#she doesn’t see the emperor she just sees a man in need

[marysunburn]

Azir and Taliyah – sparse recovery headcanons

Only until he’s recovered, she’d told Nasus. That’s more than he deserves from me or any weaver. And the moment he attempts anything nasty on us… I’m out.

Taliyah has every reason to loathe Azir, and only chose to become part of his retinue for kindness towards Nasus and Sivir, who do genuinely care (Sivir hides it better, but hey, he still saved her life), and because she finds torture appalling regardless of who’s on the receiving end of it.

Still, even she couldn’t possibly imagine how bad it’d get. The stitch signs on his eyelids, the tattered and ragged feathers, the emaciated skinniness, the curved posture with the bowed head, the twitchy eyes and the shaky hands are just the first details she notices. He doesn’t even look like a hawk.

After it’s become clear that Azir has been completely and utterly humbled, and a lot of his old habits are of the past, she, clever girl she is, takes the chance to not only help a poor penniless old man in need – which Azir is – by giving him a new purpose, but turn a powerful asset towards the downtrodden and to a good cause.

Nasus tries to bring Azir back to new by bringing back old habits, which Azir can hardly stomach now that Xerath has tainted them. Certain smells and food – most notably milk and honey – the feel of heavy crowds, heavy jewelry… all stuff he loved, but he now sees as pain. So it’s Taliyah who shows him new ways to have fun and new things to try.

She teaches him new recipes that don’t involve milk and honey, tells him stories of the modern world he wasn’t alive to see, and shows him natural remedies the court would not allow.

Sometimes he watches her weave and admires her handiwork like a relaxing light show.

One night she catches him in a nice mood and makes a stone caricature of him – a chicken in a fancy helm. He gets angry, showing some of his old colors… but then it quiets down and he sits back, eyes low and absent. She realizes she pushed some trigger button on him and gives him the nicest apology she can manage.

“So this way of mocking people is just how… you talk to friends?” “Yes, my lord. If it pleases you to be called a friend of mine” “I don’t know what pleases me anymore. But I appreciate your apology, and I apologize myself for this displeasurable conduct.” Because yes, being triggered after more than a year of torture is very displeasurable mr. birb man, and not at all a sign that you need comfort and help and therapy

As you’d imagine, one of Taliyah’s first lessons is “throw that etiquette out the window and learn to have fun”. The second is “mental health is good actually, crying and needing help aren’t signs of weakness and people will be there for you.”

Azir is genuinely surprised Taliyah’s parents didn’t cane her. She on the other hand is appalled to find out Azir’s parents did. “No my lord that’s not discipline you’ve been abused!”

Sometimes he rests his head on her lap and lets her pet his feathers. They’re slowly growing back in shape, “so soft they’ll come from the provinces to stroke them”. It’s one of the few gestures from yore Xerath didn’t taint, and Azir associates it with his late children.

He loves talking to her about his family, the kids he had and how much every day it pains him to never see them again. That’s something Taliyah knows even she can’t heal. She just lets him vent and even get emotional. Sometimes just having a young person around helps soothe the pain.

“Pain is always legitimate. Don’t let your heart harden, my lord. Keep it soft… but firm, like these stones.”

Taliyah remembers her days at Noxus before Yasuo. She remembers the fear, the blood, the cruelty. That’s why the blossoms of love within Azir give her hope, and not just to prove she’s beyond that mindset: he can’t be all bad. She’s seen monsters, elsewhere. People too can be molded, can’t they?

And so she tells him about the cruelty of Noxus and Yasuo’s kindness and pain. It helps Azir feel less alone in the whole “they tortured me” thing and sparks some empathy.

Other times they stargaze. He loved doing it with Xer… with that one as a kid. She represents a second chance, and damn heck he’ll take it.

“I know I should move on, sweet girl, but where would I go?” “Shurima is big, my lord. There’s always room for one more.”

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Guiding Light✨

Marcus Acacius x fem! reader

A/N: I was immediately inspired to write this after I saw the pictures drop Monday, and I conjured this up in one night. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem and @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading 🩷

Summary: You watch Marcus avenge himself week after week in the pit of the arena, but how much longer will it take to make you snap? How much longer can you go on watching when he’s the only man you want?

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Tags: Yearning, a little angst, soft dom! Marcus, feelings, confessions, jealousy, unprotected piv, oral (male/female receiving), fluff, reader’s nickname is Starlight

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The arena is drenched in dark crimson colors as the clash of silver armor and jagged swords collide in unison. The audience is obnoxiously loud as their rowdy shouts and chants fill your ringing ears.  

   Thump. Thump. Thump. 

   You can basically feel your heart trying to break free of your insides that pound uncontrollably as you watch Marcus take out another large fighter from his right with only one jab of his shiny sword that catches sunlight and reflects in your wide eyes.

   Come on, Marcus. Win, stay alive!

   You swallow back a trembling whine as you sit on the edge of your seat, fingernails digging into the tough stone as you watch the man you yearn for take another blow to the back. You gasp as you watch Marcus flip the fighter over and finish him off with one slice of his silver sword, barely any sign of pain or fear in his vision that’s focused on taking out every single enemy that stands in his way of freedom.

   You sigh out in relief, fear flooding your veins as your eyes stay glued to every careful move he makes in the arena of death. 

   He stands in the middle of the expansive, gruesome arena, dodging left and right, taking out man after man, completely pulverizing anything and anyone that gets in his way. He’s the best in the game, the most experienced fighter, the champion that never falters, never loses. So why are you a complete mess when he’s in that pit of death?

   You’re not lovers, not exactly. You’re his plaything, the woman he calls to his bedchamber after every battle, every night that suits his needs. He doesn’t care if you’re asleep, doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of other pressing matters, doesn’t give a fuck because you’re his property that he can do whatever he wants with. And you have to admit you find that sort of… hot. You’ll do anything for that man. He can use you all he wants, as long as that means you have him.

   Your pulse thrums in your neck as you watch him completely dominate the arena. The blazing sun rains down on his broad body, leaving him in damp, silver armor, sweat glistening down his tanned skin, greying curls sticking to his forehead, dirt covering every inch of his muscular arms, his sculpted legs, his large hands. 

   You so badly wish you could be every speck of that dirt right now so you could lick up and down every inch of him until you were completely consumed in him, until you could see nothing but him for all eternity, until he melded his own skin with yours as you fused into one. 

   When the crowd chants and the last man falls to his death, the only man left standing is him, General Acacius, the man you’re completely wrapped up in. You have to pull yourself back together as your core burns hot, slick collecting just thinking of what he’ll do to you later tonight. You know he’ll take you, hard. 

   His golden flecked chocolate eyes find yours in the crowd in a heartbeat, a celebratory smirk curling against his plush mouth as darkness and trouble swirl through those beautiful eyes. You know what that means. He’s won you, and he wants you, now.

   When your eyes leave his, you see the emperor’s daughter, Mina, looking over his broad body with those bright blue eyes, her ashy blonde hair flowing down her back, and she’s nearly drooling over his victory, thinking that she can get him with her daddy’s command.

   You flare hot with jealousy at the thought of Marcus and Mina tangling together, their skin caressing over each other’s in his large bed draped with gold sheets that swallow their bodies whole till they’re nothing but shadows dancing in the midst of the night.  

   You see it now. The long walks they take in the gardens, the secret slurs in each other’s ears over dinners with the entire court, an arranged marriage as he fights for her love each time he’s in the arena. 

   It’s only in your head, only a sick mirage your jealous mind has conjured up. He barely glances her way half the time, his heated gaze only locked on you each time you’re in the same vicinity. It’s stupid really, the hate you feel for her because you could never measure up to a rich, beautiful goddess like herself. You don’t come from royalty, barely have a cent to your name, and that is why he could never love you, you think. 

   Mina has it all, and you’re just… you. 

   You swallow the lump in your throat as the audience still shouts and whistles from every direction as Marcus is called out and awarded as the winner of today’s events. You want to stay, but you get up quietly and leave, knowing he’ll want you waiting in his chambers when he’s finished. 

   He’s safe. That’s all that matters. 

   You quickly leave behind the bellowing noise of the arena, trading it for a quiet walk through the rose garden, past the trickles of clear blue fountains, entering into a quiet overlay of towering architecture that’s trimmed in carved stone and marble pathways. A place you could never even dream of setting foot in on a regular basis. You’re just a commoner, not royalty, not wealthy, not anything but his to take. And that will have to be enough. For now. 

   You slip past some guards, heading straight for his bedroom, his sanctuary so to speak. He calls it that because you are what he worships night after night in those sheets, inside those marble walls, against his broad body that makes every vibration buzz through your nerve endings. He is what makes this city even tolerable. 

   You throw the double doors open wide and slam them shut, letting the glow of the sunlight fade through the cascading window overlooking the city. The room smells of spice and aroma, the golden curtains sparkle as the sun kisses the see-through fabric and dips against the silky sheets that are bathed in a majestic golden hue. The king sized bed sits front and center as his grand bathing chambers lay to the right, just inside the hand crafted door that’s threaded with gold.

   This room, this place is exquisite, and you can’t believe the emperor is letting Marcus stay here after their falling out that happened just weeks ago. But the best fighter gets to stay in these living quarters. They get money, a title, a chance at freedom from the arena if they’re lucky. That’s what Marcus is fighting for. To be free from this hellish prison, and you just pray to the gods that no one will take him from you. You’ll surely wither and fade away the moment something goes wrong in those walls of torture and murder because he’s all you know anymore here in Ancient Rome. 

   Before you can delve into anymore feelings, you hear the crash of doors being opened behind you, and then you hear the disposal of swords and shields being tossed in a heap on the floor, then you hear the deep, ragged breaths of the one you’ve been waiting for. Marcus.

   You try to twist around, but strong arms envelop you from behind, and a warm breath blows huskily down the shell of your ear. “Enjoy the show?” he smirks as his meaty hands find the back of your long gown and rip, tugging it free as it falls to the floor around your ankles. 

   Your mouth drops open as warmth blooms in your core, hot and heavy like the room begins to feel. “Marcus! I liked that dress,” you pout.

   He grabs the back of your hair and tugs playfully while one hand snakes around your waist and pulls you flush to his silver armor, making you gasp as he cups your bare breasts and starts kneading them together, like he needs you right this very second and can’t wait any longer to get his experienced fingers on your burning skin. 

   “I’ll buy you another one. Not like I don’t already have one hanging in my closet,” he teases, pinching your pebbling nipples together as a slight moan leaves your lips. 

   “Needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, pulling you closer as one hand slips down and ghosts over the sheer panties, the only thing left on your bare body. 

   “For you, yes,” you whine, stifling a moan as his calloused thumb glides over your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you fight to keep standing upright. 

   “Greedy thing I see, wanting to come already?” he teases as he tugs his hand away from your slick center and rips your ruined panties in half, leaving you completely bare and absolutely wet with desire and famished for his touch. 

   “Turn around,” he instructs with a bite as he assesses you from head to toe, licking his bottom lip in anticipation the moment he sees how drenched you are for him.

   Your gaze drops over him, still clad in silver armor, his leather wristbands splattered in dried blood, his Caliga boots biting into his toned shins, the leather kissing his muscular thighs. He quickly loses the wristbands and stalks toward you, backing you up till your back is pressed into the corner of the bed, chest heaving as the possibilities swarm your hazy mind.

   “My armor, unthread it,” he demands as his dark brown eyes pierce into yours as sweat glistens across his tanned forehead, dirt still caking his dark skin as he stands fresh from a win of a long day in the arena. “Now,” he growls as he loses his patience while you stand there staring like a lovesick puppy.

   “Yes, sir,” you nod as your fingers get to work unlacing the gold threads of his armor, making sure your movements are swift and cordial, knowing he doesn't like waiting too long to have you. 

   His eyes follow you with every turn, every move, like he’s some kind of wild animal that’s stalking his prey, ready to pounce and devour at any minute. You have to keep your eyes off his as you unfasten his belt, the silver armor falling to the floor as you tug it off his broad body until he’s standing only in the leather material that covers his upper thighs and the boots that shine against his banged up ankles. 

   You stand there a minute and admire the gorgeous fighter that stands in front of you. Tall, extremely handsome, greying curls slicked back with the sweat from the sweltering sun in the arena, dirt etched across sculpted, tanned skin, eyes the color of bright sunlight and charcoal mixed together to make the prettiest honey-glazed eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. This man is like a god, and you’d happily get down on your knees and worship him at his beck and call. 

   His blazing eyes slide down your bare body and end at what’s left on his, nodding for you to finish the job. “Well, don’t just stand there. Finish undressing me,” he bites out with scalding irritation, clearly ready to forget his long day in an arena where hyenas bark at him day after day. He wants a release, and that release is you.

   You quickly tug the leather material down his legs, taking his underwear to the floor as his hard cock stands at attention against his sculpted abs, his coarse, wiry, dark hair trailing down the base of him as you gulp with wide-eyes.

   He’s so big, so thick, so very… god-like. 

   He sits down on the wooden chest that’s sprawled at the end of his bed, spreading his muscular legs wide as he points to his dusty battle boots. “Knees on the ground, Starlight,” he instructs firmly with a gravelly tone that makes you clench your thighs together.

   “Yes. Of course, Marcus.”

   “Sir,” he corrects as you bend down and start to unlatch the straps of his fighting boots, slowly stripping them off as you toss them to the side. 

   You idly sit there on your knees, one arm twisting around the back of his thigh as you spread him wider, almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock dripping precum around the angry red tip. Your mouth parts open, and you lose all train of thought. The only thing you want is to choke on that beautiful cock till he tells you to stop.

   He strips you from your fantasies as he grabs a fistful of your hair, leaning down as he bites out slow, deliberate words. “Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to be a good girl and wrap that pretty little mouth around my cock?” His eyes twinkle with a seductive glare, and his dirty words melt all the way down to your heated core until you can actually feel them around your aching clit.

   “Yes, sir. Wanna be your good girl,” you pant as you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

   He smirks and sits back as his rough hand guides you forward. “Then get to work,” he growls, tugging you forward with his hand wrapped around your hair until your lips meet his dripping tip.

   You take your tongue and run it flat up the base of him, following along the bulging vein as you lick up the salty precum that gushes around his swollen tip. 

   Gods, he tastes so good, even after a long day in battle without a bath. You actually prefer to go down on him like this when his musk is drenched around the coarse hairs at his base, sweat pooling down his glorious body as you bathe in the aroma of him. Battle and all, this is when you like him most, when he completely takes charge and dominates you around his chambers, instructing you with filthy words and crude actions. This is how you like it. All hot and sweaty and desperate and messy.

   He groans as you take him deeper, hollowing out your cheeks as you fill your throat with his thick cock, gagging around his massive size as he starts to bob his hips, fucking your throat in steady strides as his large fingers wrap around your soft waves. 

   “That’s it, right there, atta fucking girl,” he moans, tipping his head down to yours as he watches you through the black pits that consume his wide eyes.

    “Look at me,” he demands as he pulls you back up to breathe, letting a bead of saliva connect to your plump lips from the tip of him as you suck in a deep breath, feeding your lungs as you look up into eyes that could eat you alive. 

   “There she is, my good little Starlight. Sucking my cock just the way I like it, yeah?” he coos, threading his fingers through your hair and stroking the back of your neck like you’re a well trained dog on a leash just waiting for their master to give you orders.

   “Mhm. You just taste so good, all hot and sweaty,” you purr as your hand slides down the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls as he grunts in pleasure, tightening his grip on your neck as he pushes you back down. 

   “Yeah? Put those pretty lips to action then, gorgeous,” he growls. 

   He takes you to your limits, cock throbbing as you choke and gag around his thick length, drool dousing him as he fucks you hard and deep, taking exactly what he needs after going through hell and back himself in one day.

   You groan, tears licking your eyes as you swallow the salty taste of him, letting him move you at his leisure, making your body do exactly as he pleases. Before you can get another good taste of his deliciousness, he pulls you off and throws you on your back in the silky sheets, watching him grab some of the gold cords from his armor. 

   Your breath escapes you as he crawls over your body, the dirt caking his broad arms as his hungry eyes nearly devour you whole as he carefully binds your wrists to the headboard, stilling your writhing legs as he starts to slowly spread them. 

   Your heart is beating wildly like ocean tides collide with your body, and your core is humming for Marcus to touch you in every single place he can get his filthy hands on you.

   He takes the tips of his fingers and melodically strokes them down your neckline, skating between your peaked breasts, teasing along your inner thighs until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. “Marcus, please,” you beg, nearly panting his name raggedly as you beg for his touch. 

   “Sir,” he corrects sternly as he stares at you with dark eyes in warning.

   “Sir,” you apologize with a meek voice.

   He chuckles and drags his finger higher, teasing around your drenched folds as he hikes one leg over his shoulder, your other folding around his back. 

   “Now, I want you to look up and watch, can you do that?” he asks as you tilt your head and swallow a gasp as you stare into the reflection of you and Marcus in between the sheets that will soon be soaked.

   “Want you to see what belongs to me, what I own,” he growls dominantly as he sinks down to his elbows and breathes in your musk deeply as your pussy shutters at just the feel of his hot breath.

   You groan in waiting, and then his mouth is on you in a flash. He licks a thick stripe up your center as your wrists tug at the golden clasps, your fingernails digging into your skin as you moan in pure ecstasy when his tongue circles meticulously around your puffy clit. 

   “Oh, yeah,” you whine as the feel of his thick fingers curl up inside you, reaching that sweet spongy spot that makes you dizzy every single time.

   He chuckles as he pulls you down further, your bound wrists biting into the cords as he swirls his tongue exceptionally fast, groaning at the taste of you as his messy curls fall against your thighs. You want to reach down and lace your fingers into those beautiful locks, want to hear him groan as your nails dig deep into his scalp as you moan his name around the spacious chambers of his living quarters, but you’ll work with this for now, until he says otherwise. 

   He pulls your bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, sucking and teasing as he looks up from under hooded eyes and stares at you playfully with his pupils expanding into dark pits the more he feasts on you. 

   You buck into his mouth as his fingers plunge in and out of you, creating the most obscene wet noises that reverberate off the marble walls. He releases your buzzing clit with a pop, licking the slick from his lips as he groans at the sweet taste of you.

   “This is exactly what I needed, Starlight. Needed to drink you down, taste the savory flavor of this sweet pussy, needed to drown in you,” he pants as he dives back in, licking and sucking and fucking two thick fingers inside your dripping hole until you start to see black dots flick across your vision.

   “Yes, come for me, Starlight,” he purrs, his gravelly voice melting your insides into warm lava as you snap and let the white hot heat take control.

   You throw your head back into the plush pillow and let your moans fill the room as you clench around his thick fingers and release everything you have to give him.

   “Just like that, Starlight. Fuck, yes,” he growls as he licks you clean, lapping up all the slick until you’re completely spent off the way he just demolished you.

   You feel his broad body climb over yours, carefully untying you from the headboard as your arms fall slack to your sides. You feel as if every wave of ecstasy just crashed into you, the high tides pulling you out to sea as you agreeably follow the darkness. Marcus pulls you out of the lapping waves and carries you back to shore where it’s safe and warm by his side.

   “Come here, Starlight. Just lay back and take the pleasure,” he purrs as he glides his massive cock into your slippery folds, spreading you wide as he starts to rock his hips back and forth, feeding himself inside you as your walls clench up around him. 

   You lay back into the dampening sheets as his body presses you deeper into the mattress, his hands tangled in your hair, your own legs wrapped tight around his broad back as you moan with every stroke of his cock. You feel the pressure inside you coiling tight, feeling as if you’ll come undone again at any second. This is what you love, what you revel in, what you need most in this world. It’s him. 

   You lay sprawled in the damp sheets, bodies tangled together like magnets colliding as you stare up into the wide mirror, the motions of his broad body reflecting in your wide eyes as you take the pleasure again and again.

   “Marcus,” you cry out, pleading for him, begging him not to stop as you watch him take you harder, your nails dragging down his back with every deep thrust he gives you as he kisses the back of your cervix repeatedly. 

   “Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it, Starlight?” he coos against the shell of your ear as he traces his lips up up up until he’s hovering straight over your lips, his mouth teasing as he nips at your bottom lip.

   “Marcus,” you repeat, your heart straining for him to kiss you.

   Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. It’s all you want, all you need. Like air to fill your lungs, he’s all it takes.

   It takes him less than two seconds to collapse his lips onto yours like he’s as desperate for air as you, like he might die if he doesn’t fill the space between the two of you. You moan into his mouth, tasting salt and sunlight crash against your taste buds as his tongue licks inside your panting mouth. He groans into the kiss, tangling his large tongue with yours as you chase him and let him swallow you down like it’s his last night to live.

    He deepens the kiss, pulling you flush to his chest as he turns you around while still inside you, landing on his back as he laces his fingers through your locks, moaning your name with every lick and every taste he takes from you. It’s like the gods have blessed you, bringing you this man, this mountain of a man that feeds your every need. And gods, you don’t think you will ever get enough of him.

   He disconnects from your swollen lips, resting his sweat covered forehead on yours as he concentrates on his swift strokes inside you, planting his hands firmly on your hips as he takes you for the ride of your life. “Yeah, that’s it, Starlight, You’re almost there, I can feel how much you’re squeezing. Let it out, let me feel it,” he growls through clenched teeth, trying not to fall apart before you do.

   He speeds up his thrusts, filling you fuller than anyone else has before, rutting into you at just the right angle where you can feel him start to uncoil all your tethered connections as your body slackens against his hold on you. 

   One more hard, long thrust and you’re done. “Marcusssss,” you moan, feeling the heat slide down and spill over his entirety as you fall flush into his strong chest. He takes initiative and thrusts deeper, much harder than before, desperate to chase his own release.

   He threads his brows together and groans your name quietly, his lips lingering over the shell of your ear as he takes three more breaths and then spills ropes of hot white cum inside your sticky core. 

   You moan together in ecstasy, bodies entwined as he empties his seed inside you, chests heaving with exhaustion as he carefully pulls out from inside you and collapses on the bed with a thud, your body slack against his as the damp, dirty sheets shift around your naked bodies. 

   After a few seconds of ragged breaths, he pulls your back flush against his sweaty chest and drapes an arm around you, holding you close as you let the sun slowly slip behind dark clouds that paint the sky violet colors.

   “You need a bath,” you giggle as you lace your fingers through his.

   “So do you,” he chuckles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a huff. “Just let me lay here a few more minutes. I’m exhausted,” he murmurs as he pulls you as close as humanly possible to his warm chest. You cozy up to him and sigh, relaxing into his warm touch, reveling in this soft moment that seems more rare than nights you get him all to yourself. 

   The room is sweltering, his scent clinging to every part of your body as you bathe in the smell of sweat, dirt, spice, and something that smells a lot just like him. He’s like your very own glass of fine wine, the perfect combination of class and just downright filth. He’s just… perfect. Perfect for you, the only man you truly want. And maybe that’s because you’re in love with him. Maybe that’s why you cling to him as much as you can, afraid he’ll be taken from you at a moment’s notice.

   You can’t lie to yourself, you’re absolutely terrified each time he steps into that arena, knowing the emperor wouldn’t even bat an eyelash if a man slaughtered him to shreds. You fidget against the damp sheets, cringing at the thought of blood filling his lungs, his body parts pulled apart by barbarians as he takes his last breath and slips into the dark abyss. 

   You clamp your eyes shut, thinking of Mina dragging him off to get married, thinking of him choosing another woman over you once he’s offered to cut ties in the arena if he marries someone with a higher title. You tremble at the thought of him leaving you all alone, like you never meant anything to him, like you were just a ragdoll for him to control whenever he wanted, like you don’t mean a damn thing other than knowing you’ll always be there at his command when he wants to blow some steam off from the arena. 

   You fight the uncontrollable tears that lick the backs of your eyes, plead to not break down in front of him, beg the gods to have some mercy on your soul if you were about to lose this man. You can’t lose him; you won’t lose him, unless he walks away and tells you to stay like a helpless dog losing their only person they know will take care of them.

   You can’t stand it, can’t hold in the emotions any longer, so you let them flow, feeling the tears like icy shards spilling down your burning cheeks.

   “Hey, hey, hey. Are you crying?” he asks with alarm in his deep, gravelly voice.

   “No,” you croak out as another tear falls like raindrops on the bed. 

   “Hey now, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong,” he pushes softly, turning you around till you’re facing his direction, concern laced in his soft brown eyes.

   You stare at him with sad eyes, nervously twisting your fingers in the silky sheets that are now covered in grime and sweat. You can’t tell him you’re scared to lose him, you just… can’t.

   “Starlight, talk to me. Tell me what it is.” His fingertips brush off a falling tear, and you shake your head slowly. 

   “It’s nothing…”

   He cups your chin and tilts your head up to where your eyes are aligned with his, and in those eyes swims the most sincere gaze he’s ever given you in his entire life. “It’s not nothing if it’s making you cry. Now talk to me. I’m right here.”

   His fingertips feel like velvet dragging across your cheek, soft brown eyes weighing into yours as he gives you his full attention. And it’s no use now hiding your feelings; you need to just clear the air and get it off your chest.

   You take a deep breath and focus before you choke your words out. “I’m scared, Marcus.”

   “Scared of what?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he hears you out.

   “Of losing you…”

   He sighs and runs his thumb gently down your jawline, stroking it up and down as the soothing feeling seems to settle your nerves. “Oh, Starlight. You’re never going to lose me.”

   You swallow the thick lump in your throat, holding back tears as you shake your head. “I could lose you any day in that arena. The things they put you through, the people you have to kill, the absolute horror you have to go through just to stay alive!” 

   His eyes go wide, but he lets you continue. “I don’t want to watch you die, Marcus! I don’t want them to keep feeding you to the wolves like you’re some kind of mindless entertainment for the city of Rome!”

   He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, slowly opening them back up as he cups the back of your neck. “I know, baby. I know…”

   Baby? That’s new….

   “Just trust me that I know what I’m doing, and that I’ll fight like hell to win my freedom back,” he sighs, his eyes glistening with a look like pain etched in the crevices of those golden brown irises.  

   “What if your freedom meant taking a wife, marrying someone with a title…” you whisper, barely able to lock eyes as he scrunches his forehead together.

   “What?” he asks with lines mapped against his tanned skin, considering your ridiculous question. “What do you mean take a wife with a title?”

   “Someone like Mina,” you murmur quietly.

   “Mina?” he asks with wide eyes.

   “She’s been obsessed with you ever since you first stepped into that arena. The way she looks at you… she could have you with a snap of her fingers if only she asked her father. And Marcus, I don’t want…”

   “Whoa there, slow down. Mina? Where is all this coming from? I have no interest in Mina.”

   You gulp, eyes dropping to the twisted sheets as you feel your heart stutter in your chest. “I overhear her all the time. The way she swoons over you, the way she dreams that one day you’ll notice her in the arena. And then… and what if you want to get married? Not even to her, but to someone with money, a title, someone royal, maybe someone that’ll get you out of here quicker? What if you…”

   You close your eyes tight, afraid you’ve spoken too much, afraid you’ve ruined everything as you lay in a heap with your heart pounding in your chest like a ticking time bomb. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did that, if you saved yourself from the brink of death. But I… I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, too. If you were to choose someone else…”

   You let the tears collect in your eyes, feel them slipping down your face as you try your best not to throw anything else frantic and chaotic into the stormy clouds above Rome. You’ve already said too much, too fast. You weren’t supposed to say anything.

   He lifts his head and stares at you, wordlessly assessing your fragile features as his eyes turn a soft brown, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes become glossy like yours. “Starlight, no. I don’t want Mina, I never did. And I would never ever leave you for someone else, even if it got me out of that pit faster. The only woman I want to see is you. If I haven’t made that clear before, I’m sorry. But… baby, you belong to me. You’re mine.”

   “I’m… yours?” you ask carefully, your tears spilling over the edges uncontrollably as you cling to his chest.

   “Of course you’re mine, Starlight. You’ve been mine since the first day I locked eyes on your beautiful face,” he whispers, curling a lock of hair behind your ear as you breathe in deep, surrounding yourself in the very essence of him as he tells you exactly how he’s felt the whole time this has been going on. “I’ve been yours longer than you know.”

   You whimper out a sigh, threading your fingers through his tousled hair as you stare into starry brown eyes that you’d really like to slip in and stay for all eternity. “Really?” you ask with wonder in your eyes.

   “Really,” he nods. “Do you know why I call you Starlight?”

   “No,” you whisper quietly, shaking your head as a fresh tear streams down your skin. He catches it with his thumb and caresses your cheek gently as his calloused fingers soothe your cloudy thoughts. 

   “Because you’re the brightest thing I see every single time I step into that arena. The only thing that keeps me fighting week after week in that bloodbath is you, so I can get back to you.”

   His answer leaves you completely breathless as you suck in warm air, your body still as you look longingly at the man that starts devastating wildfires in your heart.

   “Me?” you ask in a shaky breath.

   “You,” he nods with a smile. “The very first time I stepped into the arena, the first thing that crossed my vision was your eyes. Those beautiful, sparkling eyes were the only thing I focused on, the only thing that kept me from losing myself on that battlefield was you.”

   You gasp, his deep words taking the breath from your lungs as he confesses about the first time he noticed you, saw you, really, truly saw you. You weren’t invisible to him. You were never invisible. “Marcus…” you say shakily as he strokes your jawline lovingly. “But… I… I’m just a simple woman. I have no titles, no money to my name, no prospects. I’m just… me,” you state slowly.

   He sighs, cupping his hand around the back of your head as his fingers lazily stroke through your strands gently. “I don’t care, Starlight. I don’t care about money or titles or really anything about an important name. What's life of riches and freedom if I can’t have you?” 

   You swear your heart blooms like lush roses in your chest as you hear those words repeat again and again in your mind. He wants you, he wants you.

   “I want you,” he repeats, as if he can hear the sounds of doubt play in your mind like a music box that won’t stop spinning. 

   He cups both sides of your face and looks at you with pure intent in his glossy brown eyes. “I want you every day, every minute, every second, and I burn for you in that arena,” he promises as his lips graze over yours delicately. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you sitting in the audience all wide-eyed and beautiful. And I want you even more now that I have you, want you by my side every minute of every day because I can’t stand the thought of losing you. And I’ll fight like hell to earn my freedom back because I love you.”

   He loves you.

   “Marcus, I…” 

   He crashes his lips against yours, a hot, needy, yearning kiss that nearly sends you soaring into the night sky as his lips surge like fire through your very veins. It’s soft like snow, kissing at your eyelashes as you let him pull you flush to his chest, needing to be as close as possible as love burns through your bodies, connecting them together as if this is the very first time you both ache to collide together. 

   “I love you, Marcus,” you whisper against his lips.

   He pulls you on top of his chest and sinks his mouth down on yours, slowly slotting his tongue in your mouth, drawing lazily circles as he drinks you down as you allow him to take all of you. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs from you he has. He tastes like the stars that shimmer in the sky, and you’ll be his entire galaxy, his Starlight that’ll guide him off the battlefield of the arena and back into your arms where he’s safe from harm.

   When he disconnects from your mouth, he stares at you, his soft brown eyes shimmering up at you as he runs his calloused fingers tenderly through your hair. “You’re mine, Starlight.”

   “I’m yours,” you repeat, smiling down at him as he brushes his lips against your forehead, kissing you with love written all over his touch as he pulls you up from the bed. 

   “Come on, my love. Let’s go take a bath,” he says softly as he picks you up and carries you to the bathing chamber, his strong arms cradling you against his warm chest as he places a lasting kiss to your forehead. 

   All your worries are shed, all false pretenses are gone, everything you were mourning over is suddenly lifted off your shoulders as they fly away into the night sky. This man is yours, and he’s never ever planning on letting you go. 

   Starlight shines brighter than any Roman Empire games, and you’re his guiding light back home.

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize (Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader) Part 2

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Seek medical attention for infected bite wounds.

The first chapter

Shanks POV

Hongo tilted his head to the side while contemplating your last statement. His mouth opened and closed before asking  “Captain, may I speak to you outside for a moment?” Shanks nodded, using his thumb to wipe away the tear tracking down the Omega’s face.

“Stay here, OK? I’ll be just outside the door,” Shanks said in your ear quietly, his stubble scraping against your cheek and earning him a shiver from you. Picking you off his lap with ease, Shanks set the Omega down on the unmade bed. You were still steadfastly looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact with either Hongo or himself. Shanks stood up and followed the doctor, opening and shutting the cabin door gently behind him to avoid startling you. 

“Are you keeping her?” the doctor asked, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Shanks hadn’t given it much thought in the short time he’d had the Omega on his ship. If Shanks was a better man, he could let her go back on suppressants while living in anonymity on a protected island. She’d made it years without being detected and likely could go back to doing the same. 

Or he could sell her and make a ton of Berri, maybe even equal to his bounty. This idea was dismissed as the thought of turning her over to someone who would traumatize her just as badly - or maybe worse - turned his stomach. Besides, the islands he protected were perfectly happy to supply him with whatever the crew needed. The Red Force was welcomed all over the Grand Line, Shanks had no need for more money.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it,” Shanks said, rubbing his goatee. The idea to keep the Omega for himself had growing appeal. Your scent had started to perfume the cabin and it was taking everything in Shanks not to rub his nose on your scent glands. You had a subtle scent of lily of the valley and cedar that Shanks found incredibly appealing. With his status, power, and crew he could keep you safe from anyone else who would seek to have you. 

“Well, you’d better decide quickly. If you’re not keeping her, we need to get her off the ship immediately.”

“How much time do we have?” Shanks asked, peeking back in on your still form again. If he didn’t see you breathing and blinking, he would have thought you a statue.

“Only four to five days, and that’s if your presence around her doesn’t initiate her heat sooner which it likely will. If you’re not keeping her, we gotta put her in the infirmary, brig, or somewhere where your and Beckman’s scent is weak.” The mention of Beckman set Shanks on edge, surprising both himself and the doctor. He’d been friends with Beckman for over twenty years and this was the first time he’d ever felt anything so negative towards the man.

“How much do you know about Omegas?” 

Shanks hummed as he recalled that he had read a few books over the years, but hadn’t taken a particular interest in Omegas. He didn’t think he’d ever find one and he wouldn’t want to spend a single Berri on buying one through the slave trade. He’d bedded hundreds of Betas and even a few Alphas which had suited him just fine. “I know a little but not all that much truthfully,” he stated while looking at you through the circular window in the cabin door. You hadn’t moved an inch, your gaze still trained on the floor, sitting in the exact position Shanks had left you in. He could only imagine what Kid had done to you to train you to such a sick level of obedience. 

“We’ve got to get to an island and dock for the duration otherwise everyone’s gonna be miserable, especially Beckman. You’re not gonna want anyone else around her either.” 

“How do you know she’s going to be in heat?” Shanks asked, genuinely curious.

Hongo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Doctor isn’t just a title, I went to a real medical school. I learned about all this and we need to get her ready. If this is her first heat like she’s saying it will be, it’s going to be intense.”

“What does that mean exactly? What do we need to do for her?” Shanks’s practical knowledge about heat cycles left something to be desired. He’d often glossed over those sections in manuscripts under the assumption that it would never apply to his situation. 

Hongo rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “If you’re keeping her, there’s a lot we need to do. First, she must bathe so I can tend to her wounds. After that, you’ll have to scent her. If you want the heat to go as smoothly as it can we need to erase any scent left from Kid and replace it with yours. That way she’s not searching for her old mate, even if they had a….bad relationship. We’ll need to get her soft, clean, unscented linens and blankets so she can make her nest. She needs to eat up - heats use a lot of the Omega’s reserves and she doesn’t have that much left. We need -”

Shanks cut off Hongo with a wave of his hand. “One thing at a time. First, let’s bathe her.” 

“After the bath, we’re gonna need Beckman,” Hongo stated.

“Beckman? Why?” Shanks was an Alpha too and stronger besides. Anything Beckman could do, Shanks could do better unless it took two arms. Belatedly, Shanks realized his feelings were the precursor to jealousy. He threw Hongo a frown before he carried on speaking in a sullen tone, “She doesn’t need him.”. 

“I’m gonna have to clean and dress her wounds,” Hongo explained.

“So? What does that have to do with him?”

“He’s gonna keep you from punching or trying to fight me. You’re not going to like watching me tend to her or hurt her, no matter if it's for her own good.” Shanks rolled his eyes at the doctor’s words.

“Pffff. It’s not gonna be like that, I can control myself. It’s not like she’s my mate,” Shanks scoffed.

“I’m getting Beckman,” Hongo stated, unmoved by Shanks’s self assuredness.

Your POV

You heard the Captain and doctor talking outside of the door but were lost in your own thoughts. You’d been off your homemade suppressants for a while but you had pointedly avoided thinking about the possibility of going through heat. You had chalked your rising temperature up to your wounds causing you to be feverish. Nuzzling into the cloak, you inhaled Shanks’s scent deep into your lungs. The velvety material and clean smell made you feel peaceful to the point of being a little sleepy. You ached to lay back on the comfortable looking bed and curl up into a ball but he hadn’t given you permission to. You wanted to pass and show that you could obey in case this was a test. Kid liked to test the limits of your obedience in creative ways and you’d learned your lessons the hard way. He would leave food out when you were hungry and punish you if you ate it, or leave out blankets when he’d told you to remain naked and enter his cabin randomly. So you sat even though you were bone achingly tired.

You tried to look about your surroundings surreptitiously while you waited. The wooden cabin was mostly tidy but well lived in. Clothes were piled on a lounge chair in the corner, a writing desk had letters, maps, and an inkwell on top, and a small bookshelf held a few tomes. A dark colored chest had more linens poking out of the corner while the bed you were perched upon was large and covered in fuzzy sheets and piled with blankets and pillows. You didn’t see any hooks or chains hanging from the walls, maybe the Alpha wasn’t going to shackle you to the bed. The room had the aroma of the Alpha and gave off the feeling of coziness, of snuggling under blankets on a cold night. It felt….homey.

The door opened and Shanks reappeared without the doctor. Watching the Emperor approach, you didn’t want to imagine his displeasure at finding you asleep on the bed when he hadn’t allowed it. Kid’s power was mind boggling to you and the Emperor had swatted him away like a fly. You would do anything to remain on the Emperor’s good side even if it was to your own detriment. You heard him approaching you and watched his sandaled feet stop in front of you. He didn’t stoop down to catch your gaze but you felt his hand land at the top of your hair. You winced, remembering all the times it had been pulled in the past. No pain came as Shanks just patted you and rubbed the strands of your dirty hair between his fingers.

“Hongo has to treat your wounds. We need to get you clean first though, yeah? And take these off too,” Shanks’ fingers left your hair as he spoke. He reached down into the cloak and pulled on the chain between the cuffs you were still wearing. Feeling the bed dip next to you, Shanks pulled one of the cuffs closer to his face to inspect the manacle. “Where’s the lock? They’re not welded shut,” Shanks noted. 

“Magnetic,” you said in your hoarse voice. Shanks’s face soured as he traced the smooth metal of the handcuff with his thumb.

“Ah.” Shanks seemed to mull your response over for a few moments before he commanded you to close your eyes. You complied immediately and heard crunching as the metal of your cuff fell off your wrists. You desperately wanted to see how the Emperor had gotten them off but you were waiting for his command. A warm and calloused hand rubbed your bruised wrist where the metal had been previously. “You can open them again,” Shanks said softly, running his thumb over your pulse. There were no weapons around and the Emperor’s sword was still sheathed within the scabbard. You could only guess the power he’d used to remove them. 

The door swung open and three men appeared, two carrying a metal tub filled with steaming water and the third with a bucket with toiletries. Shanks stood to put himself between you and the crew members, blocking them from your view. “Thanks, guys, just put it over there,” the Emperor requested, gesturing to the largest open area of the cabin. The men followed their Captain’s request carefully but a little water sloshed on the floor. Alarm shot through you at the sight of the water on the floor, and you hoped the Captain didn’t blame you or punish you for it. You nearly went to clean it but you hadn’t been told to leave the bed and the new men were still in the room.

“Is it time for introductions? I’m Lime -” one of the men began speaking in your direction.

“Ah, not now. Maybe later Lime Juice, sorry. Thanks for bringing the tub,” the Emperor said with genuine praise in his voice.

“No worries. Nice to meetcha Little Miss,” the man said easily. You didn’t reply. The men exited the cabin leaving only you, Shanks, and the piping hot bath. 

“Come on, then. Let’s get you in there while it's still hot,” the Emperor suggested. You nodded and stood up, shucking the Emperor’s cloak you’d been clutching.

Shanks POV

He shouldn’t have been surprised when you complied immediately, leaving his cloak on the bed and revealing your nude body. You’d been beaten into submission - if he told you to jump overboard he’d hear the splash shortly thereafter. His eyes raked over your form while you limped to the tub, noticing the bruising, the cuts, the marks he hadn’t before. Even in your currently broken form, you were breathtaking. Shanks’s fingers twitched with the desire to touch you but he stuffed his hand into his pocket for the time being, getting closer to aid your descent into the water.

“Why are you limping?” Shanks asked as you gripped the edge of the tub to lift yourself in. You froze in place, looking down at the water. Raising your foot behind you revealed a deep gash in the sole of your foot. Shanks crouched down to get a better look at the wound while capturing your foot in his hand. The doctor hadn’t inspected the bottom of your feet so he was sure Hongo hadn’t seen this one. The cut was clearly deliberate with how deep and uniform it was. Taking a deep breath to avoid swearing caused the tempting perfume of your cunt to hit Shanks’s nose. His first instinct was to hold you in place and run his tongue all the way up your legs till he reached your tantalizing pussy. Then he wanted to rub his nose up and down your slit until the scent of your pussy was all he could smell. Now wasn’t the time, you were shaking and tired and had a long way to go until you could rest.

“Ach. I wish you’d said something, are there any other cuts Hongo didn’t inspect?” Shanks said in mild admonishment. You licked your lips and nodded slowly. You were shaking, your shoulders hunched in to make yourself smaller. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m not mad,” Shanks said quietly, putting your foot back down and standing up, regrettably moving away from the scent of your groin. He cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheek repeatably in an attempt to soothe you. “I’m not mad, I just need to know where you need medical attention. I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information, right?” You nodded, your hair obscuring your face from his view. “Where’s the other cut?” Shanks inquired while moving his hand to the small of your back.

You took in a deep breath and put your good foot on the tub, opening your legs to his eyes. At the very inner crease of your leg, where your thigh met your groin, was another infected bite mark. Shanks squared his shoulders and kept his face neutral. His first instinct had been to snarl at the offending sight but managed to restrain his response at the sight of you. Shanks saw your vacant gaze, shaking hands, and clammy skin and knew it would only make things worse.

“”S all right. We can let Hongo know later,” Shanks slipped on the mask of his affable nature as he spoke to smooth over the moment. “In ya go, Love,” Shanks said while picking you up by the waist and depositing you into the tub without warning. Shanks needed you in the water so your smell would dissipate before he lost control of himself. You hissed when your skin hit the water but otherwise made no movements. “Here you go,” Shanks said, handing you soap and a towel before dragging a stool over to sit near the tub. “You do your front, I’ll get your back.” 

You began lathering the washcloth with soap and warm water before you began rubbing down your arms and torso. Shanks maintained a steady one sided conversation while he started pouring water down your back. He was trying to acclimate you to the sound of his voice in an attempt to bring you comfort in what surely was an uncomfortable time. While lathering his own washcloth Shanks saw the formerly clear bathwater turning rust red with every swipe of your hands. As he began sudsing your back his eyes picked up faded scars he’d missed when looking over your more recent wounds. 

“I’m gonna wash your back now, ok? It’s hard to wash your own back and even harder when you only have one hand. There are more tasks than you’d think that require two hands, even beyond fighting or washing. Can you imagine how difficult buttons are to do with one hand? Or even tying boots? I have Beckman help me, that’s Benn Beckman, my first mate. You’ll meet him later, you’ll like him for sure. He looks gruff but make no mistake he’s a total sweetheart. He says that I milk it, and I do of course, but what’s the point of being a Captain if my first mate won’t hand feed me eggs every morning?” 

Shanks was acting casually but he noticed a miniscule shift in your mouth as he joked about Benn feeding him breakfast. You were close to smiling and Shank’s heart swelled with pride. He knew there was some glimmer of you buried deep within and he was going to bring you back to the surface. He finished washing your back and you’d washed your arms, torso, and legs but made no move to wash your hair.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, Love? I can if you’d like,” Shanks was trying to offer you as many simple choices as possible to show you that he wasn’t going to control every aspect of your life. You shook your head in response to his query. “Alright, go ahead then, almost done here,” Shanks said gently but to his surprise, you shook your head again. “No? I don’t mean to be rude sweetheart but your hair’s dirty, it needs to be washed.” 

“Cut it all off,” you rasped. Shanks tilted his head to the side, your request startling. Even male Omegas preferred long hair, it was simply a characteristic commonly associated with the dynamic. One of the most severe non-corporeal punishments an Omega could face was having a forced haircut. For an Omega to request a drastic haircut was unheard of. Your hair was long, indicating you’d been growing it long before Kid had gotten his hands on you even through your time being suppressed.

“Can I ask why?” Shanks questioned, picking up the soggy ends from the water. 

“Can’t be pulled,” you answered. You parted your hair in the back, showing a bald spot where your hair had been yanked out from the root. Shanks moved his stool so he was no longer sitting behind you but beside you.

“Look at me,” Shanks requested and you partially complied as you turned your head towards him. You looked at his chest but not at his face. “ Look at me,” Shanks repeated, this time with a Command. Not physically able to disobey an Alpha of his power, your widened eyes snapped to him. It was the first time he’d Commanded you to do anything, but this was important.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. You may not always like what I do, but I will never harm you. Do you understand?” Shanks said softly while stroking your cheek with his thumb. He’d done that a lot, he mused. Something about you called him to take care of you, to provide for you physically and emotionally. You nodded. “I’m gonna have to hear you say it,” Shanks said, almost sorry for forcing you to talk.

“I understand,” you stated in your ruined voice. Unsure if his Command was completed you continued looking at him. Shanks smiled at you and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll make a deal. I’ll wash and brush your hair for you tonight. If you still want to cut it off tomorrow morning, we will. We can have matching haircuts if you want,” Shanks said, flipping back his own hair for emphasis. A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of your lips as you nodded your consent to his deal.

Your POV

Your arms looped around your knees in the cooling water as Shanks washed your hair tenderly. You had been sincere in your wish to cut it - you never wanted to be dragged by your hair ever again. Shanks’s offer startled you since Omegas were often physically groomed to whatever standard the Alpha wanted regardless of how they felt about it. The bath had given you a lot of stress since you weren’t sure what to expect. Anything new, any deviation from the standard made you nervous since you couldn’t predict the outcome. It had been an all right experience but not as relaxing as the Emperor had anticipated. 

Shanks only had one hand but it didn’t slow him down when bathing you. He rattled on about whatever he was thinking about while you listened as he worked the soap onto your scalp and rinsed it. He was pulling the brush easily through your hair while telling you about a strange boy he’d met years before when there was a knock at the door. 

“Wait,” Shanks ordered in a tone more stern than he’d used when speaking to you. “Up, dear,” Shanks motioned with the hairbrush. The water dripping off you in rivulets left you exposed to the cold air making your skin erupt into goosebumps. Shanks quickly dried you off with a fluffy towel before he wrapped it around your body. After you were dried to Shanks’s satisfaction, he swapped the towel for a large purple robe, picked you up, and sat you on the chair by the desk.

“Come in,” Shanks said, sitting on the edge of the desk next to you. He took your wrinkly hand and held it in his own as you resumed staring at the floor. Three pairs of boots walked past and you heard them hefting the tub back out of the room.

“Blech, what’d she do? Bathe in mud?” one man said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongo replied calmly while coming to stand in front of you. He had his medicine kit again and you knew this part would be even less fun than the bath. Two pairs of boots stopped in front of you but you only recognized Hongo’s. The other male was also an alpha though not as strongly scented as Shanks.

“There’s a few more Hong,” Shanks said casually, stroking the top of your hand. “She’s got a cut on the sole of her foot and one on her inner thigh. Both need attention.”

“Alright, not an issue. Let’s get started,” Hongo said while setting his bag on the desk. “Over to the other side of the cabin,” Hongo ordered Shanks, who bristled immediately. 

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here,” Shanks said, keeping your hand in his own.

“No, you’re not. Go over there with Beckman. I don’t want to have to treat my own wounds in addition to hers when I stitch her up.” You cringed, waiting for the Captain to slap his subordinate but it never came. Instead, you heard a deep voice ushering the Emperor away from you.

“C’mon, Cap. ‘S for the best. We’ll be a few feet away and she’s a big girl, she can be apart from you for a minute or two.” You were guessing this was Benn Beckman, the first mate Shanks had told you about. Shanks whined in response but let go of your hand nonetheless.

“”M right here if you need me, Sweets,” Shanks reassured you as he receded. You didn’t protest but a part of you did wish Shanks was nearby. You didn’t feel all that comfortable around him but he was the person you were most familiar with. Hongo had been taking tools and liquids out of his bag in preparation for the procedures. After putting on a pair of glasses, Hongo snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

“It’s not gonna feel great, but I’ll try to make it as painless as possible, OK? Let’s start with your neck, I think that’s the most severe. Did you wash it in the bath?” He asked, using the stool Shanks had previously occupied. You nodded in confirmation that you had followed the doctor’s orders.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” You tilted your head to allow the doctor access to your neck. Even though you knew he was going to touch you, you still flinched when he made contact with your skin. “I’m gonna clean it and drain the pus. After I’m gonna have to stitch it,” the doctor informed you. You heard the sound of liquid moving and felt alcohol being applied to your neck. Not wanting to interrupt Hongo’s work, you stayed as still as you could even as the alcohol burned on contact with your wound. 

“See? Not even a single reaction outta me,” you heard Shanks say in the background and Beckman grunted in response to his captain.

After wiping down the area, you heard the clanging of metal as Hongo picked up a scalpel. You closed your eyes and waited for the sharp pain as the knife met your skin. Based on other wounds you’d received, you knew the doctor was trying to be gentle but you still hissed as he cut into you and pressed on the wound.

“No, sit down. She’s fine -”

“I AM sitting down, but I just wanna go -” 

“No, stay put.” You heard Shanks and Beckman arguing on the other side of the room. Hongo was right to bring the first mate, it sounded like Shanks was having a hard time watching the doctor tend to your wounds. You wondered if it was from possessiveness, like Kid, or because he didn’t like watching you being hurt. You didn’t think about it for long as a sharp pain crowded out your train of thought when the doctor began pressing on your wound to drain the pus.

“Not much more, almost there. It’s a deep wound, otherwise I wouldn’t have to stitch it.” You whimpered as the doctor pushed even harder for a moment, then covered the area with gauze. You heard scuffling again.

“Let go of me Benn, I need to - I said stop shoving me!” Shanks’ voice rose with more anger in his voice. His scent was starting to bloom, filling the air with the smell of oranges and cloves in an unconscious effort to soothe you.

“One more time and you’re out of the cabin until he’s done. Stop talking and distracting everyone. You know it’s for her own good so Let Hongo work,” Benn huffed. You couldn’t concentrate on Shanks anymore because the doctor started to stitch. You closed your lips into a thin line and screwed your eyes shut in a futile effort to block out the pain.

“Ah, relax, relax. If you tense your muscles it hurts more,” the doctor chided you gently as the needle pricked your skin over and over. You relaxed your face as much as you could. You’d had stitches before and you were no stranger to pain but the bite was in such a delicate and sensitive area you couldn’t help as a few tears escaped your eye. Finally, you heard the words you were waiting for.

“All done, just snipping the end of the thread. One more moment and we can move on.” Scissors were brought close to your face and snipped the end of the medical thread. “Look straight ahead for me?” Hongo instructed you, facing you head on. You looked forward, your neck aching with the effort. “And turn to the other side?” You turned and saw Shanks smiling and waving at you despite being held against the wall by Benn. You dropped your eyes after a moment too long.

“So what’s next? Shanks said you had a foot injury? Those are a real drag,” Hongo said, trying to make light conversation. You nodded and crossed your leg over your knee to show the doctor the sole of your foot. Hongo reached out to pick up your foot by the ankle and peered closely at the wound with his glasses.

“Knife?” he asked abruptly. You nodded. “Accident?” You shook your head. 

“Punishment. Ran away,” you said quietly. Hongo hummed and tilted your foot. You used the extra fabric of the extravagant robe to cover yourself more as Hongo lifted your leg and placed your foot on his lap. Shanks growled lightly but otherwise made no noise.

“Luckily it’s pretty shallow. Probably hurts to walk but it should heal quickly. I don’t need to suture it but I am going to wrap it,” Hongo explained. He cleaned the wound and used long nosed tweezers to get a few pieces of debris out. The digging was uncomfortable and made you try to jerk your foot back unintentionally but Hongo’s grip was tight. He finished quickly and wrapped the wound in gauze and bandages.

“Next is the leg, right? Let’s see,” Hongo offered. Your mouth twisted as you thought of having to show the wound. You pointed to the bed and hoped the doctor didn’t think you were arrogant.

“Sure, go ahead and lay down if it's easier for you,” Hongo offered. He picked you up and you heard the Emperor’s rumble returning, making you ball your hands into fists.

“Oi, you’re scaring her Redhair,” Benn said as you were placed on the bed. The rumble stopped for a moment but quickly resumed as soon as you opened your legs to show Hongo the wound. You were covering what you could with the robe but Shanks only got louder as Hongo came closer to you. As his head dipped low to look at it with his glasses, Shanks’s loud roar made you cower. 

“That’s it, we’re leaving,” Ben said, manhandling the Emperor out of the cabin. “I’m keeping this one outside. Let us know when you’re done. C’mon you,” Beckman said, still grappling with a struggling Shanks. You knew that if the Emperor really wanted to stay, no one on board could keep him out. You guessed that the Emperor was trying to allow Hongo to take care of you but the Alpha within him didn’t like the other male so close to you. You closed your eyes and willed this experience to be over as soon as possible. Hongo was touching your upper leg in a professional manner but the feeling of someone near your core had you near tears. This wound wasn’t as bad as the one on your neck since you had secretly washed it a few times. 

“All done. Good job, Omega. You did better than some of the men on board,” Hongo said before removing the gloves and putting his glasses back in their case. “You stay there, I’ll get Shanks.” No sooner had the doctor finished speaking than the door opened and the Emperor strode in, carrying a basket in his hand. You sat up and gulped, unsure how angry he would be. 

“Out,” he said to Hongo before he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry Hong. What I meant was, thank you. And you were right about Beckman, owe ya one.”

“Owe me a bottle of booze is whatcha owe me,” Hongo said, smiling easily. “Have her eat and go to sleep. Poor thing’s exhausted.” 

“Already on it,” Shanks murmured. He placed the basket on the bed as the doctor left, taking his equipment with him. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I took a bit of everything. The crew already ate dinner and those assholes left no leftovers. Well, we didn’t really know you were coming, but Lucky’ll make you whatever you want tomorrow. For now, here’s a little snack.” Shanks reached into the basket and pulled out some cheese, dried meat, grapes, crackers, and some nuts. “I stole a bunch of this from Beckman’s cabin, he’s got good taste.” You hesitatingly reached over to the slices of cheese, taking one in your hand. Biting into it, you nearly moaned. You hadn’t had fresh food in forever, subsisting on whatever Kid remembered to bring into his cabin. 

You ate a few more slices in silence, Shanks leaning back on the bed and eating some of the mixed nuts he’d taken. “You want one?” he asked, holding a grape in his hand. You nodded and held out your hand to take one from the bowl. “Ah ah. Open,” he demanded, putting the grape right in front of your lips. You obediently opened your mouth and Shanks popped the fruit in. You didn’t know why but you felt yourself starting to blush faintly. You were wearing the Emperor’s robe, on his bed, after he bathed you, and yet feeding you a grape made you feel embarrassed? You yawned after you swallowed, your eyelids feeling heavy. You wanted to rest but were still unsure if you needed permission.

“Aw, you’re tired? ‘S alright, we can eat more tomorrow. Drink a cup of water and we’ll be off to bed,” Shanks said, pouring water into a cup from a bottle on the nightstand. Handing you the cup, your fingers brushed against his. You drank greedily, draining the cup in seconds. “More?” Shanks asked but you shook your head. He quickly put the food back in the basket and set it on the floor.

“Lay down. You look so sleepy little Omega. Come on, right here next to me on the bed, it’s nice and warm, I’ll hold you,” Shanks cooed at you. Your lip wobbled at the suggestion but you held firm and didn’t cry. You’d spent many nights on the cold floor of Kid’s cabin, your chains pulling at your weakened limbs. Crawling over to the head of the bed, you laid down on your side on one of the fluffy, feather filled pillows. The Emperor covered your body with his heavy blanket and you burrowed down into its warmth while inhaling the rich scent of the Alpha. You’d missed being warm and comfortable at night more than any other luxury, even more than eating regularly. Shanks laid down behind you and pulled you close to his body, draping his arm loosely across your torso. 

“Good night, little Omega,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

“Good night, Emperor,” you croaked, already half asleep. One thought tickled the corner of your mind before you could succumb to sleep completely. “The other ship?” You’d felt the Emperor’s boat rock earlier but you were too focused on your circumstances to notice anything else.

“Hm? Kid’s ship? Dorry and Broggy cut it in half,” Shanks mumbled while running his hand up and down your ribs. You hummed happily and let sleep overtake you.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle

[cherubimcore]

pairing: emperor caracalla x fem!reader

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

part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your jaw tightened, but you said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you whispered eerily while being taken away.

"good luck then"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

perhaps they were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[silentheiss]

AU, where Luo Binghe meets Shen Yuan under different circumstances. Precisely, when one of his wives comes to him to ask for divorce.

Because she’s kind of in love with Shen Yuan, as it happens.

It goes like this:

Shen Yuan is having a great time being a transmigrator. He had quite a safe landing with being an NPC who’s never been mentioned in the book, so he’s not about to be killed by Luo Binghe anytime soon, and he’s doing great avoiding him.

Until he meets Ban Li. She’s so pretty and feisty she bound to become Luo Binghe’s wife one day, and Shen Yuan doesn’t want to be seen next to her when it happens. He’s not a suicidal idiot, despite what Ban Li says the first time they meet.

“-an utter degenerate! To face a Venomous Flying Spider in your own! What the hell were you thinking?” She yells, after cutting two back legs of the spider in one sharp swing of her sword, rendering beast to a withering, scaly pile. “At least you had a presence of mind to cut the wings first! Idiot!”

Who gives compliments like that? Shen Yuan sighs and positions himself more comfortably on the ground.

“As this one already said, everything was under control.”

“Ha!” Ban Li barks out, her eyes glowing green. Ah, must be a demoness, then. “Under what control? Be thankful for this one’s grace or your legs will be cut off!”

Shen Yuan laughs and offers Ban Li some sweets he always carries in his pouch. Things go smoothly after that — Ban Li accompanies him for next week, claiming she has a task of exterminating beasts in the area.

“Husband will want a report soon, but this one has time to spare.” Ban Li mentions one day.

“Ban Li is married?” Shen Yuan freezes. “Isn’t it inappropriate to- I mean for us, to. Uh.”

“This one was unaware Shen Yuan was courting.” Ban Li giggles, twirling a lock of her hair around her thin finger.

“I’m not!”

Ban Li laughs and leans closer to Shen Yuan, eyes glimmering.

“If you were,” She says, low and intimate. “I would agree. I would leave my absent husband and runaway with you.”

Ah. Now Shen Yuan sees how it is. Ban Li is not infatuated with him. She’s just-

“Ban Li, are you unhappy in your marriage?” He asks, heart breaking for this feisty, sweet demoness.

“Will Shen Yuan make it better?” Ban Li asks pitifully. Shen Yuan nods.

He will talk to that good-for-nothing husband of her and make him let Ban Li go. She’s promised to Luo Binghe, anyway, for plot purposes. He’ll just help smooth the process.

Several days later Ban Li takes Shen Yuan to a camp. It’s big, obviously expensive, and Ban Li looks almost shaky as they near the biggest, most impressive tent.

“Ban Li’s husband is… powerful.” Shen Yuan notes.

“He is.” Ban Li nods. “But this one doesn’t need his power.”

“Of course you don’t.” Shen Yuan nods. “We’ll make him see sense.”

Ban Li smiles at him, teeth sharp and eyes sharper.

“Shen Yuan is confident even in the face of the Emperor.”

Shen Yuan freezes.

“Ban Li.” He says, very quietly and very slowly. “Are you married to Luo Binghe?”

“Not for long!” Ban Li answers brightly.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“Ban Li.” Shen Yuan groans. “What the hell? Why on earth would you want to divorce Luo Binghe?”

“To stay at Shen Yuan’s side.” Ban Li says.

“Have you gone mad?” Shen Yuan demands. “Are you completely, utterly crazy? Who in their right mind would want to leave Luo Binghe to stay with me?!”

“Shen Yuan!” Ban Li whines. “You promised!”

“I didn’t know you were going to divorce the best person in the whole universe!”

Ban Li gasps at him.

“Do you want to marry Lord Luo?”

“No!” Shen Yuan says. “I’m a man, Ban Li.”

“So what?”

Shen Yuan feels like he’s going grey from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ban Li, we’re losing a thread of the conversations here.” He says. “You cannot divorce Luo Binghe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid! Have you seen him? He’s the smartest, strongest, bravest man ever. He’s extremely good looking. He’s lived through hell and persisted. He’s amazing, Ban Li! You can’t leave him to stay with me, are you kidding? I thought you were smart!”

Ban Li pouts at him, folding her arms like a petulant child.

“If Shen Yuan is in love with Lord Husband-”

“I’m not!”

“No? Then why are you praising him so?”

“Because I have common sense?”

“I don’t want to get back to harem while Shen Yuan is risking his life fighting dangerous beasts!”

“Ban Li, I’m begging you.” Shen Yuan says. “You will regret your decision.”

“I will regret not seeing Shen Yuan anymore.”

“Nonsense!”

“I will run away.”

“Ban Li.”

“Try me. I will.”

Shen Yuan sighs, hiding his face in his hands. He’s so going to die today.

“Do you suppose your Lord Husband might need a librarian?”

Ban Li squeals and drags Shen Yuan into the tent.

Luo Binghe, who’s been silently listening to the whole conversation, hires him immediately. He doesn’t claim to know Ban Li well, but they definitely agree on one thing: Shen Yuan mustn’t ever leave.

[short-honey-badger]

Doll

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Shanks meets an escaped slave from Marie Geois and swears to teach her how to live.

Notes* hey lovelies. As you can see from the oneshots, I'm finally back in action. I hope you enjoy the start of my new series that I'm planning to help me really get going. Expect some protective Shanks and some darker elements. Haki!user Reader, btw. Pretty fast pace just cause that how I enjoy writing him lol. I've really missed writing for him and sharing works with you wonderful people. Anyway, enjoy! ❤️

Doll Masterlist

There aren't many things that could surprise Shanks on the Grand Line anymore, but the woman that sat at the bar could definitely be considered a good one. He didn't recognize her, but he could tell that she was in a league above the other patrons that sat around the bar. She sat in the back corner, a bottle of booze sat on the table in front of her that she occasionally took a pull from. Shanks sat at the front and got the attention of the bartender.

“Who's she?” He asked and the man shrugged as he cleaned a dingy glass.

“Dunno. She blew in a couple of days ago. She pays, so I don't ask questions.”

Shanks huffed and ordered a drink for himself, “And whatever she's been drinking, too.”

Drinks in hand, Shanks stood from the bar and ambled over to the table where the woman sat. He plonked the bottle down and, head tilting to the side, “This seat taken?”

You looked up, blinking rapidly as if coming out of a daze and gave the redhead a smile once you focused on the ale he'd sat beside your empty one. “Is now.”

Shanks grinned and plonked down in the chair opposite you and leaned back and eyed you from under his bangs, “You from about here?”

The woman shakes her head, a mysterious little smirk painting her lips, “Nope. And I can tell that you aren’t either.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in thought before her eyes brighten like a bulb has gone off, “You’re Shanks, right?”

The emperor huffs and gestures to himself, “You caught me.”

He doesn’t expect the woman to go quiet, an almost contemplative look about her as she shifts in her chair. He can’t help but lean in, curious despite himself.

“Maybe you could help me out then?” You murmur and flick your eyes up to meet his own. Shanks is surprised to see the desperation lingering there, hidden behind the self-assurdness that you seem to wear like a second skin. What would a girl like you need help with?

“Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me what’s going on. Don’t let my money go to waste though, doll,” he murmurs and gestures to the untouched ale that he’d brought over. You smile in thanks and take a sip, wetting your mouth as you get ready to spill. You can only hope that the emperor will accept.

With shaking hands you reach up and unbutton the top few notches of your shirt, just enough to expose your left shoulder where the brand still tugs uncomfortably at your skin. Even though you’ve had the brand for years now, you’ll never get used to the sickening way it pulls at your skin. The constant reminder that you were owned.

Shanks sucks in a sharp breath, the brand of a slave staring back at him in before he tears his eyes away and looks back at you, “How’d you escape?”

You grimace and button back up, eyes flinty, “My old master,” you hiss the word in disgust, “Sent me on an errand in Sabaody so I took my chance. That was about a month ago now. They’re stil looking for me.”

“Who got your off the archipelago?” Shanks asks and downs half his tankard of rum in one go. He’s met slaves before while visiting the string of islands, but with Silvers there, Shanks steered clear most of the time unless he happened to drift close. The though that even after all that Fisher Tiger had done, the Celestial Dragons still kidnapped and baught slaves. It disgusted the emperor to have seen that brand on a woman like you.

You shrug and bite your bottom lip. You busy your hands by playing with the ring of condensation that the bottle of ale has left behind, “Didn’t really catch their names. I stowed away the first ship I could find and I’ve been drifting ever since. I just… I can’t go back to that place Shanks. I don’t want them to find me.”

Shanks doesn’t know what makes him reach out, but he takes both your hands in his own, and wow, you were such a small thing weren’t you? He squeezes your palms and gives you a confident grin to hide the rage that threatens to erupt like an active volcano. He may have just met you, but there is a feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him that he’d met someone special. Someone that could change his life, and he finds himself hardpressed to even think of letting you slip away from him.

“Don’t worry, doll. I won’t ever let that happen,” Shanks swears, and it’s then that a thought crosses his mind. A blush flushes his face and he peers at you, “Maybe you outta tell me your name, though. Or I could just keep calling you doll. Either works for me.”

Your laugh sends a shot of heat straight to his stomach, and your smile could light up the sky, “My name is _, but you can keep calling me Doll if you’d like.”

Shanks meets your grin with one of his own and then stands, carefully pulling you up with him, “Well, doll. How about you come meet my crew?”

Shanks stays close to you for the rest of the evening, introducing you to each one of his crewmates and pointing out what they do aboard the ship. You smile and make conversation, though some of it is stilted and awkward, like you aren’t sure how to talk to someone so casually. You loosen up after a couple more drinks, and find yourself leaning against your new captain, bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you watch the crew’s antics.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Shanks. Do you think that you could teach me?”

Your voice is soft, breath featherlight against his skin, and Shanks thinks that he would do anything for you in that moment. Instead, he tips a bottle of rum up to his lips and takes a deep swig before he answers.

“Sure, sweetheart. What do you want to know?’

Your eyes burn with a sort of determination that the emperor doesn’t see often, and it makes anticipation well up in his chest as you lick your lips and look at him.

“Everything, Shanks. I want to know everything.”

He sets the bottle away so that he can give you his full attention. He can feel the air thicken, the winds and sea changing as he dips his head and reaches out to cup your face in his hand. He swipes his thumb along your jaw, then your chin, eyes never leaving your own.

“Then that’s what I’ll do, Doll. I’ll teach you how to live, yeah?”

[aviawrites]

the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)

pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader

summary: The Emperor’s second born daughter, Harauna, has never been truly seen by her father; Her light always being dimmed by the shine of her older sister, Irulan. As Maud’Dib continues fighting on Arrakis and her father’s spot falls farther into jeopardy, Princess Harauna sees an opportunity to finally find her place in the Imperium…Wife of the possible Emperor, ruling alongside Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (3.9k)

a/n: i’ve already seen this movie twice and i’m going again😛 austin’s performance is so compelling, i couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever he was on screen. i hope you all liked feyd-rautha as much as i do…otherwise i may be crazy. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: blood, death, abuse

in this story, yn is: Harauna Corrino (Harkonnen)

10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan 

“Paul Atreides is not our only prospect.” Reverend Mother Mohiam reveals, standing before you and your sister. “The Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, will inherit Arrakis. He may be the answer.”

Your eyes open wide, the name itself sending shivers down your spine. You, along with all of your family, knew of Feyd-Rautha - Knew of the Sadistic Harkonnen, known for slaughtering anyone who challenges him, even his own people. 

“Feyd-Rautha?” Irulan furrows her brows, “He’s psychotic.”

“That’s irrelevant. The question is…can we control him?” 

You stare up at the Reverend Mother’s black veil, an idea striking you.  

Since a child, it’s always been Princess Irulan - The Emperor’s daughter. Irulan will inherit the thrones, Irulan will marry Paul Atreides, Irulan will rule the empire. Never once has your father taken the time to look at you. Never once has he asked the Reverend Mother how you are as a Bene Gesserit. If he did, he’d come to learn that you’re just as equipped to take on the role of Empress as your sister. 

You know what you know - You know how impossible it is to ever be worthy of attention in your father’s eyes. The sound of marrying the prince, possibly the future Emperor, doesn’t seem distasteful. Is he a terrible man, yes. May he turn out to be a worse husband, yes. But God forgive you if you choose being the possible ruler of the empire over being second best. 

“I will marry Feyd-Rautha…” You suggest, coming out as more of a squeak. 

Their eyes dart to yours, Irulan’s gaze feeling more like knives piercing your head.

“Young Harauna-“

“No.” Your sister interjects, turning your body toward hers. “Are you crazy? Feyd-Rautha is the last man you need to marry.”

“Irulan, I want to.” You push back, your voice low. “He may be Emperor one day, we need to secure that opportunity. Do we not, Reverend Mother?”

“We absolutely do, Harauna.”

Irulan’s jaw hangs open, looking between the two of you.

“Are you serious? Reverend Mother, you know Feyd-Rautha. You’ve seen him with your own eyes - You want Hara anywhere near that?”

“She’s thinking of the Imperium, Irulan. Should Paul Atreides be alive, he will want the throne.”

“Feyd-Rautha won’t go down without a fight…” You finish for her.

“Precisely. If he loses, Paul will have a bride awaiting him.” She gestures to your sister. “But if he reigns supreme, he’ll have a Corrino by his side.”

Irulan only shakes her head, disbelief glossing in her eyes. 

“Hara…”

“Sister, I need to do this.” You whisper, softly squeezing her hands. “I can’t make decisions like you…I’m not you.”

“W- What does that mean, Hara? I don’t understand-“

“If I get in line for the throne…” You begin. “If I secure a spot for myself in the Empire, I will be nearly equal to you in father’s eyes. I’ll mean something to someone.”

A tear threatens to fall as she struggles to find words. 

“You mean something to me.” She shrugs, now wondering if that holds any value to you. “If I lose you to the Harkonnens…If I have to stay here alone while you’re on Giedi Prime I don’t know how I’ll-“ She quickly wipes her eyes, taking a breath. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this impending war without you, Hara.”

You tilt your head, bringing your hand to Irulan’s cheek. 

“Write to me, Irulan.” You smile, forcing back your own tears as you solidify this departure in your head. “Send messages to Giedi Prime, will you? Write them like you do your entries and I swear to you I’ll read each one. No matter what happens with the Harkonnen’s, I’ll always have my sister back home on my side, right?”  

A thick silence falls upon the three of you, Irulan fighting between perplex and terror as her hands began to quiver in yours.

“I’ll alert the Emperor.” Reverend Mother says, leaving the two of you.

Alone, your sister pulls you into an embrace, one of the tighter ones. She allows her tears to land on your garments, her shoulders trembling as small whimpers escape her lips.

“Don’t do this, Hara.”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

“On your birthday of all days. The Baron should know better than to jeopardize his soon to be Planetary Governor in such a public manner. You could’ve died.” 

“I would not have died.” Your husband fiddles with his blade.

“All slaves should be drugged, should they not?” You remind him. “It’d have taken only one swift slash of the Atreides’ blade and The Baron would’ve lost his heir. He’s insane.”

“Careful, wife.” He warns, “The Baron is flawed but his promises are rich.”

“What could he possibly promise you that’s more important than the entirety of this planet?”

He stares, his eyes scanning you up and down as a small smirk grows on his face. 

“The entirety of Arrakis.” 

Creases form on your forehead, your words coming out as stammers.

“…He promises you…Arrakis?”

“If I manage to control spice production.” He explains, reveling in your dumbfounded expression. 

Your mind immediately imagines your life on Arrakis, a fate you’ve never considered. The plan was to marry Feyd-Rautha, be by his side when he defeats his opponents, have your father kneel to him, and rule the Imperium from the planet of the Harkonnens. But now, thoughts of working from the dune covered planet makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. 

“But-“ You clear your throat, “Um - Is that not Rabban’s job?”

“Rabban failed.” He seethes. “He humiliates house Harkonnen with each Fremen attack he allows. With me ruling the mission, there will be no more.”

“What’s the plan? Once you’re on Arrakis who’s to say my father won’t order you out? What if he doesn’t like how you handle-“

“The Emperor has a set fate too, Harauna. If we were to expose what he did to the Atreides’, the houses would explode. A rise against the Emperor would ensue.” He nears you, looking down at your wide eyes as he bares his blackened mouth. “The throne would be ours to take.”

You don’t know if he meant to admit to what he’s admitted to. Though, you have no doubt he’d tell you his plans to kill your father to your face, indifferent to what you might think. But even Feyd-Rautha should have some sort of limit, shouldn’t he?

“Feyd…” You murmur, “What will happen to him? What will happen to my house? My Reverend Mother, my sisters? They’re innocent they don’t deserve-“

He rolls his eyes, turning away in the midst of your oration. “Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He returns to his spot across the room. “If you want to sit next to me as Empress, I suggest you straighten out a bit, hm?”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

14 hours later 

Feyd-Rautha’s room reeks of deceased Harkonnen bodies and dried blood as you storm in, a scowl on your face. 

Inside, you see your husband squatted by a dead servant, one that if you look too close you may realize is an acquaintance of yours. 

‘FEYD-RAUTHA RABBA HARKO-‘ He’s carved into her pale white skin, his letters bleeding into each other.

The Princess Harauna 3 months ago would scream at the sight. She’d turn and run, alerting her Reverend Mother and father that a cold blooded murderer has gotten into your home. Only…this is home. The man carving names into bodies isn’t a stranger, not an intruder, but the man you married. 

Though you’re not sure he knows it, seeing as you can practically taste the Bene Gesserit on him.

You shove, hard, knocking Feyd-Rautha off balance and onto the concrete floor.

“What the-“

“Seriously!?” You shout, watching his bewildered expression looking back at you. “You’ve not been of age for one whole day and you’ve already betrayed me!”

“You watch yourself, woman.” He warns you, spite in his eyes. 

“I can smell her on you.” You say, knowing all of the signs of a Bene Gesserit’s work, and a sexually vulnerable Feyd-Rautha. “She could be carrying your child!”

Your husband quickly calms himself, seemingly deciding not to waste energy on someone like you. On someone like his wife.

“Would you stop that yelling?” He mumbles, turning and beginning to smear the blood across the mutilated arm.

“How dare you.” You scoff. “I’m meant to be your princess. I’m meant to be your queen Feyd-Rautha! Not some girl who was on a mission. A Bene Gesserit who was here to test you and didn’t want you for more than one night-“

“You’re not any better!” He rises, his demeanor changing like night and day in a split second. 

The minute he gets angry, his energy dominates the room. “Don’t you ever think you’re a better woman for being a power hungry leech who called dibs on the heir before anyone else.” He jabs, lowering until he’s in your face. 

Your jaw hangs open, offense quickly overpowering the fear that you often feel in the presence of an angry Feyd-Rautha. Or any Feyd-Rautha, at that. 

“I don’t need you.” Your eyes pierce his, flames igniting in yours. “I’m the Emperor’s daughter, I was second in line for the throne. If anything, you needed me to get to where you-“

The wind is knocked out of you as your husband grabs your neck, instantly cutting off your words. He grins, nearly frothing at the mouth as he always does at the slightest hint of violence. He feeds off of violence, in the face of which most people quiver he greets it with a big smile, he yearns for violence, he is violence.

“I needed you, huh?” His face about brushes yours, his saliva dripping onto you. “I wasn’t at home being neglected by daddy, Harauna. I wasn’t the second choice. I didn’t need to marry to get power. I wasn’t worthless.” 

He’s entranced, his hand on your throat tightening with each sentence until you’re sure it’ll snap. You claw at his stained hands, collecting the blood of his servants under your nails.

“Husband-“ You croak, feeling the pressure in your head increase.

Feyd-Rautha only smiles, adrenaline rushing throughout him as he contemplates letting this be the end of you. Maybe he should rid himself of this royal burden before she sits with him at the top.

“Know your place, princess.” He whispers before letting you go with a shove. 

You drop to the floor, crashing into the bloody bodies on the ground and fighting for your pipes to reopen. You frantically heave as he looks down at you once more, evil in his eyes, before he leaves you where you are. 

Weeps escape you, feeling selfish as you cry in the presence of women who got it much worse. 

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you. Nevertheless, in times like this, the possibility of being ruler of the Imperium outweighs the possibility of dying due to your attempts. 

“Be the worst position in the highest room.” Your father used to tell you, “For some never make it to the room.”

10191 // month 4 // 📍starship 

The low hum of the frigate gives the cold ambience some character. Rabban lounges across the kitchen table, his feet up on the marble. Your husband sits a few chairs down from you, sheathing and unsheathing his blade, creating a repetitive sound for the two of you to suffer through.

“Princess Harauna.” You hear as the grand doors within the starship open. A servant enters, seemingly a younger version of the Baron, with a thin metal tube in his hand. 

The big man hands it to you, bowing slightly before shuffling away.

“Say thanks to the piggy.” Feyd-Rautha teases, a devilish grin on his face.

Rabban slightly chuckles as you eye your husband, sighing before opening the letter.

“To my sister, Hara.” 

Your eyes gleam, seeming to scan faster and faster the more and more you read. The two men in the room with you don’t seem to notice, mindlessly engaging in their own boredom as the ship heats up in the weather of Arrakis. 

You shut the tube with a click, looking down at it as you weakly attempt to process what you’ve just read.  

“Paul Atreides…is coming.” You reveal, catching the attention of Rabban and Feyd-Rautha. “He makes his way from the south.”

“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you. 

“He didn’t die in the attack-“

“I know that, woman!” He abruptly shouts, banging the table. “I saw to it myself, him and his mother died in the-“

“Sandstorm.” You finish, much quieter than he began. “But he didn’t.”

Your husband has turned his body toward you, now intently listening.

“They live - And they challenge my father now.” You look up at the two of them, “Him. He must be this Maud’Dib, this Lisan-Al-Gaib. Who else would it be?”

“Wait,” Feyd speaks up, “Challenge your father for what, exactly?”

You meet his gaze before reopening the letter, searching for the Irulan’s line on the challenge:

Paul Atreides will arrive unannounced when we land in Arrakis in a challenge for the throne.

Rabban shakes his head. “There’s no longer a need for the Emperor on Arrakis.” He misses the point, “We’ve got the spice production under control. The old bastard can stay home.”

Feyd-Rautha leans his elbows in his knees, looking up at you with that same evil look he gets whenever a dangerous plan arises.

“Atreides’,” He thinks aloud, “They’re little rats. Insects that keep popping up no matter how many times you exterminate.”

“Should I alert the Baron?” Rabban asks, speaking quicker than his acute brain can think. 

“You will do no such thing.” Feyd demands, conjuring up his plan in his much more suitable brain. “Since the Emperor is deciding to pay us a visit despite the work l've done here…Maybe the Atreides' will do the bloody work for us. Keep us in the good graces of the Great Houses."

Bloody work, he says. The exposure and diminishing of your father’s name he means. 

“Brother.” Rabban counters, “The Atreides’ - The Fremen - They’ll have us outnumbered. Uncle should be aware-“

“You will do no such thing.” His brother orders, now loosely pointing his blade toward Rabban. “The throne is mine therefore the throne is yours. The Baron won’t make Harkonnen the greatest house, brother. I will.” He leers.

“Husband,” You voice reason, seeing all of the ways you could lose your promised spot to this scheme. “If it comes to a fight and Paul beats you-“

“He won’t beat me.”

“But if this challenge doesn’t go our way,” You hypothesize, “We could lose everything. Paul Atreides won’t let my father live, not after what he’s done. My family will hold no power, my sister will be-“

"I will remain unharmed, will I not? As will my brother.” He redirects. “Are we not your biggest concern anymore? Are we not your family, Harauna?" 

…

The ship gets hotter and hotter as you near Arrakeen. Feyd-Rautha meddles with his torso buttons on the opposite side of the room as you stare at the screen in your bedroom, broadcasting the sandy terrain of the new planet.

“What would your plans be as Emperor, Feyd-Rautha?” You query, eyes locked on the family owned land.

He sighs as he always does when you open your mouth, as if nothing his wife says is worthwhile. 

“Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He repeats.

“Just answer me…Please.” You urge, the question having appeared in your mind minutes ago and hasn’t stopped nagging since. 

“What do you think my plans are, princess?” He turns toward you, his dark and threatening eyes seeming to dim the entire room. “I’m going to make the entire Imperium Harkonnen. Our family will be the most powerful spice harvesters anyone’s ever seen.” He begins, “I’ll give my Empress a child, grow our empire, and teach my princeling how to rule.”

You listen intently, trying your hardest to envision your life going from Princess of Kaitan, to wife of the heir, to Empress of the Imperium beside Feyd-Rautha, of all men.

Be the worst position in the highest room.

Your husband goes on. “Caladan will be a thing of the past. Atreides will be a thing of the past. Harkonnen will be the great house and any others will just be…Maud’Dib.” He chuckles.

“‘Your Empress’...” You point out, never having heard your name. You only wish to hear where you and your family stand in his master plan. “Would it be me?”

He gives you his undivided attention, letting go of his leather vest. “Why must you talk so much about things that don’t matter?” He asks, true indifference and apathy in his tone.

For some never make it to the room.

“…Is it me or no one?” You speak up, your voice frantically running before your mind can catch up. “Is it me or death, Feyd-Rautha?”

Your attitude shifts in the middle of your sentence as you realize where you’ve heard these exact words before.

“You or no one, Irulan.” Your father would say, stroking your sister’s hair while the rest of you sat and waited for nothing. 

Never in your life did you plan to sit in a Harkonnen’s bedroom and beg for his approval. For his confirmation that you were his. 

But here you are, begging the worst of men to love you the way The Emperor never did. The way he never will. 

“In two moons I will be Emperor.” Feyd-Rautha strides toward you, holding your hands in his as he bores. “Harauna Harkonnen will be next to me.”

A smile grows wide on your face; An odd, yet full, feeling of acceptance spiraling throughout you.

His eyes suddenly seem to get even darker as his grip on your hands morphs into a crushing clutch. “For as long as she knows her place, she will remain.”

Ice replaces the once warm feeling in your veins. Your smile fades as his grows, watching the fear in you rise with each squeeze of your fingers. Tears form in your eyes as the reality of your situation sets in once more as it has over and over since you step foot on Giedi Prime.

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you.

10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen

two days later

You all stand completely still, your heartbeat seeming to be louder than the atomics outside of the Emperor’s structure. Inside the ring of Sardukaur lies your family; Irulan hiding behind your father as Maud’Dib, in front of your eyes, holds a blade over the Baron.

You and Feyd-Rautha stand alone across the walkway, your husband seemingly hypnotized by Paul Atreides as he plunges it into his uncles neck. Your hand resting on Feyd’s lower back vibrates as his breathing heavies, being just as amazed by Paul as you are. 

The both of your mouths hang open, and for once, you and your husband seem to be on the same page. Paul begins barking orders at your father as you bring your lips to Feyd’s ear, speaking in a hushed whisper to not interfere with the daring Paul Maud’Dib.

“In the event of your death…” You begin. He slightly cocks his head toward you, listening. “Would you have me marry him?”

Paul gives one last daring look at the sea of people standing against him, though, he seems as fearless as your husband as his expression never wavers from stone. 

“Is he worthy?”

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t so much as flinch at your comment, new, for a man like him. You can’t help but believe it’s because you’re right. The na-Baron recognizes that the viciousness that is Paul Atreides, no matter how unexpected, is a perfect match for him. A perfect match for his wife. 

Is he wrong to admit that if not him, Paul may be the closest thing to fit to be Emperor of the universe?

…

You’ve never laid eyes on a fight so glorious. The two most powerful and ferocious men on Arrakis clinking their blades again and again in a battle for the throne. 

The room falls silent as your husband lodges his sword into Paul, holding him close as one of the two release an animalistic roar. His mother stands, his Fremen’s mouths hang agape, your husband just hardly smiles at you over his shoulder. 

You can’t help but feel a sense of dread boiling in your stomach. Yes - You want Feyd-Rautha to reign supreme. Yes, you want to be Empress. But as you watch the devilish sneer on his face fill out as Paul’s blood stains his pasty hand, your heart seems to be pulling you in another direction. You’ve always been quite talented at telling good from bad; But Maud’Dib, you can’t seem to figure out. He lays in the gray area in between the two, you determine. 

Your reflection is quickly halted as the squelching sound of an edge piercing skin fills the room. You sway to the side, eyes wide as you see Paul’s hand gripping the handle, the rest buried into your husband’s heart. 

A gasp escapes many in the room, you included as a hand flies to your mouth. You and your father very well may be the only people in the room who are rooting for Feyd-Rautha. Knowing this, the smiles that sprinkle themselves on attendants throughout the room quickly after the inhale isn’t unanticipated. 

“You…” His raspy voice is almost too quiet for you to catch as he fights for each breath. “You fought well…Atreides.”

He slowly turns his head just far enough to have you in his sight. Even in death, Feyd-Rautha remains as menacing as the day you first met him. 

He has no words for you. He only bares that stupid, prideful, blackened smile that got him stabbed in the first place. 

You seem in a trance as you watch his body thud to the floor, looking as lifeless as the women on his bedroom floor back home. 

“Lisan-Al-Gaib!” A Fremen leader calls, breaking the silence as his people repeat after him.

Paul Atreides, Feyd-Rautha’s murderer, rises. He limps toward you and your family, prompting your sister to swiftly grab your free hand as the other slowly lowers from your lips. 

You had no love for Feyd-Rautha, nothing real. For him you experienced nothing that you should feel for a husband. Nevertheless, the tears flow all the same. 

"The life debt has been paid.” Irulan blurts, squeezing your hand as Paul nears you. “Spare my father and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours."

Her words snap you out of your haze, throwing you into the face of reality as it strikes you in the heart. 

"I'll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the empire." Paul declared.

In the span of seconds you imagine the moment a trillion different ways. If only he had nodded toward you, not Irulan.

‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder. 

Where is honor in sacrifice when you've given all you know to give and you still don't win. You can never seem to come out on top. You can never seem to be first…But your sister can, as she always does.

You snatch your hand away from your Irulan’s; Your eyes glued to your father, now kneeling, as rage grows within you. The rage of all of the rejection you've faced, the rage of all you have given to get to where you are, the rage of now wishing Feyd-Rautha had stuck Paul Atreides' head on a spike for all of Arrakis to see.

The rage of a Harkonnen.

[s-soup111]

Make sure it kills me

Paring: Jinshi x (f) Reader

Genre: angst

Tags: , one-sided love, arranged marriage, hanahaki au

“You’re breaking me.” You concluded in your letter. It’s not as if you were going to send it anyway, you placed the carefully folded letter into your locked drawer along with all your other heartfelt paragraphs. What was the point? He didn’t return your feelings anymore. Yes, maybe you did once share small intimate glances, hold pinkies as you walked down the flower garden together. Maybe you did share secret kisses under the softening gaze of the moon-lit pond. Where did that go?

“Was it ever real?” You ask yourself.

Maybe it was. But that was all in the past, Jinshi no longer belongs to you, he belongs to that servant named Maomao. You’ve seen the way he looks at her, with gleaming eyes and intrigued grins. You’ve seen how he gave her his hair pin, you’v seen it all. Jealousy swirling in the pit of your stomach, how pitiful.

Why does he love her? She’s just a servant, strange green hair and a freckled face, she is nothing compared to a beauty like you- you held a graceful complexion, you had an air of confidence not only beautiful but superiority. Just as the daughter of the emperor should. You were perfect, so why doesn’t he look your way anymore? Maybe it was because of how perfect you were. Maomao was anything but perfect, an unpredictable character and lower class. So imperfect but kind.

You choke on something, suddenly you find it difficult to breathe. You struggle in your room but no one comes to help you, all your ladies in waiting are outside by your order. How ironic. You hyperventilate in your own room, coughing, tears swelling in your eyes- you reach out trying to grasp onto something. You fall and your sight fades.

Jinshi is not aware of your falling ill until Maomao is summoned into your quarters. Jinshi knows you will be fine, he is not so concerned for your health as he knows Maomao will fix you some way or another, so he does not find the need to visit you. Not until Maomao ushers him urgently with a sense of panic in her eyes does he start to notice something is wrong.

“The madam is severely ill.”

Jinshi rushes to your quarters as soon as he hears this, you never get ill, so why now? As the emperor’s daughter you have been treated with the utmost care, therefore almost never falling ill. He drags Maomao with him, telling her to fix you immediately, not a request, an order. She’s never seen him this way, not with sweat falling from his face in panic, eyes scanning you with concern, hands shaking. Not the usual flirty, perverted man she’s used to.

You open your eyes, searching around your room for any signs of human presence, you see Maomao sitting next to you, head hung low with dark circles sitting under her shut eyes. She must have taken a long time to treat you, you are grateful. You try to raise yourself but it strains your body, your arms supporting your body are weak and unstable, you let out a dry cough- leaving behind a beautiful pink petal on your bed; yet you do not notice and leave your room quietly.

The moon is bright; yet it is a cold and star-less night, you stare at it for some time before you feel the icy breeze get to you. Your body feels weak and worn. In another timeline, Jinshi would wrap his robes around you, shielding you away from the wrath of the night. You walk away pathetically, not the blood trickling from your mouth.

Jinshi watches you from a distance, he is paralyzed by your beauty, ethereal in the moonlight fanning your pale skin, he watches you gaze into nothing in particular, he sees puffs of smoke leave your mouth every time you exhale. You must be cold, he is too unsure if he should go towards you. He sees you turning to move away, his eyes catches something but isn’t sure what it is. Suddenly, he realizes Maomao isn’t next to you and worries. But this time, he worries for you than her.

You are heard by the maids weeping and sobbing in your sleep, often beseeching Jinshi to come home, the life left your body, only leaving some empty shell, your body pained and ached, vomiting blood and pretty pink petals, your health declined to the point you could not manage your household affairs and Jinshi was forced to take over. Jinshi visited your room as much as he allowed himself to; he watched your weak frame struggle to breathe as more tears rolled down your face.

For some reason his heart ached to see you like this, he thought he’d lost feelings years ago. Maybe his heart just didn’t want to let you go.

“Beloved..?” You reach out one night. Jinshi is nose-deep into his work as he hears your voice. He turns around abruptly, heart hammering in his chest. You looked enthralling even deeply ill. Though, you had tears staining your face, “Jinshi, please.” You cried. You coughed, spitting out flowers that tasted bitter on your tongue.

“You’re breaking me, please stop this my love,”

“You know I can’t do that,”

“Then kiss me. Kiss me like you love me, tell me you love me even if you have to lie.”

“I love you.”

You look at him, the ache in your heart has not gone.

“You’re merciless.”

[itsabouttimex2]

MK and Mei’s Friendship

Wukong and Macaque’s Fallout

Mei isn’t the next “warrior”, and she would 100% beat your ass for implying she’s like Macaque

I’m going to preface this for anyone who might want to leave early- I personally dislike this theory!

Because to me, it isn’t a theory- it’s just wrong.

And usually it’s so wrong that it shatters the reality of MK’s and Mei’s character for the sake of forcing them into little “Sun Wukong” and “Macaque” shaped balls.

And so often it starts with demonizing MK/Wukong.

I see, so often, this portrayed in two ways:

1. MK loses his mind and becomes a vicious monster that must be collared and restrained for the good of all around him.

2. MK becomes obsessed with power and fighting, thus driving Mei away.

And both of these are done in an attempt to “link” the kids with the monkeys.

MK-Wukong and Mei-Macaque

We don’t really need to talk about the first two- most of the show is about MK interacting with the Monkey King and learned to handle his legacy and foes- we’d be here all day.

But, what sort of interactions do Mei and Macaque share? Well, for Mei, it’s:

1. Being a victim of his violent and murderous actions

2. Being extremely close to his other frequent victims

3. Bafflingly having no negative opinions on the man who led an assault on her people’s palace, tried to murder her friends, and forced Tang to unleash the Samadhi Fire, nearly killing her in the process.

4. Being a weaker character for her lack of hostile dynamic with someone who has hurt her again and again and again

5. Having a worthless “team-up” with Macaque without the show ever having her address what he’s done to her and her loved ones

6. Weaken her character by taking away characteristics like “willing to call people out” and “gets violent when people try to hurt the ones she loves” for the sake of a boring and short “team-up”.

…yeah, thats not a great list.

Already, Mei’s non-violent interactions with Macaque leave a lot to be desired- and don’t hint to anything even close to her being a “successor” to his story like MK is to Wukong.

Back to those two first bullet points, now, right under the read more.

Sun Wukong and MK are not; and never have been, “mindless monsters”, in spite of MK’s destructiveness in his monkey form- it is explicitly made clear that he’s in control of himself.

“There’s nothing “mindless” about this.”

And he was right. MK is completely awake and aware in his monkey form, with full mental faculties. He’s verbally capable of shredding Azure and decrying his crimes in an efficient fashion, all while kicking him around.

MK wasn’t “going insane”- he was having fun.

(That’s a rant for another day, though)

Nor did Sun Wukong solely drive Macaque away.

The crux of Wukong and Macaque’s fallout is clearly displayed in the show, in the fourth season of Monkie Kid- it started from a single fucking argument.

Now, I’d like to preface again: this is the first point that I see many, oh so many theorizers, artists, writers, etc- get wrong.

SUN WUKONG IS NOT THE “BAD GUY” IN THIS SCENE.

THEY ARE BOTH AT FAULT.

Sun Wukong is trapped. For attempting to overthrow the Jade Emperor, he is sentenced to FIVE HUNDRED YEARS trapped under a mountain.

Let me elaborate for anyone who doesn’t sympathize.

For the next five hundred years, Sun Wukong will be 75% immobile and alone under a nearly lightless mountain. There will be no noise, no stimulation, and no company. He will suffer in silence, and he will suffer alone.

But you know who ISN’T being punished for an attempt to overthrow the Jade Emperor?

Macaque.

Now, this is funny. Wukong leads a six strong band of brothers against the forces of the Celestial Realm, but only ONE of them faces consequences for the rebellion- himself.

Even five hundred years later when Wukong is set free and traveling with his fellow pilgrims…

No one else has faced consequences for the rebellion. All five of Wukong’s “brothers” (Azure Lion, Peng, Demon Bull King, Yellowtusk, and yes, Macaque) get away scot-free to continue their plans and schemes.

I would be pissed. You would be pissed. There is not ONE SINGLE PERSON in this world that would NOT be pissed about how blatantly unfair this is.

Especially not after spending five hundred years nearly immobile under a dark and lonely mountain.

So, even before all, here and now, under that mountain, before five long and lonely centuries have passed, faced with the current injustice of his predicament-

Wukong lashes out and blames Macaque.

No. Fucking. Shit.

All of us (none of us are saints, do not try to say otherwise) would have snapped in anger.

All of us would have been angry. Each and every last one.

Mostly immobile and imprisoned alone to take the blame of six guilty men, Wukong lashes out at the nearest person.

And what does Macaque do, when blamed one single time for something that is mutually the fault of six men, including himself?

He lies and runs away.

No the fuck you didn’t.

Macaque nudges the idea. He implies the idea. He hints, quietly and softly.

“You’re really going through with this?” Is not him shutting down the idea of fighting the Celestial Realm.

It’s him being a coward and trying to dance around the issue without a direct confrontation.

Not even once does Macaque say: “We shouldn’t fight the Jade Emperor.”

Macaque directly LIES to present himself as being the better person during this fight.

MACAQUE IS FUCKING LYING TO HIS BEST FRIEND’S FACE TO MAKE HIMSELF LOOK BETTER, THEN RUNS AWAY AND NEVER COMES BACK DESPITE HAVING FIVE HUNDRED YEARS TO DO SO.

(But because it’s their ‘pewfect pwecious Maccy’, the fandom blindly ate this blatant dogshit lie up and took it at face value. Y’all don’t deserve unreliable narrators and mature themes go watch cocomelon/s)

The moment something goes wrong, what do these two do?

Blame each other to absolve themselves of sin, and then one runs away and chooses to never come back.

This was fucked up and toxic from the start- Macaque was a cowardly little bitch, and Wukong was a power-hungry idiot.

And both of these dumbasses have ZERO communication skills.

You know who doesn’t fall into those categories? OUR KIDDOS.

Mei and MK fight too- as soon as the first season.

And what does Mei do when her best friend accidentally wrecks her bike and nearly costs her a race that was EXTREMELY important to her?

She forgives him almost the moment he apologizes, and he immediately works on making it up to her.

Well, hold on a minute! That doesn’t sound like, I don’t know…

Lying to make yourself look better, throwing the blame around instead of accepting it, and running away for five entire centuries?

Huh. It’s almost like, maybe, instead of being built on one-sided adoration and tenuous “brotherhood”, Mei and MK see each other as, of all things-!

Equals. Friends. Partners.

Mei will NEVER abandon her best friend. Nothing could make her. Even when facing down lethal odds, her first response will ALWAYS be to run to him.

Even if she has to be forcibly dragged away, screaming and in tears, Mei will always fight to stay by MK’s side.

Nothing in the world could tear them apart. Not a petty fight. Not a presumed death. Not demons or celestials. Not an inky scroll of eternity inscribed with the past.

There is ONE circumstance in which she runs away from him-

When she’s overwhelmed by the Samadhi Fire and terrified of hurting the person she loves most with a

DEMONIC FIRE FUSED TO HER BODY THAT COULD EASILY BE USED TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE PLANET

then, and only then… does Mei run.

That is what it takes to drive her and MK apart. Not an argument. Not a game of flinging blame. Not a mishap or a tumble.

But fear for his life.

She runs away because, even if she wants to stay- Mei loves him.

And she loves him too much to think of putting her own life and desires before his.

Mei and MK are not the “hero and the warrior”.

This is not MK and Mei. And it never will be.

This is Macaque and Wukong, two people driven apart by boldness that was brashness and cleverness that was cowardice. This is a tale of adoration and anger and heartbreak and betrayal.

This is not MK and Mei. And it never will be.

Because they love each other too much to ever be “the hero and the warrior”.

And they’re all the better for it.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

His Sun

Summary: After the Monarchy, the Emperor takes Lorgar's wife as punishment. He finds out that she is pregnant and for the first time in millennia remembers love.

Emperor and Lorgar's daughter (OC, platonic), Lorgar/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping

Word count: 729

Song: Rammstein - Sonne

This fic was born because of this beautiful post.

Of all His sons, Lorgar was most like Him. Every detail of the appearance was amazingly similar. Even facial expressions. And it was this son who became the biggest disappointment. The Primarch of the Word Bearers was too slow to annex worlds to the Imperium. He tried too hard to restore the planets by staying on them for a long time.

But worst of all was the cult of worship of the Emperor as God. The Emperor could not allow such... heresy to spread. Fully aware of what lies the Warp. And the decision to destroy the Monarchy was carried out immediately. Besides Lorgar’s “wife” on Terra will serve as a good lesson for the primarch. He is a weapon, not a man.

The fact that the mortal was pregnant... The Emperor was not a monster. He had no intention of killing a child, especially in the womb. But it could become a hindrance. A distraction for Lorgar. Fortunately, although the child was affected by the warp, it was much less than the primarchs due to a mortal mother. In addition, it later turned out that it was supposed to be born a girl. She won't be much of a hindrance.

Or rather, that's what He thought.

The creation of the primarchs was pragmatic. They were created to protect humanity. The Emperor had no intention of getting rid of them and even planned to create a comfortable life for them on Terra... of course, after they had completed their task. For some of His sons He even felt a similar feeling of affection. Especially to Horus.

But this girl. This girl was not born according to the plan of the Emperor or Chaos. The natural way. She had no task other than just to live. And when the Emperor heard the triumphant cry of life. Something broke in Him. He remembered.

He once had children. Real and beloved from mortal women. In times of peace, when he gave up trying to move humanity forward and allowed the Earth to develop on its own. He adored them and raised them with dignity and intelligence. His sons were His pride. Although He liked girls more. They always looked at their dad with such adoration.

And they all died. They all left Him. And it hurts. A void that nothing can fill. He could no longer allow Himself to love. And yet, seeing this girl, knowing that she should have lived longer because of her father, if not live forever... He gave up.

He simply could not help but look at her sleeping in her cradle. He couldn't help but sing her songs from His childhood. Hold her in His arms. Kiss her forehead when she starts crying. She developed so slowly, so normally, completely humanly. She needed all of His care and love.

Lorgar will get his “wife” back as soon as he starts leading the Crusade properly. A mortal woman was of no value to the Emperor. But the daughter will distract the primarch. He should not hear her first word, see her first steps, tell fairy tales, teach her the wisdom of life, console her and give her his soul.

But the Emperor can do this.

He will make sure that Lorgar's daughter has the best of everything on Terra. His little sun will be raised with dignity in a beautiful Palace. He will help her find her path and purpose, but only on the condition that she will be by His side. Of course, someday a girl will want romance and build her own family. But it won’t be soon and the Emperor will come up with something.

The girl bursts into laughter as soon as her stomach is tickled. Soon her teeth will begin to cut and her wonderful eyes will become moist with tears. But He will always help relieve her pain as long as she is happy. He smiles back, continuing to bathe her small body, continuing His story about centaurs. She doesn’t understand Him yet, but that doesn’t stop Him from having a conversation with her.

He will show her all the wonders of the world. His little treasure will see all the beauty of the galaxy and grow up in a world where humanity will flourish. They will have so much time. A month of Sundays.

He will never let His daughter go.

[stainlesssteellocust]

Concept: What if Sulla’s dull and purple-prosed memoirs are actually just as bullshit at Cain’s official propaganda, and she’s just like him fr fr.

She (wrongly) believes that a Hero of the Imperium has the utmost faith in her and can’t bear the consequences of failure should she not live up to his high expectations (which he doesn’t have) and masks it behind her eager soldier persona so hard that even Cain doesn’t see it. And then when she becomes famous a whole generation of Militarum girls read Valhallan Valkyrie at a formative age and start thinking they need to live up to her. Just an endlessly recursive loop of imposter syndrome.

Like what if in For the Emperor when she leads her command squad in a risky flanking attack and nobody is quite sure afterwards whether she was being brave or stupid and she hyped the whole thing up in her memoirs, what she actually wrote in her private diary was:

Obviously the last thing I wanted to do was leave my nice safe command vehicle, which could shield me from the heretic lasbolts until His Majesty got down from the throne, and head out into the open where they could cut me to bits. But the only reason I had a command vehicle at all was because all the real officers had been torn to bits by Tyranids and I’d been shoved into a position I didn’t deserve. It had been made clear that our commanders were counting on me, and if I showed myself to be unworthy I could expect to be back on the frontlines within a week, if not in a penal legion.

Worse, an honest-to-the-Emperor hero had put his trust in me. How a man such as Ciaphas Cain didn’t see at once through my ridiculous persona I will never know - but if Cain had one weakness, and as a woman who had the honour to fight along side him for many years, I think I know better than most his hidden heart - it is that he was perhaps overly trusting of the men and women in his command. Such a noble warrior could not imagine that a regiment such as ours could hide a coward as craven as myself, and if there was anything other than the Emperor’s own grace that forced me out the entrance ramp that day, it was the need not to bring our company shame in his eyes.

Besides, if I didn’t live up to that utterly undeserved faith there’d be no more commands for Jenit Sulla, and I’d probably dead within the year. The only way to keep myself out in danger going forward was, ironically, leaping feet-first into it today. And so, cursing myself every step of the way, I fixed the old “Valkyrie Warrior” expression back onto my face, stepped out of my Chimera, and gave the order to advance.

[sebastianswallows]

girldad!Feyd Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kingdomaddiction]

I can’t stop thinking about my Fragmented SQH AU so here I go:

—

Obviously Shang Qinghua is not fine. He tries to be, really. The story is over, his son is finally happy with the love of his life and the world didn’t end. Even his ex-husband (they never got a divorce, Qinghua technically died, does it count as one?) is now free! And his cute and socially awkward King is trying his best to treat him like a friend instead of a servant.

Still, Qinghua yearns.

Sometimes, when no one is looking, he touches his flat stomach and remembers his pregnancy when he lived as Su Xiyan. A strange, lovely feeling to carry someone inside you. Unforgettable. He misses those days, but not so much. Too stressful, always running and hiding in order to protect her little one.

Other days he gets lost in the memories of his life as a washerwoman. Sad, grey days were those. Binghe was her little sunshine, the only reason she kept waking up everyday until her frail body could no more.

He remembers Binghe’s first words, his first steps. He even remembers the things he used to whisper to calm him down after a bad nightmare, kissing his tears away. Back then she used to dream for a better live, hoping to live long enough to see her baby boy grow up and marry someone kind.

He got to see Binghe grow up, yes, but only from afar. Qinghua had to restrain himself many times from killing Shen Qingqiu pre transmigration. Seeing his son cry with no way to comfort him was torture. Or so he thought. Because living right now so close to him and only being victim of his hatred is way worse.

“The traitor.”

“That rat.”

“Pathetic—“

It was too much.

He did deserve it. Qinghua did nothing to stop the stop fate (why was Shen Yuan allowed to change the rules when he was forced to hurt his son?) but it still hurt so much.

So it was no surprise when a few tears rolled down his face after a specially mean comment. A few demons from the court snickered, but Binghe just looks at him with a mixed of confusion and surprise, recognizing the tears as real and not the fake kind Qinghua usually shed around Mobei. He doesn’t feel guilt, because if it isn’t Shizun he does not care, but is still odd to witness.

Shang Qinghua just bows and leaves. He cries the whole way to his rooms. It’s depressing, he knows, but he must endure this. This is his penance, right? Now he must face it.

He tries not to stare at Binghe too much after that or even speak in his presence, but it only draws his attention. Binghe seems to attack him more often as if trying to test something, curious to see his reaction. Why? Qinghua doesn’t know, but it can’t be good. His love for his son does not blind him of his cruelty.

‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry—‘

Why did his little sunshine had to become such a fearful and cruel emperor? Why couldn’t he remain small, and cute and kind? Why in the world did he write that cursed story?

He sighs giving Binghe a quick glance. The young demon looks tense. Qinghua is sure his bad mood is mostly for Shen Qingqiu’s absence, who left a few days ago for serious sect business (yeah, right— you just wanted a break from your clingy husband bro) and hasn’t returned yet. On top of that the last few meetings at court has been terribly stressful. So many demons playing mind games can be exhausting.

Qinghua even after feeling hurt by Binghe feels the need to comfort him. To tell him his doing great and will find a solution. What can he say? The love of a mother (should he say father? He is currently in man’s body, but he took care of Binghe as a woman—) never fades.

It’s a silly idea, but Qinghua sneaks into the kitchen to prepare a little snack. Steamed millet buns. Very cheap and easy to make. He only needed millet flour (which was even cheaper than rice and widely cultivated in poor areas) and water. If they happen to be lucky enough to have more ingredients available then Qinghua added salt or a bit of onions. It used to be Binghe’s favorite— well, he said “everything mama makes is Bing-Bing favorite!”

Ah, he used to be so cute.

He finishes making the buns and brings him back to the court room. The other demon lords are gone and Binghe looks like he has a migraine. Qinghua approaches carefully trying to be brave.

“Junshang…” he calls softly. Before he can say something more Binghe opens his like he’s searching for something and sniffs the air. Then he finally looks at him, well, the tray in his hands.

“What is that?”

“Ah… steamed millet buns, my lord. I— I made them… for you?” Binghe just keeps staring at him as if he had grown another head. Qinghua clears his throat. “This servant thought Junshang should eat something after a long day.”

Binghe looks at the tray, then at him, then the tray again and he seems like his about to reject the offer. Qinghua holds his breath, already preparing for the burning sensation of rejection. Instead Binghe surprises him by saying:

“Bring it here.”

The peak lord nods and feels so excited he almost trips in his way to the throne. He offers the buns and Binghe stares at them with mild disgust (maybe because his treacherous shishu made them) and after long consideration he finally takes one.

He gives it a sniff before taking a big bite.

Binghe’s eyes open wide and for a brief moment they seem to shine. He keeps eating one after the other and Qinghua feels his heart fill with warmth at the sight remembering when Binghe was 3 years old and tried the buns for the first time.

“I’m glad Junshang enjoyed the buns.” Said the cultivator with a small but honest smile.

Binghe seems to finally realize what he had done and cleans the crumbs with his sleeve.

“Shang… shishu,” Wow, really having a hard time respecting your elders, huh, mister? “… made this on his own?”

“This one did!” He says proudly. “If Junshang desires this servant can always prepare more“ Qinghua offers because he knows his son enough to know he won’t ask for them again even if he loved them.

“… Do as you wish.” Oh, someone has been spending some time with his King. Doesn’t matter.

This is a good sign, right? First positive interaction with his son since forever— oh! Maybe he can prepare him some congee and mantuo next time? Yes! He can’t wait!

…

// Binghe’s angrily eating buns the next day in his room, crying: I miss my mom (˃̣̣̥ヘ˂̣̣̥) stupid rat—

[earlgreylatte]

His Völunder

Qin Shi Huang

Some would consider it a bad habit, but you couldn’t really see any real harm in your behaviour. You’re just the type to take it easy, and if a sudden bout of sleepiness were to hit, then of course a little shut eye wouldn’t hurt.

And if that happened to mean you would find yourself dead asleep on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, then whatever Brunhilde didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.

With all that it mind, you were used to being roused from your sleep, either being shaken around like a rag doll, or even feeling a foot jab your ribs from some of your more vindictive sisters.

But having a finger delicately trace over the features of your countenance that rouses you from your sleep was a new experience. Despite that, you batt at the hand with a groan of sleepy annoyance, trying to return to your slumber despite the odd circumstances.

The masculine laughter that followed, however, certainly had you shooting up, nearly headbutting the source. The blindfolded man that was currently crouched above you didn’t seem to quite know what personal space was judging by how your noses were barely just brushing while he was just sporting a boyish grin

You leaned back on your hands, wondering why he was even so close if he couldn’t see.

And realizing you definitely weren’t anywhere near the north based on his clothing and the humidity in the air, you huffed. Brunhilde would definitely kill you.

“There are far better places to sleep then the middle of the forest, you know,” He speaks up, still not retreating back, “I can’t help but wonder about the unusual lady before me that would find dirt a restful spot.”

You barely let out a twitch at his teasing words, instead tilting your head at him, “And I can’t help but wonder about a man that perches himself above unusual ladies that need rest.”

He lets out another bark of laughter, seemingly the type to appreciate a bit of banter. He rises, standing tall and proud with posture that almost made you jealous. You’re about to follow his lead before you find yourself starting at his open hand. You look up at him with an unimpressed look and as if he can see you, his smile grows larger.

“Too prideful to accept a helping hand?” He ribs

With an exaggerated huff, you place your hand in his, barely registering a firm squeeze before your hoisted up in one swift movement, crashing into the stranger’s chest with a breathy squeak.

You feel the vibrations of laughter on your cheek that was smushed up against him, before pulling away, “You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?”

You probably could be more inconspicuous, but judging from the man’s lack of reaction, he didn’t seem too invested in your oddities.

“A women with features like no other in these lands slumbering without any idea where she lies?”

Or maybe not.

"Ah, well,” You trail off blankly.

“You seem more like something out of a tale than a human, my mysterious friend…”

Wait, wait, isn’t that too spot on?

“Ah! Actually, I think I hear someone calling my name! While this has been a riveting conversation, I should get going—“ You shuffle backwards, getting ready to turn tail until you feel his hand yank you back by your wrist.

"Dear lady, could it be that you descended from the heavens?” He asks, leaning down as if he was making eye contact despite his gaze being covered.

Well, yes, you did. But he doesn’t need to know that.

You balk at him, “Are you coming onto me?”

“Coming…on?” He questions, his grip loosening enough for you to pull away and ascend into the sky above him.

“Well, as fun as this has been, I’ve got monsters to slay and mortals to guide, so…”

The man stares at you for a moment before laughing loudly, “You’re a funny one! If you ever fall from the skies again, you may rest wherever you please in my lands!”

“Your lands?”

“Of course! You’re in the presence of the emperor, after all.”

You only scoff before leaving.

Mortals and their claims of ownership.

You doubt you’ll run into this weirdo ever again.

*

You were innocently dozing off in your room. You were content. Sure, the fate of humanity was at stake and gods, demi or otherwise, were dropping like flies, but your bed was perfectly cozy.

But, of course, Brunhilde just had to ruin it. Slamming your door open, she entered without any regard or courtesy.

“You’ve rested long enough! It’s time to to ride this wave of victory into the next battle!” She declares, resting her hands on her hip.

You simply yawn in response, “My turn on the chopping block, I see.”

“You haven’t been paying attention to any of the bouts, have you?”

“Guilty.”

Your sister sighs in exasperation before tossing a tablet your way.

“The human you’re paired with has seemed to have…wandered off,” She explains, before trying to pull you out of bed. “We have no time to lose! Now, get up!”

Tuning out her demands, you can only stare at the image of a certain blindfolded freak on the screen.

You flop back in bed as Brunhilde screams in protest.

You should have guessed that someone as crazy as him would participate in an equally crazy tournament.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

making yourself up as you go (a 12x100 about ESMP S1 and transgenderism)

(fic can also be read on ao3 here. cw for gender dysphoria and mild transphobia)

Katherine has, as far as anyone knows, always been Katherine. Always been the beautiful, lithe, perfect fairy they expect when they hear her name.

There is a certain image faer titles bring to mind, to faer fellow emperors and fairies alike. And if Katherine’s magic is any good- and it is good- that is the image they will always get, whenever they think of her.

It is only Katherine, now, who remembers that small and gangly child, hair too short and eyes too bright. He lives only in her mind, now, and Katherine is quite content to keep him there.

---

Shrub still doesn’t really get it, the gender thing. She grew up with something almost similar, but the words he used then, the words people used for his parents and baby sister, sound foreign and wrong on her new friends’ tongues.

So instead, Shrub looks at herself in the mirror, at her stocky build and choppy hair and mismatched socks, and she takes it in stride. It’s not wrong, the words her friends suggest- sometimes they even feel nice. They’re just not his, in the way nothing here truly is. In this way that means he’ll take what he can get.

---

Joey doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. Maybe when he was younger, when becoming a boy was a much darker bruise, he would’ve understood better all the stress his new friends feel about the thing. Nowadays, however, Joey’s settled so well into the feeling that it’s hard to remember he was ever something else. 

It certainly helps that no one he knows nowadays knew him as a kid, or that his closest friend and neighbor is a gnome who doesn’t understand human gender anyways. Joey is a man, now. Does there need to be anything else to it?

---

Fwhip has been grasping for whatever parts of manhood he could reach since he was young, and he still feels less than halfway there. It’s the small things- reminding ambassadors that it’s Sir, trying to match the bulk and height of his fellow emperors, making his voice sound deep enough to be believed. It’s the big things too, the things that make him taste bile when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

But it’s easier to ignore the persistent ache, these days, with people, people like him, drowning out the voice of the angry little girl in his brain.

---

Gem sometimes feels like she hasn’t grown past the little girl she was 10 years ago. Sometimes, the face in the mirror isn’t hers, but a child in their mother’s clothes who’s about to discover her greatest secret, greatest joy.

It was hard, for a long time. The Crystal Cliffs only ever knew her as Gem, but she couldn’t help but feel like they could see right through her, through her dresses and long hair to the core of her person, to the too-tall little boy with knobby knees and broad shoulders.

Nowadays, though, all they can see is Gem.

---

Sausage knows how she looks. With her strong, tall build, her dark, coarse facial hair, her deep voice, she knows how she looks. And most of the time, it doesn’t bother him. He finds joy in the familiarity of masculinity the same way he does the novelty of femininity and androgyny.

But Sausage can’t help but be jealous. For all they love their body, they long for the beauty Katherine holds in every step, the androgyny Scott has never had to convince anyone to respect. Jealousy runs deep in Sausage’s bones, and she does her best to push it down.

---

Pearl has been pretty lucky, if she might say so herself. For the most part, her people have been quite accommodating when she slips in (or occasionally out) of being a woman. Farmer Queen or King, as long as Pearl can harvest, can defend his kingdom with fervor, how specifically he does it doesn’t tend to matter.

Pearl finds freedom in her gender, in her fancy dresses and heavy armor alike. In a world that becomes more complicated by the day, it feels good to have something, anything, that Pearl has full control over, and that makes her so happy.

---

Scott was much more of a pushover when he first became King. He let his advisors make decisions, he let the people around him form opinions of him and didn’t dispute them. It came with the territory of being a kid, of being thrown headfirst into a mass of worlds you didn’t understand. Nowadays, Scott has a century’s worth of ruling under their belt, and is much more willing to bite back against these incorrect assumptions.

He cannot deny, however, that people got one thing right. That ethereal androgyny humans tended to assign to elves? Yeah, that one was pretty spot on.

---

Joel doesn’t answer questions about her gender. There are simply more important things they could be talking about. Not only does it not matter, but it never has. No one ever cared about his gender when he was small, why should that change now that he was grown? Now that he was in charge? Lots of things that mattered as a kid didn’t matter now that xe was in charge, and in Joel’s opinion, that’s how it should be. The more power Joel gets, the older she grows, the less the world should place on her shoulders. It’s only fair.

---

When Jimmy washed up on the shores of the Codlands, the fisherman who found him called him a girl. He didn't speak the language yet, so he didn’t know what that meant. Once they learned the language, they still didn’t really understand. But sea knew it didn’t feel right, that calling searself she left a pit in sear stomach that sea couldn’t understand.

Even now, Jimmy doesn’t quite know why this new gender feels better. Codfather, Codboy, man, he doesn’t understand it in the way his human friends do. But that doesn’t matter as much as knowing it feels right.

---

The first person Lizzie met on land was a beautiful woman, tall and slender and suddenly, Lizzie understood everything she’d ever wanted to be. Lizzie molded herself on the humans of Pixandria, the fishfolk of the Codlands, and she took their words that sounded nice in her voice, looked right next to her name, until she’d made a person that felt entirely, totally, hers.

As time has gone on, that person has evolved. They’re taller now, they remember where they came from and what they originally wanted out of life. But Lizzie doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that beautiful woman.

---

Pix is beginning to get sick of being people’s queer awakenings. They’re happy to help, of course, but this is getting ridiculous.

Pixandria has always been removed from the cultures of its fellow humans. Being so far away, it was only natural that its people would care less about the customs that mattered so greatly to their fellows. So Pix gets it, when these young kids stumble through the gates of his city and take in all its differences for the first time, get exposed to the idea of more. He does, really!

But does it always have to be them?

[mjsparkour]

I’m just a girl that can’t stop talking about paulirulan fail marriage whatever. sorry. sue me.

Today’s random paulirulan brainrot induced psychosis has brought this idea of the perfect person for Irulan to the forefront of my mind. What I find to be so fascinating is the fact that if you were to put Paul on paper to Irulan he is kind of more than her ideal man, like soulmate territory, seriously. I don’t mean this in a made for each other stereotypical romantic kinda of way because that can’t be helped (this is a FAIL marriage). Also they’re both, you know, products of eugenics.

I say this simply because of the fact that Paul is the Kwisatz Haderach and can see through the fabric of time and space. He can look into the past just as much into the future and see whatever he needs. Irulan as a historian would become rightfully obsessed with someone that possessed that type of ability. Which is why I think it’s safe to say even though she came to terms with her love for him I really do feel like part of the reason she dedicates her life to writing Paul’s histories is because (besides it being necessary) she was in proximity with someone that had this extraordinary ability to see into the past in a way she could only ever dream. I feel like this really brings home the tragic aspects of Irulan’s character in a very real way. She doesn’t know how to love or what it truly feels like. Yet you can see why she would come to love Paul, but I don’t know how you would be able to make the case vice versa. What is it about Irulan that Paul would come to love? Her father is the reason for the destruction of House Atriedes, He’s already fallen in love with another woman by the time he meets her, and if we were going by book canon her pride gets in the way of her being a good bene gesserit student so her abilities are subpar. She also poisons Chani so she can’t have kids (something that Paul enables her to do so that Chani can live longer btw since folks like to forget?). This is what makes the movie canon so interesting to me though. Irulan is different in the adaptation.

Irulan has become a good student of the bene gesserit teachings. The former emperor tells her she will be a formidable empress and Paul tells her they will rule over the universe together, it’s all quite different. So while right now I can’t really imagine what it is Paul would come to love about Irulan given the circumstances are different, I think we might be given more insight as to what that would look like (in someway) in this upcoming adaptation of messiah.