” His voice cracked like a whip, the command echoing off the stone walls. He stepped forward, his face twisted with fury and disgust. “This is an insult, Maegor! A desecration of my daughter’s name day! How dare you bring such… such barbarity into my court?”

Maegor’s lips curled into a mocking smile, his gaze never wavering from yours. “An insult, brother? This is a gift, a token of my esteem. Or have you forgotten what it means to be Targaryen, to embrace the fire and blood of our heritage?”

“Do not twist our words to justify your depravity!” Alyssa’s voice trembled with rage, her hand gripping your arm as if to shield you from the grotesque spectacle. “This is not the way of things, not in our family, not in our court.”

“And what is our way, then?” Maegor’s voice was a low snarl, the barely restrained fury in it sending a shiver down your spine. “To bow and scrape before the whims of men who do not understand us? To deny the bond that is ours by right of blood, of fire?”

Aenys stepped between you and Maegor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the gesture more symbolic than threatening. “You will cease this, Maegor. You will leave her be. She is not yours to claim, not now, not ever.”

The air crackled with dread, the crowd holding its breath as the brothers faced each other, the king and the warrior, blood against blood. For a moment, you feared that Maegor might strike, that his rage would explode into violence right there in the courtyard, but then he laughed, a sound devoid of humor, harsh and cold.

“You are a fool, Aenys,” he said, his voice thick with disdain. “You think you can keep her from me, lock her away, and all will be well? She is not a prize to be hidden, not a thing to be kept on a shelf. She is Targaryen, as am I, and we are meant for more than this.”

“Enough!” Aenys roared once more, his face flushed with anger. “You will leave this place, Maegor. Leave now, or I will have you thrown out. I will not tolerate your madness, not on this day, not ever again.”

For a long, tense moment, Maegor stood still, his gaze flickering to you one last time, his eyes dark with something raw and terrible. Then, with a slow, mocking bow, he turned and mounted his horse, the bloody heart still clutched in his hand.

“As you command, brother,” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “But remember this: I do not forget. I do not forgive.”

And with that, he spurred his horse and rode out of the courtyard, the sound of hooves striking against stone fading into the distance. You watched him go, your heart heavy with a mixture of fear and something you dared not name, the blood on your hands drying as the echoes of the argument lingered in the stillness.

It was the last time you saw him before everything changed, before you were spirited away to Dragonstone, a prisoner in all but name, and Maegor was exiled to the cold, distant lands of Essos. The heart of the stag, the symbol of his twisted devotion, haunted your dreams for years to come, a reminder of what had been offered, and what had been lost.

[quinnophile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐈

pairing. emperor Geta x original character

description. In the heart of Rome, two brothers rule an empire on the edge of chaos. As Caracalla's mind continues to derail, Geta shoulders a responsibility as heavy as the throne itself.

When Diana, a mysterious stranger, visits the emperors' General, everything begins to shift. To Caracalla, she is a symbol of divine favour. To Geta, she is a woman who awakens feelings he's long buried beneath duty.

As alliances strain and desires clash, Diana becomes the key to the empire's future… and to the hidden desires of a man torn between love and responsibility. In a world where power reigns supreme, can trust and passion survive, or will their hunt for salvation be the downfall of them all?

warnings. violence, misogyny, infidelity, forced proximity, discussions of producing an heir, mental/physical abuse, forced marriage

word count. 1.3K

notes. I am supposed to be focusing on my assignments right now... whoops

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The air in the council chamber was heavy, the torches on the walls casting flickering shadows over the assembled counsellors. The room was grand, it's towering black columns intricately adorned with golden embellishments. Statues of the gods and of past rulers leered down at the subjects in the room, commanding a presence of seriousness. Stood aside his throne at the head of the room, Geta held a carefully neutral expression as he listened to the counsel's measured words. Beside him, sprawled in his throne with clear disinterest, was Caracalla.

Caracalla's fingers tapped against the gilded armrest, the sharp, repetitive sounds of his nails clinking against the stone filling the silence between their conversations. The counsellors exchanged wary glances among themselves, clearly feeling unnerved by the situation.

"Is there anything of actual importance to discuss?" Caracalla drawled, irritation clearly tinging his words. "Or are we to sit here all day listening to dull debates of imports?"

Geta shot his brother a sidelong glance, his lips almost twitching into a smile if he weren't so tired. "Patience, brother. The greatness of Rome must be built on 'dull debates' such as these."

Caracalla groaned, theatrically so, as he pushed himself up off of his throne. "Rome's greatness is built on action, brother, not on endless talk." He turned to look at the room, seeing all eyes on him as they waited with bated breaths. He rolled his eyes, gently grabbing Geta's shoulder and speaking directly to him. "If you don't need me, I'll take my leave. Perhaps Dondas will provide better entertainment than this drudgery."

Before Geta could respond, Caracalla turned and strode towards the exit, his crimson cloak sweeping behind him. "If you have something interesting to say, do send for me." He waved dismissively before disappearing past the arched doorway.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint shuffling sounds from the guards outside resuming their positions. Geta exhaled softly, dropping himself onto his throne and leaning back comfortably against it.

"Well," he said dryly, "if there is nothing left to discuss..."

The sound of shuffling and the scrolls being gathered filled the room as the council rose from their seats, the meeting clearly having been dismissed. As they murmured amongst themselves, the chief counsellor hesitated, casting a careful glance towards the doorway in which Caracalla exited, then towards Geta.

"Emperor," he said quietly, his tone deliberate. Geta's eyes flickered towards the older man. "Might we have a moment of your time... privately?"

Geta's brow arched in intrigue. "Privately?" He leaned forward, his hands clasping together. "I assume this is a more pressing matter than grain shipments and repairs?"

"It is indeed." The counsellor nodded, his expression cautious as a few other elderly members circled beside him. "May we speak plainly?"

Geta waited for the other men to leave, sending a dangerous look to any who seemed curious in this new conversation. Once only they remained, Geta sent the chief counsellor a curt nod. "Proceed."

The chief, in response, exchanged a glance with his colleagues before continuing. "It's the matter of succession, Emperor. I know it is a delicate subject, but one must address it for the stability of Rome."

Geta fiddled with the rings on his fingers. "Succession." His father's ring weighed heavy on his index finger, the family crest gleaming under the torchlight. "I assume you mean the matter of securing an heir."

"Yes," the counsellor confirmed, awaiting an angered reaction. Geta continued to look down upon his crest.

"We have spoken of such matters before," his tone was mundane, "I do not see what has changed for it to come up again so soon."

"Your brother, Emperor Caracalla" The chief spoke quickly, "He has his strengths... but his temperament is becoming unpredictable." He glanced between his fellow men, who all stood quietly at his statement. "Rome cannot afford uncertainty in its future."

The words hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall. Geta's gaze flicked from his hands to the counsellors, his expression cold yet amused. "You're suggesting my brother is now unfit for this responsibility?"

The chief stiffened, his expression showing his unease. "His devotion to Rome is unquestionable. But his priorities do not align with what is necessary for the stability of the empire."

The sound of murmurs filled the quiet space, the counsellors agreeing, yet none dared to meet Geta's eyes directly.

Geta sat back, folding his hands in his lap. The counsellors flinched as he finally spoke. "Your loyalty to Rome is admirable, as is your concern for its future." His voice was calm, almost lazy. "But let me remind you, my brother is the emperor." The men stood back as Geta rose quickly from his throne, his figure looming over their feeble bodies. "His strength is Rome's strength, and to doubt him is to doubt the gods who placed him on the throne."

They shifted uncomfortably, yet still no challenge arose.

"That said," Geta continued, his tone hardening slightly "I understand your concerns. And I will address them. But this is not a discussion to be had at my brother's expense." The counsellors murmured in agreement amongst themselves. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes emperor!" They chanted in unison. The chief counsellor bowed his head, the others following suit.

"Good." Geta held his gold and crimson cloak as he turned away, "Then we are finished here."

~~~

In the imperial gardens, Caracalla was pacing restlessly. Dondas, his pet monkey, was darting between the hedges, little chirps of amusement sounding from it's tiny mouth as it followed him. Caracalla's movements were erratic, his hands gesturing animatedly as though in an argument. He finally came to a stop as Dondas reached out for something, causing him to chuckle as he pulled a fig off a nearby tree.

"Dondas," Caracalla spoke animatedly, breaking off a piece of the fruit and holding it out to his friend, "You are the only one in this entire empire who truly understands me."

Geta, who had been watching from a distance, dismissed the guards that were standing close by.

"Talking to yourself?" Geta called out as he approached.

Caracalla spun on his heel, a manic grin splitting his face. "Of course not brother... Have the dreary old men finally stopped talking?"

Geta observed as Dondas scrambled for more of the fruit, his brother happily breaking off more pieces and chucking it towards the monkey.

"They have," he started, folding his arms. "Though they again brought concerns of heirs and stability."

Caracalla snorted. "Concerns? Stability? Have we not given them enough victories to secure the empire?"

"They want assurance-"

"They mean to control!" Caracalla stiffened, his wrist flickering with anger as he tossed the pieces of fruit to the floor.

"It is more than that," Geta's words were careful, yet his voice was firm. "It is about strength. Continuity. The people must see us as enduring. If we are to secure our rule, we must show them that Rome's future is unshakable."

"And you believe marriage will achieve that?" Caracalla mumbled innocently, turning to look up at his brother.

"It is a step," Geta replied, sending him a smile of reassurance. "A necessary one, however... We must consider it."

Caracalla was silent for a long moment, taking in his brothers words. Dondas neared his feet, and as if being pulled from a daze, he slowly bent down to let him climb his body. Geta observed as the monkey perched himself atop Caracalla's shoulder, bringing a small grin back to his face.

"Very well brother. I will consider it... But if I am to endure the monotony of marriage, she had better be extraordinary."

Geta allowed himself a faint smile, his mood lightening at his brother's acceptance. "Leave it to me. I'll ensure she's everything Rome needs - and more." He gently ruffled his hand through Caracalla's hair, causing the later to laugh in amusement.

Dondas jumped repeatedly on Caracalla's shoulder, bringing his attention back to the small creature.

Geta turned away, his expression darkening. The counsellors' words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the precarious balance he was tasked with maintaining. Rome demanded perfection, and Geta knew that both he and Caracalla were far from it. 

[the-iceni-bitch]

𝕳𝖊 𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕬𝖎𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕿𝖞𝖗𝖓𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖘

𝙵𝚊𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

𝙿𝚎𝚝𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 ~ 𝙰 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜.

𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 ~ 𝙰 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 ~ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚖𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍, 𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍.

Relationship: fae!Ransom Drysdale x captive!fem reader

Words: ~1.6k

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (public sex, fingering, spanking, mention of oral sex and unprotected vaginal sex), mind control, mean!Ransom, SMUT! 18+ ONLY

A/N: ooooooh I love him. Enjoy you guys!

Ransom leaned back on his throne as the human king in front of him droned on and on, sighing deeply as he swirled his golden wine on its goblet and watched it catch the light.

Gods but these humans with all their problems were boring. Always with their meager excuses why they couldn’t pay their dues to the high fae king. It was too cold for crops. The cows weren’t producing milk. The rivers were frozen and halted trade. Blah blah blah blah blah.

At least his throne was comfortable. More of a chaise than a throne, with gilded legs and arms worked into intricate patterns and piled with cushions of silk and velvet. The wine was excellent as well, and the fruits brought to him by the servants were succulent and ripe. It all would have been very nice if it weren’t for the incessant whinging of the man in front of him.

There was only one thing that could cure his boredom.

“I do not care how supposedly terrible the winter was, you have responsibilities to me and to your people. If you cannot pay with gold or crops, I will have to take my dues in some other way,” Ransom held up a finger to silence the lesser king when he opened his mouth again, turning to one of the lower fae who made up his court and grinning wickedly. “Bring me my kitten.”

“What else could you possibly want?” The human king looked angry, clenching and unclenching his fists as he watched the fairy king rest on his rich throne and enjoy the fruits of the lands of always summer. It was an affront that he required payment for the protection of the human lands when he was enjoying such wealth. “I have nothing else to offer, I…”

The words froze in his throat when the door to the throne room opened, all the blood draining from his face and terror taking him when he caught sight of you.

It was supposed to just be a rumor, that the fae would take your firstborn if you couldn’t fulfill your oaths. But here you were, a former crown princess being led on a gilded leash as she prowled on all fours towards the fairy king. You wore nothing but a golden collar and soft kitten ears, and the human king felt his stomach churn when he saw a matching tail that could only possibly be held in place in a certain way. He couldn’t decide whether he should look away or not, this was the most obscene display he had ever witnessed.

“There’s my precious little kitten,” Ransom beamed when your eyes lit up at the sight of him, taking your leash from his courtier and patting his thrones until you hopped up onto it and stretched out in front of him. “That’s my good princess, did you have a lovely bath?”

“Mmhm,” You arched your back and purred when he gently traced his long fingers along your jaw, whining softly when they began to drag down your throat. “Nice and clean for you, Daddy.”

“I can tell, kitten,” Ransom chuckled when you let him slip his other hand between your thighs, spreading them wide so your pussy was on display for his entire court. “Clean and already wet, my eager little girl. Ah ah, you fucking look at her,” He scolded the human king when he started to look away as Ransom began to pet your quivering cunt, kissing the top of your head and sliding the hand on your throat lower so he could fondle your breasts. “She enjoys being shown off so you watch. And stop looking so concerned, she loves this. She’s spoiled rotten, doesn’t even remember her old life or her family unless I lift the hold I have on her mind. You’re happy, aren’t you, kitten?”

“Mmm, yes Daddy,” You squeaked and writhed against him when he tweaked one of your nipples, your pussy gushing all over his fingers when he gave it a gentle pat before he started to pet you again. “Can I have cream? Oh please, Daddy?”

“Later, little one, I’ll give you more cream than you can swallow,” Ransom’s smile grew even more cruel when the human king gagged at that, rubbing your pussy faster until you choked on your purrs. “My sweet, stupid little thing.”

You mewed and looked over your shoulder at him with widened eyes, panting when he squeezed your breast and spreading your legs even wider for him. The expression on your face was one of pure love and adoration. The fairy king was your whole world. Every second you were apart from him was pure torment, and every second you were with him was pure bliss. Your body responded to him like it did to nothing else, only he knew how to touch you and work you up until you could think of nothing but the unimaginable pleasure that would rage through your body.

Ransom could tell you were starting to lose it, his gaze shifting between you and the uncomfortable human king as he drew you towards your peak. He was enjoying the way both of you were squirming, you with ecstasy and the king with disgust. Showing you off to his court was thrilling enough, but he truly enjoyed using you to show his dominion over his human subjects. They all thought they could get away with whatever they wanted, but you were proof that they never would.

He smacked your clit and cooed at you when you came apart for him, kissing your cheek gently and making sure the lesser king was watching while your pussy fluttered and gushed all over the throne. You whimpered and sucked on your bottom lip when he asked you if you wanted more, letting him turn you onto your stomach and slip his thumb into your mouth while your eyes drifted closed. Ransom stroked your back a few times before he began to give you soft, quick spanks, taking a rest every few slaps to rub your pussy or gently tug on your tail plug. His gaze never left the human king though, chuckling along with the rest of his court when the man turned bright red at having to continue to witness your humiliation.

“Such anger in you humans,” Ransom hushed you when you whined as one of his spanks landed directly on your sensitive pussy. “Before I laid my web over her mind my little kitten was angry too, now look at how happy she is,” he finished spanking you and slowly pushed two of his fingers inside you, smiling when you clenched around him immediately before starting to slowly fuck you with them. “Imagine how happy your son will be once he becomes my puppy. Would you like a playmate, pretty kitten?”

The kings horrified grunt was drowned out by your mewl of assent, your back arching as you pushed your hips into the air so he could have all the access he needed. You would do anything he asked of you, sucking harder on his thumb as he slid a third finger inside you to stretch you even wider. Ransom cocked his head when the king started to tremble with rage, feeling the energy coming off the man and shivering at the pleasure he derived from eliciting such a reaction. He couldn’t resist the urge to rile him up even further.

“Just think how lovely your son will look with his own little tail. I think I’ll have him fuck my little kitten for the court’s amusement, what a pretty sight that would be,” the king looked as if he was thinking of killing Ransom, as if he could harm him in any way. “And once he’s filled her tiny cunt and worn her out he can suck my cock like a good boy. He’ll sleep at the foot of my bed and fetch my slippers just like a loyal dog should.”

“Stop,” the thought of his son being subjected to such degradation made him want to be sick, but he couldn’t let his people starve either. “Stop this. I will kill you if you touch my son.”

“Are you going to keep your oaths to me then?” A fourth finger pushed inside you and you sobbed around Ransom’s thumb, drooling all over his hand and yourself while you squirted in your climax. “Because the only other option you have is to give up my protection. You should ask my kitten’s father how that went for him, how much of his kingdom was lost to those barbarian goblins before he finally let me take her from him so I would drive them back, how many of his subjects children were taken by the wisps and sprites before I secured the border between our realms. I will give you until sunset on the morrow to make your decision, leave me now.”

Ransom drew you into his lap after pulling his hand out of your fluttering pussy, kissing your nose and telling you how beautiful you were as his guards escorted the beleaguered king from his hall. He already knew what the man’s answer would be, and he looked forward to fitting his son with a jeweled collar and watching you welcome his new pet.

[oswildin]

He Needs You (Loki x GN!Reader) - SHORT

Summary: Loki knows what he must do. But before he does… He has to make sure you aren’t alone. The person who changed everything.

A/N: Set during ‘Loki’ S2 EP6, inspired by ‘Journey’s End’ from Doctor Who.

Loki took a breath, stepping through the time door with you beside him. He’d lied. Of course, he did. But at least this time, it was for a good reason. Something other than self-preservation. No, this was for you. For the person who had changed… Well…

Everything.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped out onto the other side of the time door, no longer in the TVA, and not where you expected to be either. Loki had told you that you both needed to go somewhere, somewhere that could help you all prevent the meltdown of the Loom. But where you stood… Didn’t seem likely for such help. It was a gilded hallway, somewhere that looked rich, royal even.

“Where are we?” You asked, turning to glance up at him, noticing his almost solemn expression. His own blue eyes were taking everything in, a place he knew he would never see again. With a slight wave his of hand, both of you became invisible to the naked eye, shrouded in shadow, hidden away from any passers by. Loki didn’t say anything, gaze drifting to you for a moment before he finally spoke.

“This way.” He said lowly, taking a few steps forwards, leading the way through the grandiose hallway. You blink, glancing around before following after him, your footsteps echoing off the walls quietly as you did so. What was going on? Where were you?

“Loki, where are we?” You repeated your question, the sound of his name almost intimate on your tongue. Loki let out a quiet breath, hands clasped at his sides as the fabric of his peacoat faintly made sound as he walked. Still, he was silent. That worried you. Loki was never quiet. “You’re starting to worry me.” You murmured, seeing the look of resolution, regret and sadness on his face.

“Don’t be.” Loki murmured in return, sparing you a glance, his voice soft as he tried to reassure you. Or himself, he wasn’t entirely sure. You reserved the urge to quip something sarcastic in response, the God slowing his steps as you reached a slightly ajar large golden door. It was then that you began to put the pieces together of where you were.

“Asgard.” You breathed out, brows creasing in confusion. Loki stilled, his eyes flicking to the floor. “We’re on Asgard, aren’t we?” Silence. “Why?” Loki didn’t say anything, simply lifting a hand, gesturing towards the ajar door, silently telling you to take a look. Raising a brow, you stepped forwards, peaking through the crack. What you saw, made your heart race, confusion wash over you…

There stood Loki.

His profile facing you as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, an almost… troubled look on his face. His hair was longer, brushing just past his shoulders, features sharper than the Loki beside you. He looked… weary.

“I don’t- I don’t understand.” You whispered, shaking your head, turning to look up at your Loki. He met your gaze, lips slightly downturned, eyes glassy. Your lips parted as you tried to search for an answer in the silence. “What is this?”

“That’s me.” Loki confirmed with a small nod, his voice low. “What would’ve been me…” He began to explain softly. “The life I would’ve lived on what was the Sacred Timeline.” He paused, eyes searching yours. He took a slow breath, hands moving in front of him slowly. “He… is lost.” His words were barely above a whisper. “Realising that… Power, control… a throne…” He sighed. “Are not enough to fill the hollowness in his heart.” He looked towards the gap in the door, seeing his would’ve been future-self pacing.

“But… why… why are we here? I don’t understand.” You stuttered out, feeling your heartbeat quicken as if you knew. You didn’t, but your heart reacted as if you did. Loki closed his eyes, hands falling back to his sides lamely, jaw tensing briefly as he tried to keep his composure.

“I know… what I have to do.” Loki said lowly, determined. “And that means…” He met your gaze again, his brows furrowing in sorrow. “That I won’t be around anymore.” His words hit you like a blow to the chest, panic setting in. He could see it in your face, the fear, his hands moving to your shoulders to ground you. “I have to… make something better.” His voice stayed soft, even as his eyes glistened.

“Please.” You whispered, emotion clear as day. It broke Loki’s heart, something that had happened only a handful of times in his long life. One of Loki’s hands moved from your shoulder to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, savouring the sensation.

“I’m giving you a chance.” Loki spoke, fighting to stop his voice from failing him. He took a sharp breath, or a sniffle, he wasn’t quite sure. Your eyes opened, brows furrowing. “A chance of a life… that we… We aren’t so lucky to have.” He gave a tearful, solemn smile, it was tiny, not quite reaching his eyes. “With him.”

Your mind raced at his words, lips parting, the furrow in your brow increasing. Your gaze flickered around, a physical show of your mind as Loki’s thumb brushed your cheekbone lightly.

“He’s… known war, loss, betrayal…” Loki continued, ducking his head slightly to meet your eyes. “He’s further along in his timeline, he’s still searching for his ‘glorious’ purpose-“

“He doesn’t know me.” You interrupted, blinking, the words hurting to say. Loki gave an understanding look, nodding faintly.

“Not yet.” He told you softly. “But he should.”

“But he’s not you.” A tear finally escaped your eye, you hadn’t even realised they had been forming, too wrapped up in what was happening. Loki let out a shaky breath, his own heart aching alongside yours. He took a step closer, holding your gaze. He leaned closer, his lips pressing against your forehead tenderly, his own eyes closing, savouring the feeling. He lingered, feeling a trickle of wet escape his own eye, slowly descending his cheek.

“He needs you.” Loki whispered against your skin, before pulling back slightly to meet your eyes again. “And that’s very me.” He gave the faintest of smiles, melancholy… bittersweet.

[whosthere54]

Ok ok ok Royal au Royal au ararararah

now to yap about my Royal au cause I’m normal. (Longer post- I just infodump about my AU basically-)

So what I have in drafts is all mainly brothers or prison duo centric, as if you know my fics I usually write from Icarus’s perspective on things. The main ships I would be focusing on are ghaae, nightingstar, Wolftross, and then prison duo- but I have cameos of all of the cannon ships of course. I’m gonna kind of just go through and explain roles of my main guys tho- so hope you like this as a sort of starting summary? I guess?

Icarus is the crown prince of the gilded kingdom. Basically the other full representative of the overworld who’s not Fable. Basically, they are heir to the throne, have to maintain a public image, help Fable out with royal duties and pretty much prepare to be the next monarch to ensure a smooth transition if “mortal king Fable” passes away. (He can’t die- I’ll get to that maybe- but yknow. God.)

I’ll talk about Isla and things later in this post, so I won’t mention it now- but yeah. Icarus is the only heir to the gilded kingdom.

Centross is Icarus’s bodyguard (yes I’m going down that road for the prison duo content. I’m so unpredictable /silly/sarc/lh) Royal guard? Close enough probably. Which- idk if I have to get into what he does. I think you can assume. Protection stuff. He was a former assassin, having used to work with Enderian. I’m doing a cliche maybe- but- yknow- he was sent to kill Icarus, ended up unable to do so… so now he’s a bodyguard for them instead of going back to Enderian. (There’s probably a promise of mutual protection somewhere- I’m sure Icarus would not have let Fable give them a bodyguard before then, and when he did they’d make it everyone’s problem- instead wanting to prove they could protect themself. There’s something there. Yeah.)

Wolftross is yes a thing, I think they were probably together for a while- maybe not long after he first became a royal guard. At Icarus’s request, he can visit Fenris whenever he wants probably. Easton replaces him when he’s gone (even after he became blind- at Icarus’s request he will continue that role. They trust him- and he’s capable.)

In the one thing I wrote, I gave him end features as well. I’m moreso debating on that- but I think it’d be a cool thing as a byproduct of being one of Enderian’s closest advisors and trusted assasin. Or- I give them to him later when he gets to be god. He gets them at some point- for me.

Rae is the crown prince of the end kingdom- full representative of the end that is not Enderian. I’d think she gives him more freedom than Icarus gets from fable, her being the end mother she is. She did have the same I guess cruel past that she does in cannon- I’m trying to figure out how I’m translating s1 into this AU still, and maybe you’ll get a oneshot of that eventually. Atleast the prison arc- of course. He left the gilded kingdom (either with Isla, or later on his own I have drafts for. But- probably with Isla) and lived with Isla for a bit- she runs for help from soul and things like in cannon and she helps hide them for a bit. Though- Isla ends up having Rae stay with Enderian. She probably stays as long as she can without compermising Rae’s safety, but maybe gets caught by Fable eventually.

Fenris is Rae’s bodyguard. He is a former general for the Nether’s army, just like in cannon. (I have to rewatch some of his lore before confidently talking about how he gets to become Rae’s bodyguard, so I’m sorry I won’t have too much info at the moment <3)

He becomes Rae’s bodyguard later- Enderian probably heard of his reputation as “the wolf” and hired him. (May try to include the wolf arc- but am again, trying to figure out how to integrate it.)

Now- basic plot summary? Something of the sort? Yeah. Some random details too cause I have no one train of thought ever and am just writing whatever I think of down. /lh

So for some backstory- Islas story is basically the same as in lore. But it changes for that bit after Rae was born just to adhere to the different circumstances Royal AU brings to the table. So, Rae grows a bit before Isla takes him and runs in this AU- he’s older, couldn’t tell you how old (age is a lie/silly/j) but just. A child. She notices how he’s being treated by Fable, takes him and leaves. She doesn’t take Icarus. There’s a lot of consideration for that fact- of course there is. Their her child. But- they’re not close, Fable makes sure of that. They spend most of their time with him, and their his heir after all. Their disappearance would be the worst to explain. So she doesn’t take them with her.

She takes Rae, and over the course of a few years- stays in a sort of safe house like in cannon, learns the things she does there, goes to soul for help, all that stuff. But she ends up taking Rae to Enderian, he becomes crown prince. She stays with them until it compromises Rae’s safety. Fable finds her, she doesn’t give away that she’d stayed with Enderian and that stays secret for a long time. Fable finds her, messes with her memories and things (he’s messed with Icarus’s too at this point- probably erasing Rae entirely) end she goes into a coma. He locks her away, Icarus doesn’t even know she’s here- and ends up having no memories of her anyways. Only fable knows where she’s locked away. Some tower in the castle sleeping beauty style probably.

Rae grows up in the end kingdom, Icarus grows up in the overworld.

Rae meets Caspian in the end prison- advocating for his freedom and things. He gets him a place in the end kingdom, and they get together at a peaceful festival in the overworld. That is an annual festival- Rae meets aax and takes her there too. He and Cas talk- and probably end up asking Aax out there too- making a whole day out of it probably. It’s a tradition for them, after all.

Aax lives with Cas, and Rae stays with them on weekends? Mayhaps? Something like that. He’s allowed to visit them whenever.

I like to think maybe Cas helps Athena and Bruin run the bakery on occasion. Bed and breakfast. Idk. Rae is definelty still the taste tester on Aax safe foods. And also a waiter on opening day for multiple reasons- one, it’s funny- two, yknow. Royal press. Media(?) purposes. Yknow what I mean hopefully.

Also- end kingdom I think had parts in the overworld and end? Like- overworld has the stronghold portal as the center and then made a kingdom around that, and then there’s an end part of the kingdom. This was probably a result of a peace treaty Isla had led years before between the realms after the war. Because badass mother deserves it. But to explain that- yeah. I think the Nether doesn’t- but has a trading hub spreading through portals and things. Yknow. Just not kingdom- I think the overworld is still more cold to people from the nether so. No kingdom. But portals can be made anywhere instead of having just one like the end, so that makes sense.

Gilded kingdom is just the biggest kingdom in the overworld areas we know- as Fable is the god of creation. I just have cool ideas for kingdom designs. May build them in Minecraft actually who knows- (if I do I will in fact post the pictures)

The Aether kingdom was a thing for souls and stuff as it was in cannon, but fell the same way. Alerion and Will live peacefully in one of the overworld kingdoms living normal lives away from everything, as they deserve.

A lot of the fable characters probably lives in the overworld, and just travel between realms.

Athena’s house probably has an area like his lab, where half is in the overworld and half is in the nether. If not, maybe their bed and breakfast- or atleast she has some nether bakery locations maybe with nether specific treats! Cause I think they deserve it and I just think it’d be cool.

Will has a cartographers shop in his village- like a cartographer villager type thing.

Rae has his archives he runs in his kingdom, there are two- one in the overworld part and one in the nether.

Starbarks definelty exists, does Fenris cannonly in this AU run all of the businesses he runs in actual cannon? Probably not. Do they exist? Probably.

Ven works as a close advisor for Fable, and Ari is hired as a knight or general of a sort for fable. Maybe more like a spy. Cat scratch records exist probably.

The world sisters do exist, most likely- (logistically if this was like a alternate “fable raises Icarus AU” they probably wouldn’t but I can do what I want and I say they’re here cause I love them- /silly)

Addie- Addie idk- maybe they work on like a night shift for the archives? Or like as an intern.

Ulysses- idk where to put Ulysses. Oh you silly fish man you. I will incorporate all the telchin stuff, definetly, I think just think of the cannon lore for that one.

Also- Quixis is there somewhere. Probably not in the same way for plot- but gotta include them in every au somehow /silly

Yeah. Royal AU. I’m eepy so I shut up- but hope you like my rambling ig idk-

I didn’t realize y’all enjoyed this au that much- I appreciate all the excitement about it /gen tehe <3

[jiubilant]

cw: blood

“Do you love your brothers?” asks the priestess of the god Ofaanruvaak.

The god, licking the gore from his great maw, grants her a burning look. He’d caught the god of the hillmen, his brother, winging over his land without tribute or tinvaak—and had named him anew for this insolence, that Ahrolmal who had been Ahrolmul would not again forget who was thur from pines to fens. Nor would the hillmen forget. The priestess, before sending her marshmen to make thralls and crowfood of Ahrolmal’s folk, had painted their faces herself.

Now she stands at the foot of the godsroost as Ofaanruvaak Raven-Gift clambers down. Stones skitter down the slope. The ground trembles like a supplicant. A tree trodden beneath the god’s foot groans, prostrates itself, and snaps like a twig.

“Tell me a riddle,” he croaks, his voice still hoarse with flame. He bends his head. Smoke vents from teeth longer than seaxes. In the gilded hall of Konahrik Jun, hung above the pelt-strewn throne, the priestess had once seen a god’s fang taller than herself.

“My beak is bent to the base of things,” she murmurs, her face as still and wooden as her mask. The answers of her god are often as circular as his paths in flight; she spends her days treading patiently after the shadow of his wisdom, which seldom eclipses her whole. “I go grave along the ground. My going-forth is green on one side, and my track is black—”

“Do they love one another, these words that you speak?” The vast neck coils around her. A breath, or perhaps the heat of the huge eye, scorches her back. “The parts of the lawspeaker’s speech—proposition, examination, refutation—do these love one another, sonaaki?”

“If the speech is wise,” the priestess suggests. Her hand drips with the blood of Ahrolmal, which she had daubed on her warriors’ brows. “If the riddle is glib.”

Her god snorts. A pillar of smoke swirls from his jaws and dissolves in the mist of the night.

“It is a plough,” he says. Like a child studying an ant, he rests his chin on the ground to look the priestess in the face. “Tell another.”

“I have one single eye,” says the priestess, her voice dry. The riddle is one of Konahrik’s. “And two ears, and two hands, and two feet. And twelve hundred heads.”

A pause.

“I do not know this riddle,” says the god.

“A half-blind onion-peddler.”

Ofaanruvaak’s huff of laughter ripples the priestess’s robes. He straightens. He’s not as large as the World-Eater, her god—but his scales, as slick with blood as her sticky hand, are almost as black.

“I love my brothers,” he says, lifting his head higher than the trees, “as you love yours.”

He nods to the western hills. A glow like sunrise crests them: the burning houses of the hillmen, abandoned by their god.