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k0mmari · 1 month ago

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SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN PT.3

Too tired to do my obligations, but too stressed out to sleep, so here we find ourselves again.

This, once again, got horribly long- so long, in fact, I think this is the longest post in this 'trilogy'-, so I apologize in advance (╥ᆺ╥;) I also apologize for the lack of doodles, but dont worry! Im preparing a special one for later <33

After that night where SY offered Binghe an umbrella, things have certainly… changed. Unlike before, where SY spent most of his time mapping away at the ridiculously complex castle hallways and carefully marking away which times it was most likely for SY to be able to get close to Xin Mo, alongside doing his ‘servant’ duties of gathering dirty laundry and cleaning a room here and there, his routine had been suddenly adjusted; now, while he still needed to do everything he was doing before, his servant duties consisted of accompanying the chosen Wife Of The Day.

Or, well, that’s how one of the higher ranking staff had put it, that he was to attend to whatever wife Lord Luo decided to entertain for the day, but honestly, SY was starting to suspect that that had been a convoluted way for Binghe to have SY around whenever he wanted, which…. Was frankly quite worrying! To have the golden protagonist keep his eyes glued on his back almost every second they were in the same room, which - if SY looked back- usually led to Binghe looking away in a (bad) attempt to pretend he wasn’t glaring daggers at SY was more than enough for SY to think the Emperor was probably plotting his demise.

What else could it be? Specially with the way Binghe’s hand seemed to always be lightly tugging at the tassel on his hair every time SY caught him looking, he suspects Binghe had caught onto SY not actually being a servant, and instead that weird guy he saw before he fell into hell that one time. What if Binghe thought SY was somehow involved into the Abyss Incident?? Lord Luo, please have mercy on this servant!

Though, maybe the strangest part of it all, was that sometimes Binghe and SY would just… talk. Usually when the Wife Of The Day was doing something else (e.g. playing music for her husband, or practicing archery, or doing anything that didn’t involve LBH 100% at her side), Binghe would just start musing out loud about the strangest things. It started with questions that were all fair to ask, like ‘How come this servant is a human in the demon realm’, or ‘How come this servant has such short hair�� (SY bullshitted something about being a former slave) but eventually it shifted to questions that were a bit more… random. Or, well, not even questions, musings that Binghe muttered out loud but clearly wanted SY’s input.

It started with minimal things, like Binghe wondering about some type of monster he wanted to fight but he forgot how to do it without damaging the fur too much, which, after a minute of silence and a not-so-subtle look at SY, led to SY nerding out and saying not only the monsters weakness, but what could be done with every important part of the body. Though, the day after that SY realized how strange it was that Binghe was wondering that out loud, since he only fought that monster well into his time as an Emperor, and he swore he remembered one of the wives gushing about her new bracelet that was made from the rare bones of that creature just a few days ago…

Anyways, it continued with questions of similar nature: musings on how to kill a monster Binghe would have no problem killing, to what he should eat for dinner, to what gift should he get for Wife Of The Day. Of course, SY answered all the ‘questions’, and sometimes they even made it to having an actual conversation! Sure, it was a little stilted, SY could not figure out for the life of him why the great Lord Luo was interacting with a random servant, but one day it all finally clicked to him. Binghe had been in the middle of ‘musing’ about hair oils(??), when SY couldn’t help but interrupt him:

“Ah…. Apologies if this lowly servant is overstepping, My Lord, but does My Lord just want someone to talk to?”

A few emotions flashed through Binghe's face quickly enough for SY to not be able to decifer any of them, but eventually landing on a sheepish smile. "This Lord has been found out."

Oh, how cute! And how sad! SY had noticed when SQH was just showing him his shitty story how sad that LBH, even after getting the world to bow at his feet, never really had friendships. Sure, he still had all the love he could want, but sometimes people need friends to talk to, not lovers!

While he knew that he shouldn't interact with characters in world overlooked by the System unless they were transmigrators, SY couldn't help but feel that the situation was dire enough that LBH would turn to a no-name servant in this time of desperation. And it would be a great opportunity to study Xin Mo more closely as well! If SY showed LBH the wonders of friendship, maybe he could pass by his supervisor that he only had to do what was necessary for this world to not implode on itself.

Besides, who could even say no to such a handsome man such as LBH? Is as the old saying goes: what the protagonist wants, he shall have.

SY's friendship plan has been going great! After figuring out Binghe's intentions, it seems all of the protagonists reservations flew out the window, and SY was now responsible for being Binghe's personal retainer. Not that that meant too much, since Binghe liked to bend the rules to his liking, and some tasks that should be SY's responsability sometimes were pushed to another servant or Binghe himself made them (which, ???)

Mostly, SY stood at Binghe's side, served tea, was used so Binghe could bounce ideas off of someone, and tended to finer details. All of that very much manageable, if not for the weird mood swings LBH would have sometimes. Yuan, as he has told Binghe was his name after being too scared of the repercutions of using 'Shen', was to accompany him all the time, but sometimes not all the time, or else LBH would get moody; Yuan was to listen to LBH's ideas and plans, and should always comment back or else Binghe would feel neglected, but not too much or else, as LBH had put it, could 'bring back bad memories'; Yuan was to tend to LBH's night routine, even as far as to brush his hair, and if he refused LBH (again) get all moody, but he couldn't brush too much, and he had to do at least one braid but NEVER touch the old, frizzy braid that still had that damn tassle-

Honestly, it was a careful game of balance, which reminded SY more often than not of a child that got mad when their older sibling didn't quite understand the redundant rules they made for a make-believe. Any other person would get fed up, and probably scared of Binghe's constant mood swings, but SY had him all figured out, and his resilience proved to be useful time and time again, since most of the time after his sour mood passed, Binghe would come crawling back with the most pitiful face ever, and what was SY to do? As LBH's friend, it was his duty to hug him and pat his head! (And no one could judge him for that, since if he didn't pat Binghe's head, his mood would plummet all over again.)

Though... SY did feel kind of bad. He wouldn't be able to stay with Binghe forever, and would even need to potentially steal his all-powerful sword for a little bit so everything wouldn't get corrupted. Honestly, the only thing keeping SY from worrying about being labled as a traitor and potentially getting killed was that he would just go back to the System's office and go on with his life.

LBH, eventually, caught onto SY's plan on leaving - really, it was only a matter of time. After that fateful encounter with that other SQQ, LBH had found himself in rather pitiful state, questioning everything he knew until that moment and wondering why he couldn't achieve that happiness, and desperately trying to search for a SQQ of his own. He had contemplated going back to that first world, but what would it even matter? Even if he took SQQ by force, his heart would still be with that other LBH, and Binghe couldn't bear the thought that he wouldn't be everything in SQQ's world, as he had become for LBH.

Specially after Meng Mo had one day interupted his carefully crafted dream of an idelic world and pointed out some curious memories he'd almost forgotten about. That day, when back in his childhood, when he'd been beaten up by a buch of older kids and hallucinated a man in strange clothes before passing out and waking up protected from the rain. Or when he thought he'd lost his jade pendant forever, only to magically appear in the cabin later.

Or the strange man in the Immortal Alliance Conference.

After SQQ- SJ , that good-for-nothing scum- pushed him to the Abyss, he tried his best to never think about that day again, too scared by how weak he'd been, pleading to man that would sell his soul for one more night at that brothel of his if he could, but now... Now that he could mold his dreamscape any way he wanted, he could look back with a clear mind, which eventually led to the conclusion: It must have been the same person. The same strangely dressed man that helped him in his childhood somehow appeared at the Immortal Alliance again, and even had left provisions right next to where Binghe had fallen.

He'd convinced himself, after many, many years of wishing for a miracle, that he's simply imagined the man, one last thread to keep himself from going insane, but after meeting the other SQQ...

And then Yuan came in. A new servant that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

It took some observation, and a lot preparing himself to face dissapointment that maybe he was just projecting, putting the image of someone else onto a random man, but that day, when LBH was wondering if he was just wasting time, that that beautiful dream of having his version of SQQ would not happen any time in this world, that maybe he really should just go look at other worlds; after all, if it happened once, it had to happen again, right? Not that it mattered in the end, since while he spireled, much to Xin Mo's pleasure, an umbrella was put over his head, and all his doubts had washed away.

Yuan had to be his version of SQQ, it had to be. And after all his effort of getting close to him, after going so far to keep Yuan at his side, even if he still battled with that his perception of SJ and the other SQQ sometimes overlapping with Yuan's image, even if he still wasn't ready to let go of that one braid, he was becoming more and more sure in his assumption that his SQQ had come to him. Everything was going as planned, and LBH was in track to finally begin to properly court him, and yet-

He was sure Yuan wanted to leave. He wasn't sure why, not how he would do that, maybe just dissapear like he had all those years ago and either only appear again 5, 10, 100 years in the future or go back to wherever he came from in the first place. But LBH knew Yuan wanted to leave, that he needed to complete whatever mission he had (after LBH managed to pry that out of his dreams, which where another source of confusion, with how absurdly difficult they were to even get a grasp of), and that, under any circumstances, he could let Yuan escape his sight.

Not again. Never again.

Binghe had become even stickier in the last few weeks. Not that SY minded, it was very cute to see such a different side from the cool, badass Lord Luo, but SY was running out of time. Since Binghe became stickier, his mood swings had worsened even more, now not wanting SY to be anywhere that Binghe wasn't, and Xin Mo seemed to be thriving off of whatever was making Binghe extra protective, though it was becoming a genuine problem now, since Binghe suddenly refused to see any of his wive's to deal with the Xin Mo problem, and he seemed to be on the verge of qi deviation at all times.

In fact, the only reason Binghe hadn't already qi deviated was because SY was abusing his Personal System and chipping away at the qi deviation in Binghe's night routine, since it was the only time where he was physically very close to Binghe and could spend long periods of time manually coding away at the System screen without it looking suspicious.

But, as if that wasn't enough of a problem, since Xin Mo was having the time of it's life recently, the virus clinging to the sword was also getting stronger, leaving even more residuals all along the castle and bordering on infecting Binghe himself.

His Scissors where thankfully, repaired, and his sweet, sweet manager was even kind enough to send him some extra energy supplies, but at the rate the virus was spreading, he was worrying that he would have to deal with the source as soon as possible or else it would become to strong to deal with it in a non-destructive way.

He... Didn't want to leave Binghe just yet, specially since he wanted SY's attention more than ever recently, but...

No, he needed to do this; their time together was never supposed to be eternal anyways, and if he let the virus spread, he would only be putting LBH's life in danger, and he couldn't continue living with himself after that. He decided he would fix the virus at night, while Binghe slept, and by the next morning he would be gone - he would have, after all, just enough energy to go back to the office.

He just hoped Binghe would be able to forgive him later.

When night came, and SY got to doing the usual night preparations, it just felt like an extra needle being stabbed in his heart when, while brushing Binghe's hair, Binghe looks back uncharacteristicly anxious, and asks if SY can undo the braid and remake it. SY does, and if Binghe notices SY takes extra long to pamper him that night, he says nothing.

When SY is sure Binghe is asleep, he sneaks out of his room and heads to back to Binghe's. Yeah, maybe he stalls a bit with snipping off every piece of the residual virus he came across, but one could argue he was just being extra thorough with his job.

The excuse, unfortunately, didn't last long and eventually he found himself in front of Binghe's room, staring at the door as if he was about to be sentenced to death. After a few minutes of reminding himself that he needed to do this, he took a deep breath and slowly opened the doors. Binghe usually slept with the sword perched right beside his bed, so SY would probably have to use the System and put Binghe in an extra deep sleep if he wanted to make sure the other didn't wake-

The moment he places a foot inside, though, he realizes something is wrong; the room is empty, Binghe is not asleep in his bed and Xin Mo is not besides the bed. Oh, oh no, had Binghe-

"A-Yuan." Binghe says, and SY nearly jumps as he turns around. There LBH stands in the middle of the hallway, not even in his sleeping robes, with a hand clutched tightly on Xin Mo's handle. His eyes are watery but no tears spill.

SY tries to speak but finds he doesn't even know what to say, he can't even try to deny that he's up to something, since his gigantic Scissors are just out an about. Still, he tries to make Binghe understand, say that he needs to do this, and after this Binghe won't have to worry about anything anymore. Though it barely seems like Binghe is listening, and eventually just cuts in when SY starts to say anything in his panic.

"This is what A-Yuan wants, right?" He asks, extending one arm and presenting the glitched out Xin Mo. SY doesn't even have the chance to find an excuse, as Binghe immediately continues. "Than take it."

"Wh- Huh?" "Take it."

He's so shocked he almost drops his Scissors. What does he mean 'take it'??? Binghe has to know everything that's at stake here! He doesn't even know what SY wants to do with it! He tries to say that, how Binghe shouldn't just hand the sword to anyone like that, but a sudden burst of energy set his priorities straight. Shit- The virus! It's growing by the second, at this point SY will have to cut Xin Mo-

"...Binghe, I-" "I don't care what A-Yuan wants with Xin Mo! Take it, use it, break it if you want, I don't care! But if A-Yuan takes it, than he will have to stay." "Binghe, that's not..." "Why not?! That's your goal, right? Do whatever it is that you want to do with Xin Mo? Than here you go, A-Yuan can do it, but I won't let you leave me again."

SY can't even mask when his eyes dart towards the tassle on Binghe's new braid. Binghe just clenched his jaw, but it feels like confirmation enough.

He adjusts his grip on the Scissors, and, as he has nothing else to hide, dispels the System's illusion, his simple clothes glitching out to reveal the System's uniform. Binghe's eyes fill even more with tears, but none fall."

"I... I'll have to go back, Binghe." "No." "Binghe, listen to me, I-" "No. No! A-Yuan will get Xin Mo, and then he will stay." "I-" "You will stay! I can't-" Binghe can't even finish his sentence before he has to choke out a sob.

The virus starts warping the air around it, and slowly crawling up Binghe's arm. SY's decision has practically been made for him. He lifts the Scissors. Binghe pushes Xin Mo forward.

"...I'll come back." "A-Yuan-" "I'll come back, Binghe." One single tear falls and his arm jerks, not knowing if he trusts SY's words or not. He still his arm as the Scissor blades encircle Xin Mo.

"A-Yuan..." "I'll come back, I promise." "..." "I promise."

"......Okay."

Shen Yuan cuts Xin Mo.

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dootznbootz · 7 months ago

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Odysseus always trusted Penelope. He was ordered to lie to her and it hurt him to do so. Penelope was distrustful of this stranger until she had absolute solid proof.

There are way too many people talking about how "Odysseus lies to Penelope. What a prick!" and it makes me sad/mad as that's not the case at all

The whole "Odysseus usually always has a reason to lie" maybe upcoming essay aside, He was literally commanded by Athena to not tell anyone. And it was with Penelope that he had the hardest time keeping up the act with. Not only because she's smart af and figured him out almost immediately (that essay coming soon too) but because he was trying to keep himself from crying with her.

I think people forget that he is disguised to look like someone else completely. If a random man claimed to be your missing husband, wouldn't you be scared/freaked out?

Anyways, the 3 most important people in his life are Penelope, Telemachus, and Laertes. He lies to all three.

Telemachus: Lied by letting Eumaeus answer him and still under the orders from Athena, did not cry or reveal himself until Athena allowed him to. (I read it as him being in shock. Last time he saw him, Telemachus' hand could only wrap around one finger and now he's as big as him. a bit shocking to say the least)

Laertes: He teared up seeing him but still decided to question and test his father, not by the order from Athena.

Penelope: He was trying so hard to keep from crying, tried to noodle his way out of lying to her, Under Athena's orders. still couldn't help but basically flirt with her.

Also to get this outta the way: No, it wasn't a matter of trust. He is shown to trust her right away. As this happens even before he gets the chance to speak with Penelope.

Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this— his wife's trickery luring gifts from her suitors now, enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words but all the while with something else in mind.

(Book 18, Fagles)

If Odysseus does not trust her, why is he so happy to see her "flirt" with the suitors? It's because he KNOWS what she's doing and knows she doesn't actually want them. If he didn't trust her, he would be upset by this.

Now for the "it hurt to lie to her" bit.

Athena's command:

"Tell not a single person in the palace, man or woman, that you are back from your wanderings; but endure all vexations in silence and submit yourself to the indignities that will be put upon you.'

(Book 13, Rieu)

If you are my son—truly of our blood— let no one hear Odysseus is back home. Don’t let Laertes know or the swineherd, or the slaves, or Penelope herself.

(Book 16, Johnston)

And the people he did reveal himself to, he only did so after being given permission by Athena.

Athene spoke to him. 'The time has come,' she said, 'royal son of Laertes, Odysseus of the nimble wits, to let Telemachus into your secret, so that the pair of you may plot the downfall and death of the Suitors and then make your way to the famous city. [...]

(Book 15, Rieu)

He talks to Telemachus before talking to Penelope.

I’ll stay here, so I can stir the servants even more— and your mother. As she laments, she’ll ask for each and every detail.”

(Book 19, Johnston)

Odysseus is already sweating about having to lie to her

The next part would honestly be me just inserting almost ALL the text for this so I'll go into a summary. It's all in Book 19.

Penelope asks him where he's from. And instead of answering, it's a tsunami of compliments. Calling her flawless. Comparing her to a king. etc, etc,

Probably because he couldn't help himself and had to babble about how wonderful she is Who wouldn't? before finally ending with "Please don't ask me where I'm from. It makes me sad."

Penelope, probably overwhelmed by his praise, immediately goes into how "her beauty left with her husband. It did not. And where did you say you were from again?"

"Fine! I'm from Crete..."

And we all know that as soon as she starts crying, after a lovely description of how her tears "melted", he talks about how hard it was for Odysseus to hold in his OWN tears. Lying to her and being unable to comfort her was painful for him!!!

But though Odysseus' heart was wrung by his wife's distress, his eyes, hard as horn or iron, never wavered between their lids, so craftily did he repress his tears.

(Book 19, Rieu)

I love Robert Fitzgerald's translation so as a treat:

[...] so her white cheeks were wetted by these tears shed for her lord--and he close by her side. Imagine how his heart ached for his lady, his wife in tears; and yet he never blinked; his eyes might have been made of horn or iron for all that she could see. He had this trick-- wept, if he willed to, inwardly.

(Book 19, Fitzgerald)

Even with him revealing himself to Euryclea, when she cried out to Penelope, Athena made sure she didn't hear! It's most likely that he wouldn't be able to tell her even if he wanted. Athena was planning something, just as Penelope was.

She spoke, and her eyes glanced over at Penelope, anxious to tell her that her husband had come home. But Penelope could not see her face or notice, for Athena had diverted her attention.

(Book 19, Johnston)

He desperately wanted to be with her again. Literally daydreaming about it!

At those words Dawn rose on her golden throne in a sudden gleam of light. And great Odysseus caught the sound of his wife’s cry and began to daydream—deep in his heart it seemed she stood beside him, knew him, now, at last …

(book 20, Fagles)

Clearly doesn't trust her. /sarcasm

It's PENELOPE that has trouble trusting him. And rightfully so! While she was very certain that was her husband, there was so much going on and of course, she's cautious! He looked like an elderly stranger at first, why is he hiding from her? He somehow took out all those men with only a little help, Athena isn't telling her anything, Helen was kidnapped and she did not want that to possibly happen to her too, etc.

He even understands her cautiousness to be reasonable.

As she spoke, lord Odysseus, who had borne so much, smiled and immediately spoke to Telemachus— his words had wings: “Telemachus, let your mother test me in these halls. She will soon possess more certain knowledge. Right now I’m filthy, with disgusting clothing on my body. That’s why she rejects me and will not say I am Odysseus. [...]

(Book 23, Johnston)

He even trusted her completely to take care of everything while he was gone before. And he does again when he wakes up and goes to see his father. Telling her about how she too wise to need instruction

Odysseus (and Penelope as well) is well-known for his cunning tricks and how his loyalties are often blurred but one thing that is for sure about him is that he trusts and is loyal to Penelope full-heartedly. He spent every day missing her and their son and wanting to go home to her. The only moment we see his trust in her waver is during the Treebed scene, (which is what she wanted to test).

They are "like-minded". 😭

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ironunderstands · 8 months ago

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These Aventurine, Topaz and Jade comparisons are getting out of hand…

As much as I adore both of them, I think it’s very disingenuous to compare Aventurine and Topaz’s lore and be like “but they are the same!!!! If people like Aventurine and dislike Topaz that’s just misogyny!!! and like… no?

Topaz’s whole thing is that she doesn’t know the extent of the IPC’s evil, and believes that what she’s doing is genuinely the right thing to do. Even if she never had a choice in joining the IPC, she (incorrectly) believes what they did to her and her planet is justified, logical and moral, and for those reasons she stands with them. Part of this is likely IPC brainwashing, as she was probably very young when she became an indentured servant to them, and someone living on a planet on the brink of destruction would likely view anyone who stepped up to save them as heroes (imo the IPC likely waited for the point of no return to establish contact so her people had no other choice to except).

However Topaz got best end of the proverbial stick, her planet and its people were deemed useful by the IPC, and didn’t fight back, even if in the end they were still exploited.

Unfortunately, we have seen through Boothill, Belabog and Aventurine what happens when that isn’t the case.

Boothill’s planet got bombed and people genocided because they had a resource useful to the IPC, but were unwilling to cooperate with them or hand over their home, so the IPC decided to eradicate them.

Belabog had a debt owed to the IPC that was ridiculously high and very unfair to expect them to pay back, and had Topaz not convinced the higher ups to give them some time (which she got demoted for), the IPC would have taken Belabog by force

That leaves us with Aventurine, whose story is in no way on the same level of bad as Topaz’s. Unlike her, he has witnessed and experienced firsthand the truly awful shit the IPC can do.

They took custody of Sigonia and promised to offer the Avgin aid in their fight against the Katacans, at the very least protect them from harm. (Sidenote, since the IPC held control over Sigonia, they should have stopped the fighting in the first place). However, they simply stood by and did nothing, resulting in the deaths of around 6,000 Avgin, with around 3,000 went missing (or injured, I don’t remember, either way it’s bad).

But wait! It gets worse! Aventurine when he was still known as Kakavasha referred to the IPC as “the men in black/the men in black suits”, and his first master says he bought Aventurine from “the men in black/the men in black suits”, likely mocking the way he referred to them. Therefore THE IPC TOOK PART AND LIKELY EVEN CREATED A FUCKING SLAVE TRADE IN SIGONIA

Look being made into an indentured servant isn’t fun, but idk personally I’d take that any day of the week OVER BEING ENSLAVED

That’s not even to mention how horrible of a reputation Sigonian’s have in the galaxy, one likely spread by/resulting from the IPC themselves, as at least on Aventurines planet they do not have the mobility to make a name for themselves. (Honestly it’s a mini theory of mine that Aventurines scam is what partly contributed to this reputation, and his status as a slave is something the IPC conveniently left out in their broadcast about it-)

But, you might be saying, didn’t Aventurine have a choice to join the masked fools and leave the IPC, isn’t he free now? And to that I say, it’s complicated.

Considering the amount of suicidal shit Aventurine has done while being part of the IPC, he clearly hasn’t been having a fun time as a member of one, so why does he stick around, especially with the Fools invite? Even if he was a slave, does that absolve him of the crimes he’s committing now? What could justify his actions?

Revenge, plan and simple.

This is going to delve into some spoiler territory for the end of the Penacony 2.2 quest, something which I didn’t feel like mentioning earlier because I’m sorry but everyone and their mother already knows Boothill’s lore. Now, let’s get into it.

Aventurine accepts Jades offer to join the IPC, and when he becomes a Stoneheart, the first thing he asks about is the fate of the Avgin, to which he then learns that besides him, they are all dead. You see, from birth Kakavasha was pushed onto a pedestal as the savior of the Avgin, but now that there are no more Avgin to save, his primary motivator in becoming a Stoneheart (beyond not being enslaved anymore) is gone.

So what does he do now?

Simple, try to kill the motherfuckers behind it.

That’s why he takes on such risky gambles still, and why he wagers and wants Diamond to promote him to rank p46. The higher Aventurine gets the closer he gets to his goal of taking down the IPC for good.

Which is why his meeting with Boothill is so meaningful. I think Boothill is going to “kidnap” him and together they are gonna take down the wicked bitch that is Oswaldo Schneider for his literal crimes against humanity.

Mark my words, an IPC downfall is going to happen, and I think Topaz, Aventurine, Boothill and Ratio are going to be at the forefront of it.

However, Topaz and Ratio (and by extension the rest of the galaxy) have to learn/realize the true horrors of the IPC (although I can sense Ratio doesn’t really like them, and he’s learned a lot from Aventurine, I doubt he knows the full extent of the situation or is in any way happy about it). Therefore? Topaz mental breakdown arc? Ratio lore? PLEASE??!? The IP3 compliment one another so well and god I can’t wait for that to come to fruition.

I really want to see a Topaz and Ratio centered story leading up to an IPC smackdown, and I think we are gonna learn a lot more about how shitty they are in the later half of 2.2 and in 2.3 when the interlude and Jades release arrive.

As for the aforementioned Jade, she’s gonna need a Aventurine squared amount of trauma or reasoning behind her actions to seem in any way sympathetic, because right now she just seems like an evil bitch (in a semi good way, I will always respect the commitment to the bit) who loves her job and would make Machiavelli weep over how hard her ends are trying to justify her means.

#honkai star rail #dr ratio #aventurine #topaz #ip3 #aventiopaz #its not necessarily a ship post it’s just these three are an inseparable unit made perfectly for one another and should kiss #Anyways I can’t fucking wait for future updates #DOWN WITH THE IPC we all screamed #jade hsr #2.3 is gonna be peak #2.2 spoilers #boothill #Also this has made me like avenhill #Avenhill #Kill those cunts!

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smthino-odiffrnt · 1 month ago

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Marcus Acacius's daughter gets caught up in his attempt to dispose the twin Emperors.

9k words.

All smut, no plot. Threesome. OC (fem)

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*** Preamble***

Marcia was Marcus Acacius's daughter from his first marriage. She has been kept safe by her father and his second wife, Lucilla. Always at their estate or under the watchful eye of supervision. She could count the amount of parties she had been to on one hand, all hosted in her own home.

She learned not to mind, realizing how much effort her father made to keep her safe. What did it matter that she was a woman grown without knowing any man besides her father and their private guards.

Marcus Acacius's life has grown into being the top general of the Roman army.

Under the rule of the twin Emperors; Geta and Caracalla, Marcus Acacius's life has become hell. Sent off to fight war after war with little reprieve from the bloodshed. What had mattered to him became all the more precious.

When his wife suggests an end to his and the Empires suffering, Acacius takes the chance to rid the world of the twin Emperors not realizing how much it would cost him.

The plotting would not only cause his and his wife's life to be in danger and expose Lucilla's long lost son to those she meant to protect him most from, but throw his daughter into the hands of the greedy Emperors.

***The Night of Acacuis's Coup***

There was rustling and she knew something was wrong.

This wasn’t the usual rustle from servants beginning their day. No. There was a tension in the air. The same static charge one would feel before a lightning storm. Marcia’s hand crept under her pillow, feeling for the smooth ivory handle that she knew would be there.

There it was, the confirmation she needed, shuffled feet and mumble speech.

She gripped the handle tight, until she could feel her knuckles straining. She swung the pugio out as soon as she heard the leather sandals rub against the stone floor beside her bed. It landed square in the praetorian guard's neck. His hands reached up to his throat on instinct enabling Marcia to pull his sword from the sheath at his side. As he crumpled down she rolled across the bed landing opposite of the remaining guard.

To say she didn’t expect this would be a lie. Marcia had heard the hushed conversation between her father, his wife Lucilla, and the senators that shared their mindset. She knew what he had planned. Of his army making its way towards Rome’s gates. That the Emperors knew of it was a small surprise. She had expected one of the senators to betray them. Probably Thraex, he seemed the type. Killing his men would have been less of a problem, but now that she had the blood of a praetorian guard on her hands, there would be no good end to this.

Marcia took a defensive stance watching the remaining guard carefully. He started to shout so she ran for him using all her weight to shove her shoulder square into his belly. He grunted and staggered to the ground, but not before he managed to get out, “I need help!" in a loud baritone.

Shit, this was worse. She shoved the stolen blade into his throat watching him choke on his own blood before she had to withdraw and watch the door.

Maybe she could run. Jump out the window. No, she was on the second floor of a building with very high ceilings. That would be an equally painful death. Lucilla’s son. Yes, that gladiator that they kept talking about in hushed tones. Her father was supposed to be rescuing him tonight. Perhaps they didn’t know about that. Maybe she could find a way to them.

With a plan in mind, though a weak one, she ran out her chamber doors. Her bare feet slammed hard against the marble tiles as her eyes took in the chaos of her home. Slaves and servants herded together to be taken away and Lucilla being dragged off by two guards.

“Another one!”

She hears it, but doesn’t see who said it, still running, to focused on finding a way out. The servants' passages, that was the smartest.

She turned the corner only to have her chest run into what felt like a tree branch. Marcia landed against the stone floors. Her head slammed so hard that she saw stars for a moment. Her breath had left her, the gladius she stole clanging to the floor. She crumbled to the side as she clutched her chest, wheezing. Before she had even managed to take in air large hands grabbed her forearms and dragged her up.

They shoved her in with Lucilla, threatening to kill both of them if one of them tried to escape.

“I’m so sorry my dear,” Lucilla’s voice sounded as if she was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t be. You were only doing what you believed to be right, mother,” Marcia said as she leaned her head against the older woman, taking what comfort she could. Lucilla wasn’t technically her mother, but with Marcia’s own mother dying in childbirth, her father’s second wife was the only one she had ever known.

The pair of them traveled in silence. Both knowing there had been too much said already. Anything more would just be used against them.

The troop stops in front of the palace, dragging both women roughly into the massive structure. It was opulent to be sure. Part of Marcia wished she had gotten to see it in its full splendor. That she had been allowed to go to any of the elaborate parties or festivals that the Emperors frequently hosted. Instead her father kept her nestled away at his and Lucilla’s estate. Marcia had understood why. Powerful men were always a problem. No, was a foreign word to them, one that they rarely responded well to. Marcia was content with being kept away from such men, learning the art of war from her father and philosophy from Lucilla.

All Marcus’s efforts of protection were for not as they were dragged before the twin Emperors. The night was still far from over.

The praetorians let go of Lucilla allowing her to stand, with her chin held high as she made her way towards the others in the room. Their grip on Marcia however did not loosen. All she could do was watch the scene play out while they kept her a safe distance from the Emperors. The last thing the guards wanted was her finding another blade. General Acacius was behaving himself at least.

Emperor Caracalla, only dressed in a makeshift toga, hollered and swung his sword at them. He seemed erratic, near mad. If it wasn’t for his brother, Emperor Geta, Marcia was certain that they would have all been killed that night. But Geta’s white hot rage was no better. Devising the plan to have her father enduring the arena till his blood was spilled on the sand. At this Marcia could stand it no longer. The shriek from her came deep from within, at the horror of being left behind by her father, her only flesh and blood left in the whole world. She shifted her weight to her right leg, shoving that shoulder in the guard and pulling her left away from the other as he took in what was happening.

She ran for him, desperate with the need to touch her father again. She could hear the guards at her heels as she crashed into her father. His arms wrapped around her as he spoke to her. “Don’t cry my love. I have lived a long life. I would gladly give up my life for Rome,” he says in his calm stoic voice, managing to place a kiss in her head before she’s dragged back by the guards. They changed their hold so that they now had her with their outer arm holding her forearm and their arm closest to her grabbing her bicep, preventing her from repeating the move again.

Her sorrow now turned sour as she glared at the men responsible. They looked ridiculous. Caracalla, with his bedsheet draped around him while he swung a gladius around like a child playing soldier and Geta, with his open red robe and reminisce of makeup on his skin, he looked so feminine compared to how her father always presented himself. They were both so pale, Marcia wondered if the sun had ever even touched their skin. Her father taught her to have a distaste for men with too soft of hands, and theirs were the softest in the empire.

“Is this your daughter, dear Acacius?” Geta asked, though his eyes didn’t leave hers. At the lack of response for Acacius Geta knew it must be the case. He made his way towards her, taking advantage of how tightly his guards were holding her. “What a pretty little thing. No wonder you kept her hidden. Tell me, were you shipped off with your brother? Or did they send you somewhere else?” he questions with a sickly soft voice. The back of his hand stroked down her cheek as she shuddered under his touch, unable to keep eye contact with his cold black eyes.

“If you mean Lucius, he is not my brother,” Marcia manages to get out through gritted teeth as she stares at the floor. She wanted him to move away, to bring his focus back to her father. She couldn’t breathe with him this close, his musky perfumed scent filling her lungs.

“One less person to miss then,” he says. His black eyes stare at her before he finds himself again, pulling back.

“Your Imperial Majesty, what would you have us do with her?” one of the Praetorian’s asked.

“Just throw her in with Lucilla,” Geta sighs, flipping his wrist as if it was obvious.

“Emperor, she must pay,” the guard’s gruff voice shuddered through her.

Geta turns, sitting down on his throne to look at his Pretorian. “Why must she pay exactly?” he asks, the irritation clear in his tone. He had decided their fates already and wanted to head to bed, to get what rest was left of the night.

“She killed two of your men.”

This had him looking up, his eyes wider than before looking at the guard who had just spoken of the girl in their arms. She couldn’t be more than twenty, between her size and the fact that she was still unwed.

“Two of them?” he asked, his eyes narrowing on her.

“Yes, your majesty. An attack on your guard is an attack on you.”

“I know what it means!” Geta snaps, his voice becoming shrill.

His outburst drew the attention of his brother who pointed the sword he was playing with down so its tip rested on the ground, resting his chin on the hilt a little. “She killed two grown men?” his voice was surprisingly soft as he asked the question, tilting his head in query.

“Yes, Emperor Caracalla.” With each word out of the guards mouth Marcia felt her fate sealed more and more.

“And you would admit this publicly?” Caracalla asks him. He watches the guard shuffle around, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the words. The Emperor couldn’t help but burst out into laughter. “Maybe we should throw her into the games too brother,” he jests with more laughter.

Fuck, this was getting worse by the moment.

Geta’s dark eyes looked to her again, his brows slightly pinched, taking her in. They did have to do something with her. It felt like a pity to kill off someone so beautiful, with her olive skin, warm brown eyes and dark hair. She looked enough like her father to make it funny to him. A small breathy laugh escaped as a vision crossed his mind. “No, I have a better idea.”

Marcus could see the wicked look in Geta’s eye. He had been through too many campaigns, seeing that exact same look on many a soldier’s face when sacking a city. “NO!” he shouts, stepping forward before he remembers himself. All the guards in the room had their hand on the hilt of their sword in a second, save for the two holding Marcia. His eyes flicked up to the twin Emperors, a vindictive look was added to Geta's previous lustful gaze. “Please, anything but that,” Marcus begs, his voice getting caught in his throat. He had faced death countless times, but this moment brought tears to his eyes.

“Oh definitely that,” Geta confirmed his worst fears. A maniacal grin spread across his face as walked towards her, keeping his eyes peeled on his once triumphant General. As he made his way towards her, his robe billowing in the wind, Marcia began to tug against the guard's tight hold, desperate to flee from him. She would pull her arms out their sockets if that’s what it took, but she couldn’t even make them budge as he stalked ever closer. She might be untouched, but she knew exactly what he was implying. Every warning her father ever gave her ringing through her head. The tall Emperor looked down on her with a face of indifference before his right hand reached around, gripping the hair at the base of her neck. Her hands, the moment the guards released them, flung up to where Geta held her. She tried to pull his hand away, to loosen his grip even just a little, but his hand felt as if it was made of iron. He dragged her over towards her father, ignoring the feeling of her nails digging into his wrist. Caracalla’s giggle echoes through the hall. Finally some entertainment. “I think becoming the Emperors’ whore is the perfect fate for her,” Geta says, tilting her head back, forcing her to look up at him. “She is beautiful,” his breath fans across her face causing her to shudder, in his grip.

“Why you-” Marcus begins, lunging towards them before Geta cuts him off.

“Praetorians!” he shouts. The guards quickly grabbed Acacius. “Take him away. Booth of them,” he says, shooing them away with his spare hand. He pushes her head up, moving it so it follows her family’s departure. “Look look look,” he whispers into her ear. “There they go. Any chance of saving is being forced out the room. They can not save you. No one can. Not for what we have in store for you.”

She hears Caracalla’s laugh echo through the room. She wants to cry but the feeling of Geta’s tongue licking up the side of her neck sends shivers down her spine. “Look at her quake,” Caracalla laughs at her. When she hears Geta snickering join his brother’s a fire is lit within her again.

She twists down and in, punching Geta in the gut. Marcia feels his hand release before hearing him grunt. She takes the opportunity and bolts as fast as she can. She can hear Caracalla’s maniacal laughter as she flees from the room. The halls are nearly empty with most of the praetorians leading General Acacius away.

“What are you doing? Go after her!” Geta groans at his brother as he begins to stand, the punch had more force than he expected from a woman.

Cara needed no more encouragement. He dropped the sword and took off in a sprint after her. Though he had little experience in running, the thrill of the chase coursed through him. A deranged laugh made its way out as he caught sight of her running down the halls. She was blind to where she went, desperate to find some kind of safe haven. Caracalla had to signal the guards to deter them from helping. No, this fun was for him and his brother alone.

When she skittered at a dead end he took his chance to pounce on her, tackling her to the hard ground. He made sure she took the brunt of the fall. Using her disorientation from the fall he pins her hands to the floor beside her head and uses the weight of his lower body to keep her down. He giggled while she writhed under him, kicking and screaming. It only made him laugh more.

It was this sight that Geta walked in on. Seeing his brother’s poorly done toga beginning to fall apart. It was a little funny to watch his younger brother try to fondle such an angry victim. “Brother,” his voice interrupted them. Cara looked up, making sure to hold her still. There was a glint to his eyes, the shine of his gold tooth. The same that he had when they watched the games together. “Grab a leg,” Geta sad as he leaned down and proceeded to grab one of her ankles waiting till Caracalla grabbed the other. Before she had the chance to fight back the brothers began dragging her on her back towards where their guards waited. They dropped her at their feet. Geta uttered, “bring her to my chambers,” before they walked off.

One of the guards roughly picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder, making sure to keep her legs pinned so that she couldn't kick him. He follows after the Emperors, dropping her when Geta prompts him upon entering his chambers. Once again she lands hard on the cold stone floor.

But this time she’s ready for it. She rolls with the fall, lessening the pain. Using the time she knew that she had, she sprung up reaching her hand out and clasping it around the praetorian’s hilt. She pulled it out, swinging it up in a fluid motion, the tip caught at his chin and scraped across his face. He clutched at it, rearing back in pain. Caracalla laughed at the sight, not wanting the entertainment to end, but Geta grabbed one of his gladius's, bringing it to Marcia’s throat. “Tsk tsk tsk. Drop it,” his voice was deadly calm.

“Kill me,” she utters, pressing her neck into the blade. The small sting felt like a life line distracting her from the dread she felt.

“You think dying would grant you peace?” Geta said with a smirk. “Know that if you die now your father will meet a worse death than in the colosseum. Crucifixion. Or maybe thrown off Tarpeian Rock?” With her eyes focused on the gladius pointed at her neck, Marcia failed to notice Geta’s hand tick in a quick gesture to his brother. Cara easily slipped out of her peripheral, making his way towards her back. Before she has a chance to answer Caracalla makes his move. Wrapping his arms over hers, getting her to drop the sword as he pulled them back. “If kill yourself, get killed or otherwise become too difficult…”

“Your father dies a most gruesome death,” Caracalla’s light crackling voice whispers in her ear.

“I’m just to lie back and let you have your way with me?” Marcia grits out.

Geta sks at her while Caracalla laughs. “Where’s the fun in that?” Caracalla questions her, tightening his grip.

“We have real whores for that. Ones who are no doubt better at it than you,” Geta teases. The sting hurt somehow, as if being pure was now a failing of hers. He comes forward, taking the opportunity to gently stroke her face again. He loved how she shivered under his touch. “It doesn’t matter if you resist or lie back like a good little girl. My brother and I will do exactly as we wish,” he said. His hand snaked through her hair making a fist at the back of her skull. The power of being emperor coursing through his veins. He tugged her down as Caracalla knocked out the back of her legs, Marcia’s knees thudding to the floor. Caracalla let go of her arms as she fell, enabling her to grab at Geta’s iron fist. “Now, open your mouth.”

Geta pulled open his robe revealing his engorged cock, suddenly feeling very awake despite it being the middle of the night. Marcia hesitates for a moment looking at the pale veiny thing in front of her face, glistening with precum. It was larger than statues depicted, but somehow looked more like stone than flesh. No doubt the hardest thing on the soft handed emperor. The idea of having something that large in her mouth had Marcia swallowing hard.

Geta tightened his grip and shaking her head roughly till her mouth opened ever so slightly. Cara laughs, only stopping to watch his brother push his cock against her mouth. The salty musk of him filled her senses as he pressed against her top lip. He hooked his thumb around her bottom teeth, pulling her mouth open enough to push his head against her velvet tongue.

Geta has had better. Much better. She kept her mouth around him, using her tongue to try and keep him back to prevent her from gagging. But the sight of her more than made up for it. Truly the female visage of her father. It felt as if he was mouth fucking General Acacius himself. It felt like power. The defiance in her eyes made it feel that much sweeter.

He pulled out for a moment, his spare hand slapping her jaw roughly. Her scowl drops as her eyes open wide in shock, she was under the impression that cooperation would be the less painful root. “Suck on it,” he says breathlessly. He shoves it back in groaning as he feels her hollow out her cheeks. It felt embarrassing and shameful and Marcia felt like she could hardly breath, but some part of her body started to betray her. A small thrum began in-between her thighs. Like a drum beat from the gods.

The pull of the suction causes a shiver to travel up his spine. His head lulled back as he fucked her mouth. It was the whimper of his brother that brought him back. Caracalla’s would-be toga discarded to the floor as he pawed at his own cock. Stroking himself at the sight of them. Geta pulled her off his member. “Now, my brother,” he says as he manhandles her head to face Caracalla’s erect cock. He has to pull harder on her hair before he can shove her opening mouth upon his brother’s throbbing cock.

The shorter length was easier to manage, though Caracalla thrust at a much faster rate. He hit the back of her throat several times causing Marcia to gag on him, nearly losing whatever was left in her stomach. Geta kept a firm grip on her, enjoying how he was making sure she took care of his brother. Caracalla’s hands joined his, holding her by the top of her head as he continued his brutal pace.

Geta looked up and saw his brother’s jaw begin to twitch and flex. He yanked her off his brother’s cock so hard that she fell backwards onto the floor. He didn’t want the fun to end too soon. Caracalla panted and caught his breath after being so close to cumming, though didn’t do his usual complaining at being forced to stop.

Marcia was getting too used to ending up on the floor. She scrambled up again. Maybe she could become just annoying enough that they would grow tired of her. Make them work a little too hard. Marcia plants her feet in a defensive position looking at the pair of them. Caracalla was completely naked now. A happy smile on his face as he looked at her. Geta’s red robe hung open, showing off his pale stomach and thighs. A devilish smirk spread on his face as he locked eyes with her.

“That’s it,” he coos.

“Play the game with us,” his brother taunts.

“What game you sick fucks!?” she yells at them. They looked far too pleased with themselves, having already taken her mouth.

“Cat and mouse. Run and chase,” Caracalla pauses, “predator and prey. Whatever you want to call it.”

“The one where you try to get away,” Geta adds.

“And what if I just give myself up?” she asks. Marcia could feel her fear trickling up her arms.

The joint Emperors laugh. Geta answers, “there’s too much fight in you.” He grins at her slowly walking to her right as Caracalla moves to her left. “So, much like your father,” he teased.

Not wanting to get pinned in, Marcia runs straight towards the large table at the far end of the chamber. She slides across it, knocking things as she made it to the other side, making it a barrier between her and them.

Glancing to one another, each brother grabs the edge closest to him. Pushing up together, flipping the table and scattering its contents towards her. Their twin laughs mix with Marcia’s shocked scream. Platters clattering and goblets smashing all around her. Marcia had to back up to avoid cutting her bare feet on the broken glass.

She spotted Geta first, rounding the right side of the massive table that now laid on its side. Marcia split left taking a wide turn, hoping to avoid Caracalla who was making his way to the corner closest to him.

“That’s it. Come on!” Geta’s voice echoes through the chamber. Caracalla’s laugh follows behind.

They liked this game too much. It wasn’t going to work. Clearly it only spurred them on. ‘If this is a game then there has to be a way for me to win,’ Marcia thought to herself. ‘So, how? How do I win?’

“How does the game end then?” she asks, trying to ignore her heart rate.

“We catch you and fuck you,” Caracalla says with a laugh.

“That’s if you win,” Marcia adds. She keeps slowly stepping backwards. Her eyes darted from one of the emperors to the other.

“We always win,” Caracalla’s cheery voice answers her.

“You can’t win,” Geta says. His eyes followed her carefully. She was backing herself into a corner. Excitement was bubbling inside of him. Picturing how she’ll look when she realises there is nowhere for her to run to. How her eyes will widen, her mouth will open and she’ll start pleading and begging, his cock twitched at the image.

“So, you both just use me and then I’m free to go?” She knew there was a table over here, but where was it? Why hadn’t she run into it yet?

“You go to the Praetorians next.” There was the shock he loved to see. “Your body as payment for the lives you took,” Geta explains. There it was the moment he was waiting for, her ass had hit the edge of the table.

But the wide eyes didn’t come. Instead her eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Marcia’s hand reached back grabbing any object from behind. She flung the small metal cup she had managed to find, throwing it at Geta. He turned his shoulder letting the cup hit him in the side, laughing. Her next projectile was a fig wielded towards Caracalla. Who screamed as it hit in the shoulder, a little more surprised by the attack than his brother was.

He let out a small whimper as he rubbed his barely bruised shoulder. She threw another, taking advantage of the full bowl of fruit. Geta hit the next one targeted at him away, becoming agitated. The second one that hit Caracalla wacked him in the head. He whimpered again, rubbing the spot on his head as tears pricked at his eyes.

Geta couldn’t stand it. No one made his brother cry. Not any more. Least of all a traitorous bitch. “Enough,” Geta barked. His long strides brought him to her within seconds, ignoring the objects that hit him in the chest. Marcia hadn’t realised how fast he could be when he wanted. Geta’s hand gripped her throat before she could blink. “Say sorry,” he growled at her, squeezing tightly.

Marcia tried to breath in a ragged breath, turning her eyes towards the snivelling Caracalla. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed. Geta’s grip tightened. Her eyes felt as if they might pop out of her head.

Caracalla sniffled a few times before looking up at her, he wiped his eye with the back of his hand. His slightly teary eyes met hers. “You don’t really mean it,” he says, his chin having a small tremble.

Geta leans in close, his breath fanning along her cheek. His nose nudges the shell of her ear as he says, “go show my brother you mean it.”

He gives a quick threatening squeeze before releasing her. Geta watched her carefully as Marcia took slow tentative steps towards his brother. Caracalla looked so much like a boy when he acted this way. It reminded Geta of their youth and what they had to endure. Never again would they suffer by the hands of another.

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracks a little. It was hard to talk with her throat still tender from Geta’s harsh grip.

When Caracalla’s mood doesn’t shift she looks back to Geta. His face is unflinching. It was clear to her that he expected her to try harder. Marcia sucked in a deep breath a foot away from Caracalla now. Her hands tentatively touched his shoulders, settling in when he didn't flinch away. She bites hard on her bottom lip, letting the pain drown out her thoughts as she leans in. Being close in height she only has to press her heels up maybe an inch off the floor before their lips met.

Marcia didn’t realize how soft they would be. Somehow thinking they would be like stone. Caracalla returned the kiss with soft gentle movements, allowing her to drag him out of the fog he was in. As the world came back into focus he wrapped his hands around her back and neck drawing her in to deepen the kiss. Their mouths parted and Marcia could taste the slight metallic from his gold tooth.

She got lost. It felt like drowning as their mouths collided again. The first time she had kissed anyone and she never wanted to stop with the warm fuzzy feeling it gave her. There was a new tug in her hair, pulling her mouth from Caracalla’s. The two of them panting slightly, with reddening lips.

Geta looked down at her, scowling. “Brothers share,” he mutters, leaning down and open mouth kissing her already parted mouth.

His kiss was harsh and demanding. Nothing like how soft and sweet Cara’s were. His mouth worked against her, keeping her mouth wide open as his tongue explored her. It was overpowering. Consuming. When Caracalla’s mouth met her neck, licking and nibbling, her knees gave out, lust flooding her for the first real time.

The brothers, having her front pinned by Caracalla and her back by Geta, easily held her up as their hands began exploring her still covered body. Cara’s hands pawed her breasts over the thin silk of her night dress. Geta’s hand, that wasn;t holding her hair, traced down the side of her body and hip, curving in towards the tenderness of her inner thigh. It was as if she was under a spell. Perhaps Cupid had flown in and shot her with one of his arrows.

The moment Caracalla yanks the straps of her dress off her shoulders, leaving her breast to the chill of the night air, the spell breaks. Marcia once again becomes deathly aware of her predicament. The twins laugh, both drinking in the sight of her shocked face. Her hands fumbling to gather the fabric, trying to cover her breasts from their hungry eyes. Nearly all of her weight was being held by Geta, who had his leg between hers, propping her ass up with his thigh.

She needed to get away. Needed to clear her head. It currently felt like she had over imbibed in wine. That her consciousness was swimming and her body was a long lost idea. She needed to get away. Create some distance between her and the feelings bubbling up inside of her.

The second she goes to make her move, Geta feels it. The subtle shift of her ass against him. He grabs her wrists before she gets the chance to leave them, pulling her hands out from her body so that she has to struggle for balance, strung out for his brother. Marcia becomes erratic with the fear of becoming a caged animal racing through her mind. She wrenches against his hold desperate to get away. The ease of which it takes to restrain her makes Geta let out a cruel mocking laugh.

What she had managed to pull back up around herself had fallen back down leaving her breasts exposed. Caracalla gazed at them as they bounced with every pull, twist and tug she made. Unable to help himself, he latches his mouth to her breast, suckling at it as if he were a babe starved. A moan ripples through her before she can suppress it. He licks around the areola before switching to the other breast, beginning the feast anew. Marcia’s head landed against Geta’s shoulder. Her ass pressing against him as her chest arched uncontrollably, moaning from his brother's work. She looked perfect.

Geta’s laugh pulls her back to reality. An embarrassed blush bloomed on her face. No. She couldn’t give into them. Not now. Not ever. She looked down to see Caracalla devouring her left breast as his hand fondled her right. She needed to catch her breath. Marcia forces herself to focus on the cold marble floor seeping into her toes, at the burning pain happening at her wrists from Geta’s steel grip. Breathing in and out trying to bring her mind back. To focus on the other senses. The smell of incense in the room. The scratch of Geta’s robe against her back.

How could she get out though? She could see the door over Caracalla’s shoulder, but with his hands wrapped around her waist and Geta’s hands holding her in a vice like grip, how could she get to it? Stomping on one of their feet? Or maybe kicking one of them? Maybe she could head butt Cara and step on Geta’s foot. If she could tug her hands free she could shove Caracalla away and… And then what? Try to flee from all of the Pratoreans who are no doubt stationed throughout the whole palace now. They knew about Lucius. They knew which Senators were in on it. Even if she could escape the Emperors-

“You’ve just realized it, haven't you?” Geta coos into her ear. He feels Marcia’s body tense up against him, bringing a smile to his lips as he rubs them against her neck. “You’ve just realized there’s no getting out of this. You’re ours Marcia.”

She flexes against him, straining to get away, desperate for escape. Geta drops her wrists, quickly wrapping his arms around her ribs as she thrashes out, screaming, “no! Let me go! Let me go, you overgrown ape!”

A surprised Caracalla takes a step back. It takes him a moment to understand what his brother was doing. He watches Geta drag her thrashing body towards the raised platform that held his canopied bed. Caracalla happily follows going to the other side of the bed to help pin her in. Geta throws her onto the bed. He reached for the jambiya he had received as a gift, pressing it to her throat, before she has a chance to get up. Marcia stilled instantly, trying to keep the curved blade from cutting her throat.

“Come brother, you should be the first to try her since she hurt you so cruelly,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as his black eyes never left hers.

“Glady,” Caracalla says in answer before crawling onto the bed. He rubbed his face across her smooth skin as he brought his face to hers. “Turn around,” Caracalla whispered into her ear. Her eyes widened in confusion as she at last looks at him. He let out a chuckle before his hands started directing her body into the position he wanted.

Caracalla made her prop herself up on her hands and knees, her ass to him and face to Geta. Who was patently watching from the side lines. Only sliding the ceremonial dagger under her chin, tilting it up till she looked at him. Caracalla spat on her cunt, sending a jolt through her body. She desperately wanted to turn her face back to look at what was happening, but Geta’s blade was a constant reminder not to look away from his black cruel eyes.

She could feel Cara press the head of his cock against her entrance, circling it slightly, gathering what slick was there. The teasing sent a shiver through her. This was easily caught but Geta, who only smirked wider. With one swift thrust Cara buried his cock inside of her. Marcia’s head fell at the invasion, biting hard on her lip, like Orcus was she going to cry out in pain from his assault. She refused to grant them the satisfaction. A matching sting to what she felt from her womanhood simmered at her neck as the foreign blade cut into her.

The blade guided her face back up, but Geta’s eyes were on his brother. Watching him drink in the sensation of a tight virgin cunt. A small satisfactory smile crept across his lips as he watched his brother experiencing pleasure. Caracalla’s mouth had fallen open as he began slow pleasure driven thrusts, wanting to take in every inch of sensation he felt. Her warm damp walls sucking him in as she clenched at the intrusion inside of her.

Marcia felt breathless as Caracalla gradually started picking up speed. His hands grabbed either side of her hips, helping him bounce against her. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath as the sharp pain began to ease. That was worse. To be taken in pain was one thing, but to get pleasure from it was something Marcia didn’t want to face.

“Has a man ever taken you before?” Geta asks. She clenched her jaw tighter, refusing to answer him. When she doesn't even open her eyes Geta kneels down, switching the position of the jambiya so its point is pressing into the soft spot on the underside of her jaw. “Open your eyes,” he says with a calm sweet tone. Marcia clenched them tighter. Still too focused on finding her breathe. “Look at me,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing the blade ever so slightly in. It pricked into the soft tissue. Marcia’s eyes flashing open and she loses the control she had on herself. A soft moan escaping her lips, her mouth falling open, as she locks eyes with Geta. He looks like a mad god with the smile that he gives in response. “Why don’t you play with her?” Geta asks his brother while his black eyes bore into Marcia’s.

Her bottom lip quivers and she shakes her head, trying to stifle her building moans again. Her bottom lip was back between her teeth, chewing on it. Caracalla reaches a hand under her. His fingers delicately stroked her clit with feather light touches. She couldn’t take it. All the noises she was trying to suppress ripple out of her. Satisfied Geta pulls his blade away, allowing her to drop her head as she continues to moan. A pleasure she had never known coursing through her.

Marcia finally catches her breath, starting to hold moans back again, as Geta’s hand grabs her jaw. He forces her to look up at him again, squeesing her cheeks into her teeth so she opens her mouth once more. He shoves his cock into her agape mouth and then pinches her nose shut. She tries to draw in breath through her mouth causing her to suck hard on his cock. Geta pulls out for a moment, Still pinching her nose, allowing her to take a breath before shoving back in. He repeats this motion a few more times before pressing in deep and holding there. With no release in sight Marcia’s body starts reeling at the invasion, trying to get breath somewhere. Caracalla has to stop his thrust to focus on holding her down, a manic laugh coming out as she bucked against them.

Marcia starts to still with her chest growing tight, screaming for air. Her mouth starts to clench prompting Geta to pull out and release her nose. Marcia’s chest falls to the mattress as she coughs, gasping at the welcome fresh air. Caracalla’s laugh is joined by Geta’s as they watch her so desperate for something as basic as air. Caracalla pulls out and lets her hips fall to the bed. She lays there panting on Geta’s bed for a moment. Geta drops his red robe to the floor moving to join Caracalla on his bed. He grabs the jambiya, passing it over to his brother who eagerly begins to cut Marcia’s rumpled nightdress. The un-dyed silk falls to the side, leaving her completely bare to them.

WIth air returned to her brain panics at the knife so closer to her flesh and kicks her leg out, hitting Caracalla and knocking him off the bed a little. The noise of the knife clattering to the ground eases her a little. Retaliation is what she had to prepare for though. Marcia raises herself up onto her knees, eyes locking on Geta. The look on his face implied something closer to “really?” rather than any form of worry. Then he launched himself at her. His hands quickly grabbed her wrists, handing them to his brother to hold above her head. While she looked up to Caracalla, his gold tooth glinting in the lamplight as he grinned down at her, Geta lined himself up with her, burying himself into her the moment his cock meet her damp folds. A sick smile spread across his face as she cried out and clenched around him, furious at the new intrusion.

“She feels good, doesn’t she, brother?” Cara asks, easily keeping Marcia’s hands in place as she tugged on them.

A quiet groan of pleasure escapes Geta’s lips before he answers, “I can’t decide what feels better. The father’s victories or the daughter’s cunt.” He looks down at her, a mockery of a lover’s smile on his face.

“Let’s keep her. Dundus could use a new friend,” Caracalla says, sounding like a boy asking his parents for a puppy.

“Whatever you want brother,” Geta answers a little breathless, lost in his own sensations as he felt every shift she made trying to get away from him. His eyes start to look like black voids as they hood with lust, taking her body that was spread out under him. His mouth dived into her throat as his hands went to her breast massaging them with his long smooth fingers. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers into her ear, his thrust beginning a gruelling pace. “So, so beautiful,” he continues to whisper into her skin as he scatters kisses across her upper chest. He had wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her and finally he was inside her warm cunt. Her body shivering perfectly for him. She was his. “So soft and warm for me. Such a pretty little thing,” he coos.

A moan escapes her. She couldn’t help herself falling apart under his languid administrations. His smooth deep thrust shoving his cock in till it kissed her cervix. The sweet little confessions to her. His gentle touches all over her body. Acting as if he was her lover. Marcia didn’t even realise she had wrapped one of her legs around his hips as he at last captured her lips in a sensual kiss. She got lost to it. Caracalla released her hands, happy to watch how she became clay, molding to his brother. Her hands quickly weaved themselves into Geta’s ginger hair pulling his face closer in deepening the kiss.

She was fucked, completely and utterly fucked. She couldn’t help losing herself to it all. Geta sat up, pulling her up with him to have her on his lap as he thrusted up into her. His hand gripped the back of her head again, pulling it back gently so that he could feast on her neck once more.

His slow movements went unnoticed by Marcia, to0 lost to his touches and gradual thrusts. Geta had positioned them so that his legs dangled off the edge of the bed. Her back towards Caracalla who had been patiently waiting for his brother to finish his turn.

Geta moved his mouth back to her lips as Cara began to suck at the crook of her neck, a deep violet mark starting to bloom under his lips. When Marcia felt Calacalla’s hands pawing at her ass she froze. They had trapped her again and she was too caught up to have noticed. How had she become this dumb. Why had her mind abandoned her and left her only with a weak traitorous body?

“Brothers share,” Caracalla provided as explanation. Their hands tightened around her and Geta began his thrusts again, distracting her from his brother’s actions. Her mind became lost again as their mouths continued to work her over. Cara took the provided opportunity to gather and pour oil on his cock before pressing the weeping head against her puckered asshole. Geta’s hands spread her wide for him access. He thrust in. His whole cock sheathing itself into her virgin asshole.

A moan caught in Marcia’s throat twisting into a strangled cry as her body burned once again from such a fast invasion. Becoming devastatingly full with both of the brothers' cocks. Geta covered her mouth with his drinking in her cries of pain. Sick pleasure rushes through him as she whimpers into mouth. Tears trailing down the side of her face. From the pain, from the pleasure, from being overwhelmed by them.

She looked absolutely perfect in their eyes. A whimpering moaning weeping mess as they stuffed her full. Geta laid back, his hands still holding her hips to help keep an even pace. Caracalla’s hands around her, kept her up, happy to have her so close to him. Geta closes his eyes, enabling him to better focus on every little noise she makes. Her hands rested on his lower stomach, trying to keep herself upright. Cara’s hands reached up and grabbed at her breasts, pinching her nipples. Marcia let out another cry before it quickly turned into nonsensical moans. Lost in the twisted game of pain and pleasure that they were inflicting on her.

As Cara’s end crept up on him he pushed her down against his brother’s chest. One hand planted on the center of her back keeping her there as he fucked into her at a brutal pace desperate to come in her.

Geta let out a groan as she landed on him. Though he didn’t object, feeling his brother’s frantic thrust through her. His hands gathered the dark hair that had fanned out across his face blocking his sight. He held it tightly to pull her head up off his chest, getting her warm brown eyes to look at him. They looked like Acacius but not. His were tired and bitter where hers were excitable and hopeful. And now they looked pleading and lustful as his brother fucked into her.

“You’re ours,” Geta cooed to her.

“Completely ours,” Caracalla added as he spilt his seed deep inside her.

Geta wrapped his other arm across her shoulder blades before saying his next words, “you’re ruined.”

“Nooo!” rips from her throat as fresh tears spill out as she feels Cara’s hot cum inside of her. She tried desperately to wriggle free of them, both had too good of a grip on her to make that possible. Caracalla laughs and Geta grunts from her clenching him so tightly

“Shhh. Shhh,” Geta tries to calm her, “be still unless you want to bear my son.”

His warning had Marcia become as still as a statue. Caracalla pulled out of her, pausing for a moment to watch her stretched hole pucker a little and leak his white cum out of it. He grabbed her by her hair, dragging her up against his sweaty chest.

“Do you not want to grant my brother the honour of an heir?” Cara questions her. With one hand still fisted in her hair and the other wrapped around her waist he started to raise Marcia up and down on his brother’s cock. Geta’s hands dug into her thighs desperate for her to stop moving. Everything felt so tightly wound inside of himself that he could hardly think. Even his breath became tight as he tried to hold himself back from coming.

“Brother!” Geta says through gritted teeth, glaring at him. Caracalla threw his head back laughing at his brother as Geta laid trapped, struggling not to come. Caracalla drew her up and down once more at an agonizingly slow pace watching as Geta clenched his jaw tight enough it looked as if he might shatter teeth. The brothers were locked in a death stair with each other while Marcia struggled to feel her legs, twitching slightly on top of Geta, unintentionally flexing around him. Cara used her one more time to stroke his brother before pulling her up enough that Geta could pull his cock out. He strokes it a few times and comes hard, splashing on his own chest and her belly as relief washes over him.

Caracalla’s laugh pulled Geta back to the land of the living. “Give her to me,” Geta says, opening his arms to receive her. Cara gives an affectionate, almost childish kiss to the side of Marcia’s head before pushing her towards his twin. She crashes into him, her body slack from being used.

“Aren’t you done?” she whimpers out as Geta manhandles her, twisting her around so she lays with her back against his chest.

“We are, but you're not,” he explains. Caracalla joins them back on the bed, walking on his knees towards them. Marcia can only manage whimpers of refusal as Geta’s arms hold her down against him and Cara’s hands spread her legs open wide. Their twin laughs echoing through the chamber.

Cara’s tongue licks her cunt in long strokes. “She tastes like us,” he says with a grin. “Here,” he thrusts two fingers inside of her, before stroking it against her abused puckered asshole and then her cum smeared stomach. Marcia wiggles at the sensation wishing this humiliation would end. “Taste us,” he says to her, raising his white covered fingers up to her face.

“Open your mouth, beautiful,” Geta directs her, sweetly nudging his nose against her cheek.

Marcia’s jaw falls open, too little fight left in her. Caracalla happily rubbed his sticky fingers in her velvety mouth. A smile spread on his face as she responded to the tangy pungent semen coating her tongue, gauging slightly.

“Suck them.”

She closed her lips around Caracalla’s fingers sucking on them slightly till he pulled them out, leaving what he had gathered in her mouth. The thick substance sitting like a puddle on her tongue.

“Swallow it,” Geta commands. He watches her throat bob. His hand came up to caress her face. “Good girl,” he coos at Marcia, feeling her collapse into him in sweet submission. He couldn’t help the satisfaction that washed over him as his brother began working his mouth on her, causing her to fall apart in Geta’s hands.

Caracalla added his fingers back in crooking them to stroke her insides. Electricity sparked through her body. Tension formed in her gut. A sense of foreboding began to take over. “No, no, no, no, no,” she started to beg, not wanting to completely give in to them. For the Emperors to have all of her firsts.

“Yes,” Geta says in a hushed whisper, his breath tickling her ear and neck.

“Please. No,” Marcia begged, tears spilling from her eyes as her body betrayed her. Hardly even able to wiggle anymore.

“You’re going to come for us, and only us,” Geta’s whispers turn harsh, demanding.

Caracalla twisted his hand so that he could add his thumb to her cunt and slip his pinky into her cum slick hole. His pinky ring pressing against the outside of it. “No, no, no,” Marcia whimpered, barely able to contain herself.

“Come for us,” he coos. One of his hands strokes some of her hair off her face.

Her breath becomes erratic as she desperately tries to keep from falling off the edge. Geta’s hand slips down her body to her clit, flicking his brother’s face off it. Marcia catches her breath at the pause thinking they were done. That she survived.

“Yes, please come for us,” Caracalla politely begs before his mouth moves to suck one of her nipples while his spare hand squeezes Marcia’s other breast.

Her resistance crumples up into uncontrollable moans as her mind becomes overrun with pleasure. Her body overrun, full once again.

“That’s it,” Geta's lips tickle against her neck. He feels her tighten up against him. All of her muscles pulling taunt. “Let go of yourself. Let go for us.” She sucks in a tight breath. “Come for us Marcia,” Geta murmurs against the soft skin under her ear.

“Please.”

She shatters in their arms. Letting out a guttural moan as she comes on both of their hands. Her pussy pulsing around Caracalla’s fingers. Waves of unimaginable pleasure washing over her. Their hands stroking her through it till she twitched against them

Marcia’s body becomes limp against Geta. Caracalla pulls his hand out, sucking on his fingers. He pushes them back in roughly, causing Marcia’s whole body to shudder and a whimper to leave her throat. He pulls them back out and offers her juices to his brother. Geta opened his mouth for him, moaning at the taste of her on his twin’s fingers.

“Let’s keep her,” Caracalla says as he happily moves things around on the bed to make it easier for him to sleep.

“Fine,” Geta says in answer.

His hands never leave her as the twins manoeuvre Marcia to lay between them. Her nearly unconscious body was positioned so that her head was propped up by Geta’s shoulder, snugging her against his chest while Caracalla pawed at her ass before spooning her. Both the Emperors’ arms wrapped around her as the three of them, their bodies sweaty and exhausted from their activities, drifted off to sleep.

#emperor geta #emperor caracalla #gladiator 2 #smut #i don't know how to tag this

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boop-le-snoot · 3 months ago

Text

kinktober #1

Lovesong

Clean water. A bedroll that didn't reek of mildew and filthy iron. Clean clothing, practically a luxury in current circumstances. The villager who had brought it was a small, mousy thing with a baby strapped to her chest, with it being the probable reason uruks left her alone and let her pass throughout the camp unbothered. The southern folk had a variety of coloured fabrics unlike anything encountered by most non-nobles in the West lands. Including you.

You carefully wrapped up your new clothes in your threadbare towel and gathered your necessities before exiting your temporary dwelling. A nearby uruk gave you an appraising glance and, having received your nod, gestured in the appropriate direction. It was not a secret you were a favourite amongst the many slaves and servants. Truthfully, you were never a slave in the first place, but those were semantics that hardly mattered. You worked for your keep like everyone else.

The bathing area was guarded by two Uruks, ones you knew, and they knew you. Greetings were exchanged and the two traded a quick salacious glance as they let you pass through the thick shrubbery surrounding the pools of hot springs. It was a blessing for your party to stumble upon them during your wandering through the Southlands.

Despite their normal state of battle-rugged filth, Uruks did like to bathe. Sure, their standards of cleanliness were much different from humans, and even further than those of Elves, but such was their wild nature. Uruks could be no more at fault for their habits than races considered noble.

It was this realisation that brought you to know the strange scarred Elf sat sprawled against the side of the basin. At least you guessed he was an Elf, or had been, at some point. His rangy, sharp features and pointed ears coupled with the scarring covering every inch of his body made for a mesmerising view. Like a difficult puzzle, he elicited feelings of awe, wonder and trepidation. His eyes opened, two angular slits, and surveyed your approaching form.

On silent feet and watched by his bottomless pools of liquid onyx, you briskly deposited your items on a nearby stone and slid out of your filthy, ragged clothes. The only thing that was subject to salvage was underwear. Relief washed over you as warm, dry air gently touched your bare skin slick with stale sweat and dirt.

“Melmë.” He spoke up suddenly. Water splashed over the edges.

“Adar,” you replied, bowing your head respectfully.

The final article of clothing - a pair of underwear - slid swiftly down your legs. You hurried to step into the pool, acutely aware the way Adar's silent appraisal of your body sent shivers down your flesh. Having spent so long in an Uruk camp, self-consciousness was a thing of the past.

It was anticipation that coiled in your tummy. Expectant, you dunked underwater to wet your hair and run fingers through it to dislodge any debris. Arms connected with your torso, bringing you up above the water. Adar's chest, all lean, textured skin, connected with your back. Where the water was lukewarm, he was pleasantly warm. His palms slid over your chest, brushing past your erect nipples with a petal-soft touch.

You sighed. Adar rumbled.

“Have you forgotten your manners?” His voice resonated throughout your skull as a wry observation.

In truth, you did. The mere prospect of feeling clean had overshadowed everything else in your mind, giving you tunnel vision. Even now, faced well with the prospect of punishment, you could hardly care. Hardly focus on anything beside the scent of soap and, perhaps, the slowly hardening appendage twitching at your rear. You hummed non-commitally and hummed some more when Adar's arms tightened up to keep you in place.

“What you say?” Voice lower, harsher, his strong arms squeezed you just shy of painful.

“I did forget my manners,” you chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating a clever plan to evade Adar's grasp and make a dash for the soap.

“...” Impatient rumble, hand sneaking to none-too-gently grope at your breast.

“Adar!” You quickly added, halting the hand and turning touch towards gentle. Electric sparks shot through your nipple as Adar toyed with it, flicking the hardened nub with the calloused pad of his thumb. You sighed, locking your hips in place. There was a limit to misbehaving.

Somewhat of a theatrical sigh left the Uruk. “You must apologise and make amends, melmë,” he chided, switching his hands to award your other nipple the same arduous torture. A lick of flame burnt bright in the pit of your belly and Adar instantly knew of it, having brought a large hand to press your hips against his own, daring you to push back.

“I am sorry,” you sputtered. For forgetting to greet him properly, yes, but not for wanting a bath. You remained frozen, awaiting a rough grab or a harsh tweak to your abused breast, heart fluttering somewhere in your throat.

It didn't come. Instead, you felt the ghost of a smile brush over the shell of your ear. “There. Was it truly difficult?” The rumble of his voice curved around your budding arousal and pushed it towards forefront.

“No, Adar,” you said. It sounded very close to petulant whining.

It only seemed to amuse him further. He did not laugh, no, but nonetheless the splashing of water was joined by a terse, scratchy noise. A rich sound you echoed with the ghost of a grin.

“Well, then.” Adar released your hip and reached somewhere behind himself.

All business-like, he brought the object in front of you and released your breast to rub it in between his palms underwater. Scents of pine and lye made you sigh in relief and happiness as water foamed. As Adar's hands connected with your skin to drag the fragrant bar along your stomach, your shoulders dropped.

Slowly, he scrubbed at the soft parts of your front. Palms applied gentle pressure, scrubbing away the grime, with fingertips trailing behind, blunt nails raking over clean skin, leaving discoloured lines that disappeared as soon as they were made. Not leaning into the touch was not an option. Your breasts pushed forward, you shamelessly threw your head back and to the side, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Adar's wet black tresses smelled of smoke on the water. Swallowing the urge to nose at the strong line of his jaw, you pushed yourself further into his hands as they slid up, cleansing your sides and ribcage. Your nipples stood proud and hard, peeking just above the water. Patient as ever, Adar slid the soap once, twice over your breasts and moved on to scrub under your collarbones.

“Adar...” You mumbled, breasts tingling.

“Patience is a virtue,” he chuffed, taking a sharp dive down. He traced your hipbones, squeezed and rubbed the meat on top of them before using them as handles to make you take a step forward. Grumbling, you did, and were rewarded with a pinching squeeze at your ass cheek and a click of his tongue. “Impertinent!”

As Adar's hands made quick work of your neck and back, you mumbled. “I am sorry. It has been such a long time...” You trailed off into a mewl as he squeezed the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving kitten. It never ceased to make your knees weak. There was something so - possessive, commanding - impertinent, damn it! In that gesture. A new wave of heat flooded your face. Whether one borne of indignation or pleasure was yet to be determined by you.

Adar could read you like an open book in any case. He pretended not to notice the audible hitch in your breath whenever he lost his temper and did something particularly audacious. Like now, for example, when he finished stripping the outermost layer of your skin and abruptly pulled you into himself, backing up all the way to the shallow end of the pool. Your pebbling nipples ignored and hips securely held by his lithe, strong arms, you found yourself sat firmly atop his lap.

The basic instinct was to slam your knees together, irregardless of his long legs falling open and his twitching length slipping along your center. Adar allowed no such luxury. With an ease clearly mocking, he pried open your legs to hang over his as he splayed comfortably in shallow waters. Soapy water dulled the sensation somewhat but did nothing to cool the sheer heat coming from his half-erect cock. Squirming, you were rewarded with another twitch and an irritated rumble.

“Melmë.” A warning.

“Adar.” A breathed acknowledgement. A mewling squeal, really.

He tsk-ed and shook his head, followed by a low mumble of quenya that got past your ears when he used his palms to glide over the inside of your thighs right to where he was most wanted.

“Stay still.” He commanded, unvoiced threat obvious in his voice. “We are getting clean.”

“No funny business,” you muttered demurely, moreso to remind yourself. Adar's punishment was never outright cruel - despite his supposed ‘universally evil’ nature he did not ever take unwilling lovers or bestow harm upon them they did not ask for. He did get creative with enforcing consequences, though. His patience was of an Elven standard.

As for punishment, so for praise. Being and staying good was by far more rewarding than riling him up into a lustful frenzy. You sat patiently, choking down every shiver, as he slowly, tenderly massaged the fat above your pubic bone and squeezed the plump parts of your cunt. Even with so little stimulation, little zaps of lightning, miniature thunderbolts erupted from your clit and into the depths of your cunt.

Your eyelashes fluttered, wet and heavy, and you closed your eyes with a sigh, allowing your body to fall lax atop the tall male. He responded with a long, satisfied sigh and a teasing pat to your pussy. Continuing his clever ministrations, Adar was fully prepared for the jerk that him dipping two fingers between your outer lips provoked in your body.

“Talya,” he whispered, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. Steady.

“Adar!” You whined, embarrassed. Being spoken to as if you were a spooked horse: a new low even for you. The wave of lust it elicited was undeniable. You weren't fully ready to submit to it just yet. Neither was it going to forsake you: with your clit held firmly between Adar's fingers, shameful lust throbbed.

“Lapta, melmë.” He released your clit to dip down to your entrance, creeping lower, past the tender skin of your perineum, and brushed over your puckered rosebud. You could not hold back the whine. “Sshh,” Adar rumbled gently, but relented, bringing his wandering hand back up to rest over your cunt as his cock, now standing tall and proud, poked at the junction of your leg and hip.

Begging every God for Adar to do something and fighting every urge to squirm and press against nearest available surface, you panted loud, aware of his dark eyes intently studying the side of your face. Every look cut sharper than Elvish make blades; you dared not to open your eyes, instead remaining lax-mouthed and knit-browed under Adar's scrutiny.

The longer you waited, the harder he became. When your bottom lip disappeared under your incisor - a small act of rebellion - you felt Adar's own lips stretch into a grin against your temple.

“You are being so good for me,” he said. The pace of his hand atop your mound picked up slightly, parting your outer lips in the process. He was almost touching your clit and you were almost going insane. “Do you feel clean?”

“Yes, Adar,” you said quickly, thoughtlessly. Whatever he was asking for, the answer would be yes irregardless.

“Are you certain?” The male absent-mindedly rubbed his cheek over yours, as if he was deep in important thought. A soft gasp erupted from you; he smiled. “We must be through with what we do, melmë.” His fingers - O Valar! - finally dipped inside tour slit and massaged the sides of your clit. The slippery wetness that surrounded it was unmistakable even underwater. Adar's cock twitched, again, hot and demanding against your leg. “You must tell me if I was thorough.”

“Ah, yes, Adar!” You moaned brokenly as he rubbed the V of his index and middle finger over your clit, rising the hood of it up and down but not quite touching the sensitive pearl itself. “T-thank you, Adar.”

The pace picked up, his fingers being much too close to where you wanted him most and tortuously not enough.

“You are thankful?” He inquired impishly.

“Yesss,” you hissed as a slippery finger accidentally connected with your pearl, causing your whole pelvis to clench pitifully around nothing. It brought your focus towards the empty, achy feeling in the pit of your belly. “Thank you, Adar.”

A quick, silent kiss to your temple was your reward. “Ah!” He huffed. “You are too good to me, melmë. What about your reward?”

“M-my reward?” You gasped.

“Mhm,” Adar hummed non-commitally as his cock jerked in curiosity.

Any reward for you in this scenario was guaranteed to be pleasurable for him and he knew it. He moulded you like putty in his hands, like a sculptor carved angels out of hard blocks of marble. Your body, warm with arousal and quivering at the most miniscule of touches, sang to him in a choir of rushing blood, flushed cheeks and thrumming pulse in areas most sensitive.

Engorged with need, your clit pulsed. Although your head was fogged by an opaque haze, the words of your deepest desire did not come easy.

“Um,” you said eloquently, words tangling on your tongue as soon as your lust-addled mind formulated them into something resembling a coherent sentence.

“Yes?”

This particular whine you could not contain. “Please do not make me say it, Adar...” You whispered wetly.

He chuckled. “How else am I supposed to find out what it is you desire? I cannot read minds, melmë.” He answered, voice tilted, mocking and encouraging in equal parts. Another “accidental” brush over your clit had you in shambles, quivering and stuttering where you sat.

“I want... You inside of me,” you moaned in shameful yearning.

Two long fingers had no problems with finding the puffy edges to your welcoming entrance and curled expertly. It did very little to quell the hunger in the very depths of it but your cunt held onto the digits nonetheless. Adar's cock pulsed as his hips shifted, seemingly, on their own accord and disobedient to their stoic master's will. Adar was rapidly losing his patience.

“N-no,” you protested. “I want...”

“You want my cock?” Voice like thick crushed velvet, molten like hot honey, Adar demanded your obedience. “Carpa! Say it!”

“I want your cock, Adar!” You whined, giving into the urge to bear down on his fingers and simultaneously clench up around them.

It wasn't particularly graceful nor gentle when Adar withdrew his fingers from your aching cunt and lifted you out of the bath just enough for your ass to be raised above water level. Resting your forearms on the hard ground, you blindly pushed back towards him, your bare cunt coming in contact with his hip. Within seconds the blunt, leaking tip of his cock was nosing at your entrance, silken head parting your lips to slip inside of you.

The ache within your loins was strong. Powerful enough for you to forsake any pretense of patience and propriety and impale yourself right on that long, solid cock so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs. At last! The vast emptiness within you filled, your back fell into a natural arch as your buttocks connected with the firmness of Adar's hips and thighs. You felt the deep, calming breath he took as his belly expanded with it.

A muttered curse preceded the drag of his cock as Adar withdrew, slowly, savouring the hug of your slick walls swollen and throbbing with need. Inadvertedly you clenched in response, already missing the head of his cock nestled deep within your cunt. It was all the encouragement he needed to slam inside of you with a feral growl baring his teeth and putting the whites of his eyes on display.

You moaned, long and loud, way exceeded in your capacity to care for the harsh surface hurting the delicate skin of your forearms. Only the steady push and pull of Adar's hips kept you tethered in this reality. Not the ominously shaking bushes and not the low rumble of the ever-awake Uruk campsite derailed you from the journey to your peak.

Adar's hands palmed - no, pawed at your breasts. He tweaked your nipples just the way you liked it, pistoning his hips in and out of you at a rapid pace. Savouring your moans and clenching of your cunt around him. Groaning with the force of your combined desire, jagged and jumbled mixture of Quenya and Common Tongue.

Tethering on the edge, you mewled for him.

“Adar...”

It seemed like he'd lied previously about his mind reading ability or a lack of thereof. He knew exactly what you needed and how you needed it, brining his palm to force it between your legs. You clit pulsed as he rubbed at it, adding the squelching noises of your cunt into the cacophony of your moans and splashing of water. His other hand grasped your throat, pulling your body backwards into him like a taut bowstring.

Moist and spit-slick, his mouth covered yours just as the heat in your belly exploded like an inferno. Heatwaves and aftershocks followed and Adar fucked you right through them, pulse after pulse echoing on his cock, prolonging your orgasm and wringing out his. His cock spasmed within you and he moaned right into yourself mouth, tongue snagging on your teeth, yours and his clashing.

You couldn't care less. The full feeling of his cock plugging your cunt full of his seed and the slack, sated if fleeting expression on his face was your own little spot of heaven in the utter (and often literal) Mordor of your surroundings. You sucked on Adar's tongue - gently, akin to a kitten - and safely deposited the memory of this into the very depths of your mind. Comforts had a tendency not to last.

You lamented the loss of Adar within you as soon as he softened enough to wetly slip out. An absence of his cock within you was so hard, it became a presence. Dripping with seed, your pussy clenched around nothing - ever the insatiable thing - and you made efforts to escape Adar's grasp.

Futile.

“We must get clean again,” he stated matter-of-fact, gathering you even closer to himself as his fingers turned your forearms up to display the dirt and scratches that resulted from your chaotic coupling.

When they were clean, Adar's lips traced each line, single-minded and petal-soft. His eyes were eons away.

Polished up the Uruks here a little bit and give them some half-decent semblance of a society, if to make some sense of what Adar is/does. If my Quenya sucks, I am sorry. I'm better with Sindarin :c

we are getting nasty in the bath because, well, I've seen the state of his camps and I'm pretty sure a UTI in those circumstances may actually be deadly. some kind of sauronian morgothian super-evil-bacteria is what we don't need in our sexy times 💀

Contrary to the single playlist theme of this kinktober compilation, I had Adam Sandler's stand up show playing in the background when I wrote this. Specifically the song about Chris Farley repeated like 3 times. Who knew my personal style icon could sing that well!? Damn! Go Adam!

#adar x reader #adar smut #rop adar x reader #female reader #adar fluff #adar x you #adar rings of power #rings of power smut #reader implied human #I can't conjugate quenya to save my life #adar was behind me holding a gun to my head when I was writing it

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baphometsss · 2 months ago

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On Solas's romantic history

Okay. I know what the consensus is. That he’s way too smooth in Inquisition to be inexperienced but... (and I’m fully prepared to get shat on for this lmao don’t kill me)

When he kisses Lavellan, that doesn’t read to me like he’s super suave and seductive. It reads more like—endeared by them trying to run away after kissing him, then being so surprised by how good the kiss felt, that he grabs Lavellan, kisses them again, pulls back with a surprised look on his face, and then goes in for more. It’s touch-starved, desperate, hungry. It’s not really all that smooth because he’s literally bending them over backwards lmao like Solas can you chill maybe

He is very smooth when flirting with Lavellan, but he's also an absolute gobshite who's spent thousands of years sassing the hell out of wannabe gods so that's not a surprise. He's witty af and enjoys some back and forth.

Solas is a very lonely man. He keeps everyone at arm’s length because he’s seen what getting close to people can do to him. His biggest fear is dying alone, and he almost gives into that because it’s what he believes he deserves for all he’s done. His life has been so stressful for so long that he's almost totally unable to consider anything else but his battles. He even says explicitly that he's tired.

That doesn’t make me think of someone who was out there in Ancient Elvhenan sleeping around all those years. No doubt he considered it, but he likely didn't pursue much with anyone physical; he enjoyed spending as much time as possible in the Fade. (The banter with Blackwall doesn't count to me personally since Solas himself thinks the whole idea is preposterous, which speaks for itself really.) Especially after being a slave/servant to Mythal seems to have voided him of his agency for some time. Then he led a rebellion and fought for thousands of years against brutal tyrants. Any one of the people he was close to could’ve been trying to kill him. Lavellan, however, has no reason to do so, so he can flirt with them freely. In all that time, it seems as though the only people he allowed to get close to the real him were Felassan and Mythal. I don’t think he slept with either, because the relationship was familial. Felassan was also loyal to Mythal, but didn’t burn his vallaslin off. (Is this a right hand/left hand of the Divine parallel again? Two brothers and their mother? Idk, I need to think about that one). For creatures with bodies made from the blood of Titans, they don’t have blood families. They would’ve had to forge their own, which is what Solas did with Mythal and Felassan.

And then there’s his ‘it has been a long time’. Most have taken this to mean that it’s been a long time since he’s been intimate with someone, but given what we know now and that he spent thousands of years in the Fade while his body was in uthenera… I wonder if he’s actually saying-- ‘it has been a long time since I lived in a body’-- ie. ‘it has been a long time since I felt physical drives, a long time since I have felt so physically real’. To me, this makes a lot more sense than the ‘he’s thousands of years old he can’t possibly be a virgin/inexperienced’ take bc like... My friends. It probably didn’t feel like thousands of years to him bc he’s essentially always existed. Time is different for spirits. It’s not like he’s gonna go: ‘well I’m nearly 4000y/o, better lose my v-card’. Time is no object when you are a timeless being. Then, given the path his life took, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for him to be that experienced given how hard it is for him to trust.

I also personally headcanon him as heavily demisexual/demiromantic too. His true nature is so non-physical that the idea of him being very promiscuous or something just doesn’t fit his character. He needs a mental connection, to feel something, before sharing much of himself, or allowing himself the vulnerability intimacy brings, something he clearly feels with Lavellan based on how shaken up by it he is.

And it’s also canon that Solas has never been in love before meeting Lavellan. So. If he went however many millennia without falling in love, it’s also possible he went without intimacy for a long time too.

To be clear I’m not trying to say that this is the correct conclusion. My opinion has just changed a little since Veilguard (I used to think he was being smooth etc bc he's old af/v experienced, but with confirmation of former spirit Solas it’s changed my perspective somewhat)

Also:

‘Things have always been easier for me in the Fade’

‘I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams’ my man is shooketh guys SHOOKETH

#solas #solavellan #dragon age spoilers #dragon age

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sunderwight · 11 months ago

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SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan's younger sister does a villainess transmigration.

The world she ends up in was originally a dating game and visual novel with some light RPG and crafting elements. Playing as purehearted main girl Qiu Haitang, one could choose any number of routes to pursue, from dashing Liu Qingge, to scholarly Mu Qingfang, sexy ice demon Linguang Jun, cute-but-domineering younger half-demon Luo Binghe, and so on. It was an interesting game, though it notoriously inspired some frustration when some of the more interesting side characters (like Yue Qingyuan) were completely unavailable as romantic options, and inspired at lot of rumors about hidden content and demands on future DLC expansions.-

Shen Meimei hadn't particularly liked the game. Sure, she played every route to 100% completion, bought all the extras, the official soundtrack, and the merch (fanmade as well as what slim-pickings existed officially), but that shouldn't be mistaken for approval. Much of that was in fact a desperate quest to figure out what the hell was even going on! Ignore the play time listed for this scathing Steam review, everyone! It shouldn't be factored into any assessments!

The game had several problems, in Shen Meimei's opinion.

The main issue was the lack of follow-through on the buildup of the backstory. Qiu Haitang's whole family was killed one night, maybe-probably by her sketchy as fuck ex-fiancee, who was also a hostage being kept by the Qiu family as leverage against a rival family. Which begged so many questions! Shen Meimei had suspected all along that there was more to it than met the eye (not just because the evil family shared her surname) but it was never deeply delved into. The whole thing only even got resolution in some of the routes, and the most thorough was Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe had a huge vendetta against Shen Qingqiu, Haitang's sketchy former fiance, which left a lot of room for doubt about his investigating the issue. Was Shen Qingqiu really to blame? Or was Luo Binghe just taking advantage of an opportunity to pin SOME crime on him, since he couldn't really get him for the shit he actually did to Luo Binghe himself? What about the hints regarding that Wu Yanzi guy? Why did those never seem to amount to much? Were the Qiu family really stupid enough to betroth their only daughter to a hostage, or was something else going on? And what about Xiao Qi, the slave boy servant of the Qiu who was mentioned a few times as another possible survivor or witness, but who never comes up again?

Shen Meimei played through everything, certain that there had to be some way to actually solve or gain clarity on the Mystery of the Qiu Family Murders, but even after completing the main routes and unlocking and completing the hidden ones -- nothing! It was all just swept aside in favor of tepid romance arcs, made all the more insufferable because of the compelling subtext between the male love interests. Like, why were any of these guys even interested in Haitang when they so clearly had more going on with each other?

Annoyance over a game Shen Meimei lost too many hours of her life to was one thing, of course.

Transmigrating into the younger sister of notoriously sketchy ex-fiance Shen Qingqiu was another!

Bad news: in the routes where Shen Qingqiu is prosecuted for his crimes, his whole family goes down with him. So if this goes poorly, not only will he be punished, but so will Shen Meimei!

Worse news: this fictional version of her family is almost identical to her actual real family. To the point where she would be checking everyone else for transmigration, except that no one but her seems aware that anything is odd. Shen Qingqiu acts exactly like her older brother, right down to his particular flavor of prickly social behavior and cynicism. And their middle brother is a chronically ill nerd who hate-reads trash novels and is completely fascinated by weird monsters (a much more worrisome trait in a world that actually has a lot of those...)

In short, her life is on the line, and so is her family's!

Damn you, Veiled Heroine Games! If you hadn't abandoned so many plot threats, Shen Meimei might actually know what was going on and be able to neatly circumvent everything! But now she has to figure out how to win the protagonist back over, rescue her brothers, and solve (and possibly further cover up...) the mysterious Qiu family murders, all while keeping Luo Binghe away from Shen Jiu, and preventing Qiu Haitang from completing any of the romance plotlines that will cause troubles for them! Which is most of them!

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #shen meimei can take after shen yuan #as a treat #also i think it would be funny if sj's siblings just kept accidentally seducing the antagonists who strung him up in pidw

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threepandas · 3 months ago

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Bad End: No Question

The republic fell slowly, then all at once. Rot building like a creeping cancer, in all the places the shining lights of luxury did not touch. Festering and untreated, all while I could do nothing to stop it. I knew it was coming, could see the story unfolding, yet? Was powerless to stop it.

No one listened.

Why would they? I was just a naive child, spouting nonsense. After all, they all said, they all believed... the Republic Was Forever.

Until it was not. Until it all died. And from the bleeding, screaming, ruin? The Empire came, swallowing everything whole. Right up to the end. While in my head, I knew how the story would unfold. Had tried and tried, to no avail, helpless and small as only children can be, as the tidal wave finally hit.

Believed, even as they lay dying. Even as I watch as the people cheer, as blood ran thick in the streets, clogging the gutters. The luxurites dead. Both guilty and innocent alike. The boot heels, upon the necks of the poor, no longer. Or so their leaders proclaimed...

Easy scapegoats. Obvious targets. The villians for their narrative, pay no mind to what happens next. The money and power, the land. We are HEROS! For the PEOPLE! You can TRUST US.

Ha.

Of course.

All hail the Emperor. Wealthier then any man has ever been. Truely, we are Free.

Yes, when the revolution came, I wasn't with them, my family. My "proper" social circles. That's probably all that spared me. I would have been hunted down, otherwise. Innocent or not. Can't have any of the old power bases lingering about, after all. People might get the idea to rally. Might miss the Old, when the New loses it's shine. Child or not, we can't have THAT, now can we?

The staff and volunteers of the soup kitchen, hid me with the other children as the adults boarded up the windows and doors. I held a young mother's child, looked her in the terrified eyes and swore, on my life, that I would gaurd her daughter with my life. I remember expecting to raise that child. To never see her again. Not alive.

Remember wondering, how far I could stretch the coin, if I pawned the pretty little bits of jewelry my parents gave me. Assuming they weren't ripped right off me, the second we got out. I had plans to hide them. Begun calculations. So many little mouths to feed. We had to stick together. We MUST stick together.

Then it was over.

My "disgrace" of an uncle came for me. Found me in the near ruins of my "silly little project". He was the one who had wanted to work. Had a stable worker lover everyone knew about but no one talked about. He was covered in bit of hay. Smelled strongly of horses. His lover had grabbed him and dragged him to safety, hidden him, desperately, among the stalls.

Out of our entire House...

An entire House, once noble, now wealthy. Out of HUNDREDS of people? Built over centuries, branches upon branches, marriages and adoptions. Wards and in-laws. Newborns to lovers to elders on their deathbeds? Of them all, so few remained. And yet... I could not even blame the servants who abandoned us. Who turned on their Slave Masters in all but technicality. They had been treated so cruely, for so long.

.....but the children? What crime did they commit?

I stood in the ruins of Manor after Manor, great house after great house, and wondered. Would I let this make me a monster too? Was this anger or grief I felt? Would any of us ever be free, from the sickening rot that had crept so slowly into the hearts of these people? Both, the ones I had called kin, and the very people who killed them. But oh... there were so many bodies to bury. So, so many bodies.

Some of them... so very, terribly, small.

But as we put out embers and buried the dead? The oh so glorious empire was rising. A fat and lumberous beast, settling with already groaning bones into the still smoking pit, where the Republic lay dead. And, benevolently, the Emperor saw no reason to kill us. We were informed by pristine letter, hand delivered, as we stood smoke stained and filthy, among the pyres.

At least... thank the gods. At least my Uncle remembered.

He and I, fellow outcasts and trouble makers, he recalled my "nonsense". How it had very much come true. So he took the Emperor's letter. Smiled benignly, with the bland promise of nothing. And gently corralled us few who remained into the only remaining dining hall, to pour over the letters as a House. A Clan. Together.

He looked to me with haunted eyes... and wanted to know.

I phrased it as a vision. It would be easier to swallow that way. Not unheard of, in legend. Not out of the realm of possibility. Just absurdly, absurdly rare. But... did we not live in world shaking times? It would make sense, it felt, that the gods would at least MENTION such things...

A novel, a lifetime ago. We were hardly the Protagonists. Not related in any way. Dramatics and death would surround them. A dark age followed, supposedly, by light. But... was the real world ever so simple? I didn't know. I could name all the players. What would occur.

It would be up to US to protect ourselves.

And we WOULD need to protect ourselves. For the Empire was not a kind place. Nor fair. It was the rot of the Republic laid bare. Without pretense. And soon... the purges would begin.

I was, of course, right. The people's blood soaked victory soon gave way to dismay, as they became targets. Divided. Conquered. Inquisitors, hand chosen by his most graciousness, the Emperor himself. I held my tounge, kept my piece... and hated it. Undermined what I could. Rebuilt my soup kitchen.

Attended court.

Because, of course, all we loyal subjects MUST attend court. Don't we love our Emperor so? See how we fawn! We simper and bask in his greatness! Oh we hang on your every WORD, most royal Majesty! We are entranced! Loyal, loyal subjects, all. Such decadent parties as the people starve.

Didn't my family perish for such similar actions? But, ah, they deserved it. Of course. And THIS is for MORALE!

I sip wine looted from the Redcrest family's cellars. They were dead now. Were proud of their wines. They made them for centuries. There shall never be more bottles, yet frivolous, we drink them away. What crime did they commit? Their workers? I close my eyes and keep my smile fixed.

A pleasant expression, because everything is Fine. Remember who you fight for, survive for, you are the canary in the mine. If you go silent, they know to run. The longer you live, the more people you can help, you can do this. Remember... sometimes rebellion is refusing to die. Refusing to let them pull hope from your desperate, bleeding, claws.

Just smile.

Everything is Fine! See? We're Smiling!

"Such a lonely seat. Not going to dance? Mingle? One might think you're not having fun." Comes from behind me, the voice an almost silibant rasp, rumbling thunder and the whispered hiss of a blade. If ever there was a voice made for threats and the confession of terrible things, it was this. "But how could that be? Such a loyal servant of his Majesty would never be so divisive and disrespectful. You must surely be ill. So, tell me then, your excuse?"

The only reason I do not jump, and splash on more reminder of tragedy right down my front, in a display I can not afford, is that I freeze up. Jumping would look guilty of something. It would not matter that he walks all but silently. That I did not notice him and was startled. That it is a simple, human, reaction. Why am I so JUMPY? Guilty conscious? Perhaps an Inquisitor and I should... Talk.

And dropping my wine? Making a SCENE? Am I seeking to undermine his Majesty?

That's ON TOP of the fact, that... frankly? My House can not AFFORD to replace a wine stained dress. With his Majesty's demands for constant decadence yet performative humility, his hoarding of wealth and demands of tribute? We are barely scrapping by. Most "graciously spared" survivors are.

Not ALLOWED to become lower class. Disappear into the masses and work or live quiet, modest lives. No. We must PROVE our LOYALTY to his Majesty. Constantly. Forever. Right up until we fail and are punished for it. In a sick game, no one can ever hope to win but him.

We are to continue on, as though he did not burn the world down. Yet in revamped parody of what was. Like a social outcast, holding towns hostage, to play out "high school prom" as the MOST popular kid, forever and ever and always more. Or ELSE. Because he never grew up and never got over it. Because people didn't like him. So he'll MAKE them. Kill them if they refuse.

The fifteenth version of this dress. Lace carefully taken off and redone elsewhere, I cycle through "new dresses" and trade with allies who are about my size. Who could possibly afford to meet the man's mad demands? When we are barely feeding are own? When he has seized our assets yet will not let us work?

We are dying.

Painted in what inherited gold, silks, and jewels remain. Terrified. We are dying.

"Nothing to say? How quiet. One might think you are... afraid. But how could that be? You would know, as a loyal servant of his Majesty, that you have nothing to fear from us. No Inquisitor would harm one of the loyal subjects, of our beloved ruler. You are perfectly safe... that is, of course, assuming... you are, in fact, Loyal."

The near shifting of heavy cloth against heavy cloth, the sigh as it slid against armor, markes a deadly presence behind me. Light, almost silent, steps are nearly lost under the music, as he moves. Circling me like a hunter. I force myself to turn towards him instead of shying away. Claw control back of my instinct frozen limbs, with desperate hands. I cannot, CANNOT afford this.

"Ah, but you are sick. Headache, perhaps? The drink too strong?"

Red eyes bore into me from a silver mask. Infamous claws, on hands that have done so much, are tucked behind his back like gentleman, out on a stroll. Bone white robes, over armored black under robes. Monochromatic, blood red, and silver steel.

The Grand Inquisitor.

"Perhaps you've tired yourself. With all that dancing you did not do. So many questions. So few answers. But then, ah, I've been speaking so rudely, my dear. Talking over you. How has your evening been, hmm? Pleasant, I take it?" His voice was as light and almost charming, as a gentle hand; wrapped delicately around the throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just a simple remind that it could. If he did not like, what you had or were about to say. "Come, sit, I insist."

The smile on my face felt like it was a dam under pressure. Like my teeth could only barely held back the screaming in my head. The mask of my expression, covered in hair line fractures, only just holding together as I nodded. Followed along. Hysterical comparisons to the march before firing squads, danced in the back of my head. I shoved them back. Down and far away. I... I had to be present. Alert.

The chandelier's light caught with terrible beauty, on the brutal points of his claws. As he gestured, almost a mockery of the polite gentleman. He would be one, if not for the unspeakable things he had done. He was certainly polite. His etiquette immaculate.

Social dances. A mockery of comfort. Mock, mock, mock. His mere presence, his brutality, desecrated it all. Made profane the familiar. For who? WHO? Could break bread with the butcher of men? Could smile politely and serve them thoughtful bits of nothing? Treat them as your own? Yet... yet we were all to afraid to resist. To refuse.

Did they delight? Forcing us to welcome them, where they clearly were not wanted? Where we could not refuse them? Perverting the purpose of our traditions and our ways? Was... was it funny? Or just another tool to use against us?

Smile, dip your head, a small curtsy or bow. The guest invited sits first, serve drinks, time appropriate food if you have it. In my head I knew each step. The etiquette of the classes and why each was the way it was. He did not reach for the pitcher on the table. Merely settled back into his chair, like a throne.

Was he deliberately breaking the social norm? To create discomfort and pressure me to talk? Did he not know? His past was shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he simply did not feel like it. Who, here, could insist? Shun him for his rudeness?

I tried not to sweat, under his heavy gaze. Did not partake. Sat, back straight, my gentle mask-like smile fixed, as I stared over his shoulder. A pretty doll. Ragged and worn around the edges. Trying desperately to appear The Good And Loyal Citizen, least something... Unfortunate, happen.

"What a lovely dress." He mused into the tense silence, breaking it to brutal shards. "Yet, I can not help but notice the shade. The cut and design. Madame Signe's work, isn't it? It suits you." Everything inside me went cold. It was. But if he recognized it...

"Yet? I can not help but wonder, my dear. Why the lace is in the wrong place? You wouldn't happen to be trying to pass off that dress as something new, would you? Trying to subvert and undermine his Majesty's very clear command? That would be treasonous. And you, such a loyal subject, would never."

He knew.

I didn't know how much he knew, but he DID.

Struggling not to shake, not to give everything away, I lied. Of course, I did. Right through my teeth. I would, I had, and I promised. Straight to the end. Lie and lie, until I had nothing left in me. I know nothing, I know no one, there is nothing here to find. Lies upon lies, all while those I love flee for their lives. Praying to gods I don't think can even hear me, that it will be enough.

The slight tilt of his head somehow projected a sense of mocking indulgence. One long leg crossed the other, lounging like a warlord. The clawed gauntlets on full, gruesome display. Every part of him, from the set of his shoulders to the angle he sat, radiated amusement. As though he were watching a silly little child, playing foolish little games. Getting into mischief, then trying to hide the obvious evidence.

Was I quite done? His silence seem to say. He can wait.

I tilted my chin up with a strength and defiance I did not feel. Yes, I was done. Let come what may. I... I tried.

"So afraid, dear citizen. Acting as though I'm some sort of monster in the night, out to butcher and hunt the innocent. One might get the wrong impression. You might even hurt my feelings." He laughs, a sound that seems to roll and fall dangerously, past grinning teeth. Sharp and deadly. "But of course... I understand, I do. About your dress. You can not help it."

"After all, you have not changed a bit."

....what?

"Still compelled, against all rhyme and reason, to tend to the wretched under classes. The filth and wastrels. Beggars and whores. Instead of purchasing dresses for parties? You, oh loyal Citizen, are of course, exemplifying his Majesty's great Mercy."

That's not what... He KNOWS it's not... Where is he GOING with this?

"Yes, we must make exceptions, perhaps. Have mercy. After all... you had nothing but the best of intentions. And how can I hold that against you? When you can not help what you are? Soft and foolish. So very merciful and giving. Humane."

He dropped the word like it was a joke. Almost snide, laughter haunting the edges of it like a pack of hunting hounds. As though humanity to others, itself, was laughable. What a joke, he seemed to suggest, the mere concept of mercy. Of compassion for the sake of it.

So, why? What game was he playing? If he had to mercy to give me? Why even suggest...?

"Do you remember, the Revolution? That glorious rise, as the old fell away. As shackles were broken. As class lines no longer bound us. As we, both children, sat in the dark?"

Impossible.

No... no it... please, God, it can't....

The music was very far away. Muted, as though through blankets. Conversations becoming indistinct. Memories of stale air and dust. Packed earth beneath me and cold stone pressing against my back. The terrible, uncertain creek, of cheap woods from both the crates and ceiling above us. Everything that COULD be stacked against the doors, was.

Wondering if we would survive fire. If they, in their anger and hate, would think of it. Oh god, oh god, we were just kids-!

White hair, like bone, forever silent and staring. Never came close but showed up every time I did, they noted. A crush. Local boy, they mused. He was too thin. Bruises where there shouldn't be. Scars on skin too young. He didn't run when I went to him, but never came to me. I tried to feed him. Just one more story. So many tragedies, that I could do so little to change. All I had was soup.

"Ah~ there it is. You recognize me now. It's been so long, hasn't it, my dear?" Something pleased and horrifying, curled like spreading poison through his tone. "I am a man, grown, now. Have become quite accomplished, if I do say so myself. Wealthy, influential, well connected. Powerful. No longer weak and unworthy of your time."

"In fact," He leaned forward, as though telling a secret. Almost playful, despite the horror of his words. "It's my turn to control you. To be the powerful one. To have everything while you have nothing."

"I will admit... I have been waiting for this for a very long time. You were so beautiful. Trapped in you wretched blood bought finery, chained to the House that would keep us apart. I knew even then, that I would have you, that I was the ONLY one that could be allowed to have you. No one else. And oh, his Majesty has been so very, very obliging."

Folded papers were withdrawn from his robes. Offered almost carelessly. If it weren't for the intensity of his stare? I would believe he didn't care, how I reacted. With shaking hands. I smooth the pages as I open it. From the desk of the Emperor himself... a... a marriage contract.

"Exactly as I wanted. You'll never escape me again. Smile, my dear."

"We're getting married."

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aphroditelovesu · 8 months ago

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⸻ The Lost Queen - XIV ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 3,040.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 14

It had suddenly started raining. A good omen, you thought, but when you heard the screams outside your tent you realized that it wasn't for the Persians.

As the raindrops fell from the sky, you moved restlessly inside your tent in the Persian war camp. Your anxiety and stress levels were high and you were afraid that this could affect your pregnancy.

The conversation with Darius and Bessus — you shuddered just remembering the last man, — hadn't been productive and you feared what that might mean. By now Alexander had probably already been notified of your disappearance and was going crazy.

Nothing good would come of Alexander's anger. You placed your hand on your stomach, on your not-yet-growing belly, and took a deep breath. You needed to calm down, all this stress wouldn't do you any good, it would only make you more anxious.

"Excuse me." You were startled when you heard a low voice with a strong Persian accent next to you. You looked at the owner of the voice and relaxed when you saw that it was Bagoas, the eunuch. His footsteps — was that him? You weren't sure — were really silent.

Darius had assigned this eunuch to you as your servant, in this case, personal slave, during your time here. Bagoas would be perfect to satisfy your wishes, the King had said. You felt like slapping him. You didn't need a slave and you didn't want one. Even in Alexander's camp you refused to keep slaves but rather free servants to serve you.

You nodded, waiting for him to continue talking. Bagoas kept his gaze down, not daring to look at your face. He was a slave, you remembered. And like all slaves he was trained to be submissive, not to look free people in the eye.

Your heart ached remembering this, remembering that slavery was common and accepted. That what they did to Bagoas and many others was natural.

Bagoas spoke softly, "Do you need anything?" His voice had a very strong Persian accent but you understood him perfectly.

You shook your head, "No thanks, Bagoas. I'm fine."

Bagoas nodded and silently moved to leave, until you called out to him.

"Bagoas?" You called his name, "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay with you."

Not that he had a choice, you mentally cursed yourself.

Bagoas nodded slowly and stood in front of you. You pointed to a chair next to you, silently telling him to sit down. Bagoas did as he was told.

''You...'' You started to say, but realized you didn’t know what you really wanted to say. Realizing this, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Bagoas, in turn, remained quiet.

You cleared your throat and tried again, ''Would you like some wine or water?''

Bagoas blinked slowly at your request, clearly surprised. He nodded slowly after a few minutes of being completely still. You smiled and took the pitcher of wine and poured it into a cup for him, who hesitantly accepted the cup.

"It's not poisoned." You joked softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Bagoas glanced at you lightly and you could see something amusing sparkle in the eunuch's dark eyes. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of wine, his eyes fixed on his feet. You smiled lightly and drank some water.

"Would you like something to eat, Bagoas?" You asked, pointing to a silver tray that held cheese, bread, and a piece of honey cake. Bagoas looked at the tray and shook his head.

You frowned. Bagoas was thin, very thin.

"Are you sure? The honey cake is delicious." You tried again but the eunuch just denied it.

"I thank you but no, your Majesty." Bagoas said, his eyes never meeting yours.

"I understood." You sighed and decided there was no reason to say anything, "You're dismissed then."

Bagoas placed the cup on the small table and bowed gracefully to you and silent as he had entered, he left.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your sore neck. You closed your eyes but opened them quickly when the tent flap was lifted and you locked eyes with the intruder.

Perdiccas.

"What do you want?" You practically growled, not bothering to try to be polite.

Perdiccas frowned and sat down next to you, "I have news, my love."

You tried not to make a disgusted expression when he called you “my love”.

"And what would that news be?" You asked uninterested. Perdiccas grabbed your hand and squeezed it gently. You frowned at his boldness.

Perdiccas rubbed your fingers, "We are going to Babylon."

You choked on the water you were drinking and the cup was placed sloppily on the table.

"What?!" You questioned him, standing up quickly. Perdiccas didn't seem bothered by your outburst, however.

"We are going to Babylon." He repeated as if you were a child with a learning disability, "I talked to Darius and he agreed that it's safer for you than staying here."

"I am not going." You growled, not even bothering to try and contain your anger. You were tired of men trying to tell you what to do. It could be the custom, the normal thing at that time, but you weren't from that time and you didn't care anymore.

Perdiccas raised an eyebrow, "That's not your choice."

"You don't give me orders." You said confidently. Perdiccas seemed to be getting angry.

Good. That would make two of you.

Perdiccas grabbed your face with one hand and forced you to look into his eyes, "We're going to Babylon and that's final."

Before you could say anything, Perdiccas pressed his lips against yours violently, practically swallowing you. You gasped and tried to pull away but his touch kept you in place.

It was wrong and disgusting on so many levels to feel him kiss you again. At that time, you were desperate and wanted comfort and that's why you kissed him but now it felt wrong, not only because he was forcing you, but also because you didn't want him anymore. You didn't even notice when the attraction you felt for Perdiccas started to wane, you just knew it disappeared.

Now all that was left was a spark of what had once been your friendship. But did this friendship really exist?

When Perdiccas finally released you from the kiss, you noticed that his lips were slightly swollen and you shivered in disgust as you watched him lick them. Before you could think or say anything, you raised your hand and slapped Perdiccas across the face, the sound echoing through the tent.

Perdiccas' face turned to the side from the impact and you knew it hurt when he placed his hand where he had just hit and hissed in pain.

Good.

Perdiccas looked at you in disbelief. He looked at you as if he had seen a ghost and not the woman he knew.

"W-What happened to you?" He asked, still holding his hand over the area where he was hit.

You stared at him with contempt shining in your eyes.

"I happened." You said, your eyes narrowing as the words were spoken, "And don't you ever touch me again without my permission, understand?" Your words were harsh and one could feel the anger reflected in them. Perdiccas swallowed hard as if he had just had a divine revelation.

He finally noticed, you realized it. Perdiccas finally realized that you are no longer the desperate and terrified woman he had met a few months ago.

You were a Queen and you were starting to act like it.

Alexander's tent was eerily silent on that restless night. One might think that the great King was resting, but the flickering light of the flames danced across the walls of the tent, betraying the agitation that consumed him. Alexander found no peace, not while his beloved wife was missing.

The entire Macedonian camp shared his anguish. News of the Queen's kidnapping had spread like wildfire, plunging soldiers and officers into a mixture of fury and despair. No one dared to blame Alexander for his insomnia, as everyone knew that the emptiness next to him in bed was an open wound in his heart. He spent hours pacing back and forth, his troubled thoughts reflected in the flickering shadows the flames cast.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere was filled with tension. Maps and parchments were spread out on the table, fingerprints and wax stains bearing witness to long nights of planning and worrying. The heavy curtains that bounded the space swayed gently in the night breeze, but they failed to carry away the feeling of helplessness that permeated the air.

Every sound outside the tent, whether the distant noise of the watchmen or the low murmur of the soldiers on watch, seemed to amplify Alexander's inner silence. His eyes, fixed on the flames, burned with the determination of a man who would not allow his wife to remain a captive any longer. The King of the Macedonians was prepared to move heaven and earth to bring her back, and everyone who knew him knew that nothing would stand in her way.

The entire Macedonian camp reacted with deep consternation to the news of the Queen's kidnapping. The atmosphere, already tense due to the nature of the military campaigns, became even more charged with discontent and suspicion, especially among Perdiccas' men. These soldiers, in particular, were disgusted by their general's actions. How could Perdiccas betray everyone's trust by kidnapping the Queen? By committing such an act, he not only condemned himself, but also cast a shadow of distrust on his subordinates.

The growing distrust between Perdiccas' men and the other soldiers in the camp was palpable. Loyalty, a fundamental pillar of the Macedonian army, was seriously shaken. Alexander had established that any fight between soldiers would be punished by death, a drastic measure to maintain order and discipline. However, the ban seemed to be ignored. Physical conflicts broke out with alarming frequency, and punishments were equally frequent, but they failed to stem the tide of violence and resentment.

The situation reached a critical point when even two of the most prominent generals came into conflict. Hephaestion and Craterus, known for their skills and loyalty to the King, became involved in a fight that shocked the camp. The details of the incident were hazy, but the essence of the conflict seemed clear: Craterus blamed Alexander for the Queen's kidnapping, a serious accusation that infuriated Hephaestion. He, in an effort to defend the honor of his friend and King, confronted Craterus, but the fight only served to increase anxiety and chaos among the troops.

The tension in the camp was almost palpable. Each soldier knew that the unit was crucial to the survival and success of their campaigns, but the shadow of Perdiccas' kidnapping and betrayal put everything at risk. Uncertainty about the Queen's future and safety hung over everyone, exacerbating the tension and making each day more difficult to bear.

The other generals were also overcome with fury at the betrayal. Cleitus, who had now recovered well although he was still too weak to fight, personally wanted to ride a horse with a group of soldiers and scouts to search for the Queen. However, Alexander did not allow it, which resulted in a heated argument that had to be ended by Ptolemy.

Hephaestion spent most of his time at Alexander's side, desperately trying to calm his friend. He was rarely seen outside the King's tent these days, his loyalty and concern evident in his every gesture. Ptolemy, on the other hand, stood out for his calm and rationality. Although he was also deeply upset by the Queen's kidnapping and Perdiccas betrayal, he tried to keep a cool head, aware that one more angry mind would not help anything.

Cassander was equally furious, but he controlled his words carefully so as not to say something that could get him killed. The tension made him clench his fists and grind his teeth, but he knew he needed to maintain his composure. Parmenion and Philotas, in turn, maintained a facade of indifference. They didn't show much concern or emotion in public, but everyone knew that deep down, they cared deeply. The Queen had won their sympathy and respect, and the apparent coldness was just a mask to hide genuine concern.

The camp was on the verge of emotional collapse. Every decision, every word, carried weight. The generals knew they needed to remain united and focused, but the shadow of the kidnapping hung over everyone, making any semblance of normality difficult.

Something needed to be done, and Alexander knew it. He had plans, detailed and strategic plans, and he was determined to carry them out above all else. His mind worked incessantly, tracing every movement, every step necessary to rescue his Queen and punish the traitor.

Inside his tent, Alexander prepared himself. His eyes, burning with a mixture of pain and fury, reflected the intensity of his determination. He knew that once he got his hands on Perdiccas, nothing would stop him. Perdiccas would pay dearly for his betrayal.

Alexander was willing to do anything to get his Queen back, to get you back. The thought of you being in danger tormented him, and he would not rest until you were safe by his side again. He summoned his generals, outlined his strategies and prepared his troops, ensuring that each soldier knew the importance of the mission.

With each passing moment, Alexander's resolve solidified. His leadership, fierce and relentless, galvanized the Macedonian army. The search for the Queen was not just a military operation; it was a rescue mission that touched every soldier's heart. Everyone knew that under Alexander's leadership they would be relentless in their pursuit and punishment of Perdiccas.

As the camp buzzed with preparation, Alexander remained focused. Nothing would divert him from his goal. He would do anything, face any obstacle, to bring his beloved Queen back. And when he finally rescued you, justice would be done, and Perdiccas's betrayal would be avenged with all the fury of a betrayed king.

The night was cold and silent, very silent. The rain from earlier had made the air colder and not even the heavy fur clothes seemed to contain the cold outside.

But you thought it was because most people had already gone to sleep, only you were awake and getting ready to leave the Persian camp.

You sighed and looked around, noticing some guards and servants tidying up everything. You sat down on a rock and tried to contain the excitement that was growing inside you. A part of you was furious with the events, especially with what had happened between you and Perdiccas earlier, but the other part was excited at the prospect of seeing a historic place in person, of seeing Babylon at its height.

You just didn't expect it to be like this. You were a hostage and you knew a lot could go wrong. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

"A kiss for your thoughts." You opened your eyes when you heard a voice. You sighed as you realized it was Aslan— or whatever he really called himself — talking to you.

"What do you want?" You asked, adjusting your robes.

Aslan frowned and said sarcastically, "In a bad mood, cara mia?"

"Just tired." That wasn't a lie, not completely. You were exhausted and couldn't sleep well at night with everything that was going on.

"Hmm..." Aslan murmured and sat down next to you, looking at the night sky, "I heard about what happened in your tent with Perdiccas today."

You gave him a sideways glance, ''Leave it alone.''

Aslan shook his head and you could swear there was barely contained anger on his face, "No, I won't let it alone. That wasn't right... Him forcing himself on you like that." The way his words seemed sincere took you by surprise.

You raised an eyebrow and glared at him, ''And do you care?''

"I'm not the bad guy here, (Y/N)." Aslan said and you scoffed, "Despite what you may think, I genuinely care about you."

"Care about me?" You laughed darkly, "If you care about me, then why the hell did you bring me here? What's the point of all this?!"

Aslan sighed, "You'll understand eventually. Now is not the time for you to know the truth, but..." He took your cold hand and rubbed it, trying to warm you up, "I promise I'll take care of you."

You couldn't help how your body shivered at his words. You found yourself watching him closely, his attractive features. Aslan was a handsome man, you finally realized, and although you didn't trust him, there was something about him that attracted you.

He seemed familiar to you somehow.

Aslan brought his face closer to yours and you felt your heart beat faster. He brought his lips to your ear and whispered, "I promise I'll make him pay for laying his hands on you."

You closed your eyes, feeling strangely warm inside at his words, at the promise in them. Aslan's words brought you comfort, something you hadn't felt in a while.

He smiled and kissed your cheek lovingly, "I need to go. I have things to do but I'll take care of you." Aslan let go of your hand and stood in front of you, he placed his hand on your face and lifted your chin, making you look into his dark eyes.

You couldn’t look away and you didn’t want to. Aslan rubbed your chin and brought his face closer to yours, his lips brushing yours, he said, "I promise I will always take care of you."

The frigid night air didn't seem so cold anymore as Aslan's words were heard by you over and over again. You were standing still, not knowing how to react, just watching him walk away from the camp.

There was a lot to be discovered, you realized. Maybe Babylon had the answers you needed.

— lady l: a calmer chapter but that's because chapter 15, which I'm already writing, will be more chaotic. Aslan is a complex character but does he care about Reader? That leaves the doubt... 👀

I hope you liked it, forgive me for any mistakes and this week I'll release the next chapter! Unti thenl!! ❤️

#the lost queen #tlq #history #yandere historical characters #x reader #alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #long fic #fanfic #yandere au #yandere history

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