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

[talesofmetalandmagic]

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.”

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | General Marcus Acacius has one thing Emperor Geta doesn't, you.

author's note | @pr0ximamidnight is FULLY responsible for this. she had an idea, i flip-flopped and threw out another one, and here we are. paige thank you for being a constant source of inspiration in my life and pea brain, ily. and thank you for beta'ing.

content warning | 18+ smut, DDDNE, dubcon - power imbalance and forced cuckolding | additional warnings: reader is a servant (but also participates in s*x work), established situationship with the general, marcus is a soft but guilt-riddled man, geta is literally just a gremlin asshole with an ego and you know what? i'm okay with that, heavy degradation, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, fingering, f voyeurism/exhibitionism. extra note: please heed the tags and proceed with caution. do not read if this icks you out, that simple. also we can just say this is au to avoid the bs. i just wanted to write a fic with both of my blorbos <3

word count —2.7k

There was something special about being bedded by a General, one so illustrious and generous as Acacius, but an Emperor, that was a wholly different experience. 

He knew you belonged to General Acacius, in a sense. One of his loyal servants who had sailed across the sea with him to the palace of the Emperor brothers who ruled here—Caracalla, a slimy and disgusting man, alongside his brother Geta, who wasn’t much better. He was smarter, though—albeit not by much, but his choices were calculated, vengeful, planned.

He had his eyes set on you from the moment you entered his home, alongside General Acacius in your unsuspecting and flimsy garb, a white and pristine material to match that of your General, detailed with gold specks and a tie at your waist that kept you modest.

“Serve them, appease them,” General Acacius had told you, “they are tempered men, do not upset them.” He’d meant it as a warning; watch yourself.

Acacius was a caring leader, for the most part. You stayed out of politics and war, dutiful to him and his needs wherever and whenever he needed you—and if that meant buried in his sheets when you were away with him on one of his many triumphs around Rome, that was his business and your secret to keep. The gold necklace that hung around your neck was a gift from him, a thank you for all of your hard work, but a silent reminder that you were his. None of the other men touched you, like a brand on your body that had them running in the other direction.

But, not Emperor Geta.

He tips your chin up with his finger, your body shaking nervously under his touch as he uses his other hand to spread your legs apart at your knees, stripped out of his cloak and down to his tunic, but even that was hanging on by a thread. 

He’d commanded you to strip down in front of him, your clothes pooled somewhere on the floor near his bed.

You’ve been in plenty of situations like this before, sex with men you didn’t care for. If it meant sustenance and another day of breathing, you didn’t care. You did what you had to. But this, it felt off. There was a constant snarl to his face, his gold crown displaced beside your head as his finger trace and followed until he was gripping the underside of your chin in his palm and pushing up, fingering the necklace with a smug, salacious grin.

“He’s got you collared,” Geta breathes, “like a dog, doesn’t he?”

Don’t speak, he’ll hear the quiver in your voice.

“Answer me,” His voice booms, “does he fuck you in secret?”

You blink, watching his lips pull back in a thin line and his gaze—it was frightening.

You nod despite yourself, not prepared to see what would happen if you had lied.

The thing with Geta was he also disguised his intentions behind momentary kindness.

A kind smile as you offered him a full goblet of wine or refilled his plate, as you trailed alongside him holding another gaudy offering to appease the other ego-driven men who pursued this place—General Acacius knew he was losing you to him and there wasn’t a thing he could say or do without risking your life in the process.

His face softens for a brief moment, feeling the hard swallow from your throat as it strains, eyes droning into the bedpost above your head as his fingers flex, debating on whether he should rip the jewelry from your neck or leave it be. 

Eventually, he decides for the latter.

“Show me,” Geta commands, “how you please him.”

He loosens his grip on your chin and allows his hand to fall, watching as you rise up slightly on your elbows, breasts shaking with the movement and you can catch the way his jaw clenches, salivating at the sight. You pull at the tie on his skirt, finding that he was already bare underneath, his hard and aching cock springing from underneath as you pushed it away.

His confidence wasn’t a cover, you could confirm. He was large, not nearly as much as General Acacius but given the amount of situations you’ve caught yourself in, staring up or down at men who just needed a quick taste of you and the pleasure you had to offer, he was quite enough.

The tip, red and dripping already, he palms himself. A chuckle escapes his chest as he flings the rest of the fabric to the floor, his hand cupping around his balls and rolling them between his fingers before he’s gripping his shaft and then your own hand, allowing a few strokes before he intructs you to do as he’s asked. 

You squeeze, apply an ample amount of pressure as you pull at his shaft, watching as he slowly canted his own hips into your palm, his hand gripping into your scalp to keep you upright, hair tangled around his fingers as he breathes out roughly through his nose.

“Always know a whore when I see one,” He denotes and you have to fight the urge to bark back, “do you suck cock like one too?”

If anything, it was a silent order.

You push up onto your palm, feeling the strength of his grip as he yanks your head back, forcing your eyes to lock with his as he uses the other hand to guide his cock head to your lips, sneering as he spreads the glistening precome over your lips before pressing further. You open your mouth to him, allowing the heavy weight of his cock to split your lips apart, giving you very little time to adjust before he’s eagerly thrusting into your mouth, using your hand to cover the rest of his cock you couldn’t fit, feeling more shameful than you should about how you weren’t as bothered by him as you should be.

He wasn’t some strange man pandering you with a pile of coins on the street or around the dark corner of the palace—he was power. An emperor with little remorse.

You can hear him chuckling darkly above, his eyes wild as you suck at his cock, spit pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin.

“Messy bitch,” He mutters, picking up the pace considerably as he began to fuck into your mouth, the tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat forcing a garbled gag around him, “—are you of the thankful sort or are you ungrateful?”

He pulls you back suddenly, leaving you to gasp out in desperation at the sudden relief, looking up at him with watery eyes, swallowing against your sensitive gag reflex.

“Thank—thankful, sir.” You confirm with a weak nod.

“No sir,” He counters, “Emperor. Let me hear you speak it.”

“Thankful,” You affirm, “I’m thankful, Emperor.”

“Good,” His thumb traces your bottom lip, mixing with the spit and slick of him that was covering your mouth, “so you’ll take my cum and say thank you, won’t you?”

You nod obediently, feeling him loosen the grip on your hair slightly as he fisted himself, using the copious amount of spit as lubricant. You watch as his abdomen flexes under the guise of his impending orgasm, how jerky his movements become as his teeth dig into his bottom lip, a muffled curse slipping beyond his lips before he’s pressing his cock to your lips without warning and expecting, knowing that his obedient little whore would be willing and waiting. His cum pools in your tongue, salty and warm as he jerks himself a few final times before he pulls away, watching carefully as you swallow down the taste of him. It was then that he finally allowed you a break, releasing his grip on your scalp as you fell back.

“What a harlot you are,” Geta comments, but seemingly pleased as he leans back on his calves and pulls you upright, awaiting until you’re sitting less rigidly before he drags a hand across your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and watching as it pebbled underneath his touch, “might I suggest an audience?”

You have no time to respond before he’s fetching for one of his other many servants, a name you’ve never heard before being thrown across the room and you scramble for the covers, desperate for some protection to your state of undress. Geta allows it, but he doesn’t hide the smirk or laugh that escapes him, his eyes creasing in amusement.

The servant peaks around the door dutifully, wide eyes dropping on you before quickly averting to the Emperor.

“Fetch the General for me, would you?” He asks, “I’ve been meaning to show him a proper good time.”

The servant nods meekly before departing and when Geta looks at you—he sees it.

“What?” He remarks like a child, “Don’t fear for your modesty now—“

The footsteps grow closer, heavy and slow as they thump, thump, thump against the floor, matching the quick beat of your heart.

“Emperor Geta—“ His voice brings you to tears, looking away in fear that he would judge, seethe, leave you to be eaten alive by the Emperor on your own and finally rid himself of you.

“General,” He boasts, still stark naked but using your legs as a makeshift cover over his cock, despite how bare you were, “won’t you join us?”

When you do look at him, he’s stoic. Fearful just as much as you. In fact, you’ve never seen him this worried. Not even in the depths of war.

“Are you asking, Emperor?” He counters, “Or ordering?”

Geta answers with a wave of his hand toward your naked body and Acacius pushes down the sigh that wants to escape through his nose, closing the door shut behind him.

“She’s quite the woman, you must know,” He comments and General Acacius' nose flares at the words, lifting himself slowly onto the bed to sit near you, still a distance away. If you reached out, you could touch him, “beautiful, obedient—the perfect whore, really.”

“Emperor, forgive me,” Acacius argues, “but I am not sure what you want from me in this situation.”

“She’s yours, is she not?” He asks, flinging the necklace up lazily before it hits your chest again and Acacius eyes immediately draw to the jewelry. “This reeks of you.”

“It was a gift, for her diligent and loyal work.”

Because as much as you had served General Acacius in many ways, you were still tending to everything else without complaint and with a good attitude. In another life, if things could be different, you might have him as your own. But, that wasn’t possible.

“Do you fuck her?”

Geta knows the answer—all of you do.

“That is none—“

“As she is under my rule—it is my business,” He snaps, “Do you fuck her, General? Is she a good fuck?”

Lord above, put me out of this misery, you think.

Acacius offers nothing but silence.

Geta nods with finality, “Fair—you can watch and tell me if her moans sound the same while my cock is inside of her.”

And Geta catches the way your hand in his sheets inch closer toward Acacius out of instinct, wanting his touch just as bad.

He furrows his brow and nods toward the General.

“Prepare her for me,” He orders, “touch her.”

Your eyes flick up toward him, a silent and pleading echo of Marcus behind your eyes. Serve him, appease him.

He closes his eyes and breathes a deep sign, his fingers trailing down your stomach until they can hover over your cunt, his middle and ring finger placed and at the ready. You nod, mouth instantly falling open at his touch.

The Emperor smirks, watching Acacius dexterous fingers work over your clit and your chest rise and fall in quick succession, his hand fisting his own cock lazily. 

“I can see why you’ve taken such a liking to her,” Geta notes, speaking as if you weren’t in the room, as if he wasn’t fisting his cock at the entrance of you cunt, “I owe you, for bringing her to me—and leaving her with me.”

You can see the way Acacius' face twitches in anger, but his eyes never leave yours when they open again, using him as a solace in this complicated time. You grab for his wrist when you feel yourself growing near, breathing out a shaky moan.

“There, stop.” Geta orders and Acacius' hand drags away slowly, fingers drifting along the edge of your jaw with a fondness that was reserved for you alone.

You smile sadly.

I’m sorry, you convey silently.

In this world, Acacius knew you had no choice in the matter. It was survival and had you been born into a wealthier family, a better life, maybe you would be at the other end of this situation.

“Look at me,” He commands you, pulling your face away from Acacius grip and forcing your eyes on him as he presses inside of you slow, hand gripped at the base of his cock as he split you open, his face pinched as you squeezed him, cunt sucking him in greedily. 

You bite at your cheek, trying to stifle the involuntary moans from the stretch of Emperor Geta’s cock. You could deny and say that it didn’t feel good, but that would be a lie. Your selfish body was betraying you and you didn’t want to give the Emperor the satisfaction, not yet.

Acacius shakes his head minutely, a subtle movement you barely catch. Don’t defy him.

“Tell her,” Geta says through heavy breaths, his hips snapping into you steadily, your thighs being pressed tight to your body with his grip on the back of them, “keeping silent will do her no good.”

“Dove,” He comforts you, “let go.”

“You’ve named her!” Geta exclaims in amusement and genuine disbelief, “You’ve named your whore? Pathetic.”

“She was never a whore,” Acacius snaps through gritted teeth, “she is loyal—good, and she does not deserve this. She would give you anything you asked if you did it with kindness.”

“I’m right here!” You shout, fed up with the unjust tension, your voice riddled with the building pleasure in your groin, the feeling of Geta’s thumb ghosting over your clit.

“Grab her face and look at her,” Geta orders roughly, his chest flushed from exertion, “and be sorrowful that it isn’t you making her fall apart—seeing as this is the last time you will ever be allowed to see her.”

You sob out, both from the crest of your orgasm and the hate behind his words, eyes locked on your General for the brief interim that you fall apart, pulsing tightly around the Emperor’s cock until he comes with grunt, slipping out of you just in enough time that has seed doesn’t spill into you. The last thing he needed was a bastard son.

“You will learn to respect me,” He snarls, grabbing for his clothes haphazardly and retrying them around his waist.

You shake with a silent cry, hand still latched around the General’s wrist, too afraid to let him go.

“You have five minutes,” Geta bites, “say your goodbyes and leave my sight, both of you.”

The moment his footsteps finally descend and you feel the momentary relief, he deflates.

“Marcus, I never meant—“

He shushes you quickly, pushing the stray hair from your face as you lean up, reaching for him and he tucks you into his chest.

“You are safer here,” He promises, “I cannot protect you like I once could, and you’re smart—I know you are. Geta is a temperamental but immature man. Get in his head, manipulate him. Live.”

“Where are you going?” You ask with a somber tone.

“Away,” He replies simply, not willing to elaborate.

It tugs at your heart deeply, feeling the material of a blanket being slide up over your naked body.

“Fight,” It’s one of the last words he says to you, pressing a kiss against your forehead before he reaches your lips, and it lingers for a while, but not nearly as long as you wish, “if not for me, but for you.”

And you would, even if it killed you.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[storiesforallfandoms]

Masterlist 3!

Here’s the third masterlist for all of my works! If you want to check out more of my work, here’s the links for masterlist one and masterlist two Imagines marked * are smutty imagines! Imagines marked ` are requests! Imagines marked ⭐ are personal favorites!

IMAGINES

STRANGER THINGS small ~ jim hopper` dance with me ~ eddie munson ⭐ starry night ~ steve harrington* (part five) ⭐ at the hip ~ steve harrington` ⭐ triple date ~ steve harrington (part six) ⭐ the freak ~ steve harrington (part seven) ⭐ oblivious ~ eddie munson ⭐ jason doesn’t know ~ eddie munson ⭐ this is music ~ eddie munson` ⭐

SUPERNATURAL strange human feelings ~ castiel` cleaning ~ dean winchester`

HANNIBAL into fiction` sob story ~ hannibal lecter

THE BOYS obsession ~ billy butcher* ⭐ herogasm ~ soldier boy* ⭐ alone on christmas ~ billy butcher can’t get too close ~ billy butcher ⭐ change in a heartbeat ~ billy butcher ⭐ the bad room ~ homelander ⭐

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY life father ~ diego hargreeves` rescue mission ~ klaus hargreeves’ ⭐

THE LAST OF US (HBO) friendly neighbors ~ joel miller ⭐ too sweet ~ joel miller

BARRY attraction ~ barry berkman` treat him better ~ barry berkman

AMERICAN HORROR STORY late night sins ~ xavier plympton (1984)*`

VICTORIOUS lost dog ~ tori vega` junker ~ beck oliver

HEMLOCK GROVE i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey ⭐

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES roses are red ~ damon salvatore` ⭐

OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH captive ~ blackbeard/ed teach ⭐

PEAKY BLINDERS moved on ~ thomas shelby

FUTURE MAN winner ~ josh futturman* ⭐

GAME OF THRONES littlest lion ~ oberyn martell (part one) ⭐ freedom ~ oberyn martell (part two) ⭐

THE WITCHER destiny ~ geralt of rivia

DOCTOR WHO looks of a princess ~ eleventh doctor ⭐

BRIDGERTON by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton

THE GENTLEMEN the assistant ~ raymond smith ⭐

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN spirit of nature ~ jack sparrow`

THE MAZE RUNNER i’ll keep you safe ~ newt`

MARVEL how things are now ~ marc spector and steven grant` ⭐ kneel ~ loki* the most wonderful time ~ bucky barnes fast ~ pietro maximoff ⭐

1917 early morning ~ will schofield*`

THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT happy birthday ~ javi gutierrez ⭐

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S i need someone older ~ william afton ⭐ the ice cream girl ~ mike schmidt

SALTBURN new toy ~ felix catton ⭐ partners ~ oliver quick ⭐

THE SANTA CLAUSE santa’s sister-in-law ~ bernard the elf

8 MILE one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr ⭐

THE FALL GUY the space cowboy and the pa ~ tom ryder

A QUIET PLACE i’d find you in any life ~ eric ⭐

GLADIATOR II betrothed ~ emperor geta ⭐

PETE DAVIDSON your gift` favoritism`

HARRY STYLES the perfect tree a star in the making` sleepy head`

MACHINE GUN KELLY baby mama` ⭐ my queen*` getting your attention*` all the mistakes` not what it looks like` can’t keep doing this*`

EMINEM may the best artist win*` too close for comfort` ⭐ when it’s wrong but it feels right` in the dressing room*` he’s acting different` we have to stop meeting like this` every inch*` let’s surprise the world` i’m sorry i let you down`

GOODGUYFITZ wake up call*`

CORPSE HUSBAND letting go` they forgot` ⭐

ASHTON IRWIN home life` cover me*`

CONAN GRAY pushing`

MATTHEW LILLARD accidental drunk confessions`

JOHNNY KNOXVILLE feeling good*`

ALEX TURNER more than a song*` ⭐

BO BURNHAM can’t handle this right now ⭐ look at me*`

KRISTEN STEWART special customer`

TARON EGERTON he already has my approval ⭐

ROBERT PATTINSON my favorite superhero

GERARD WAY good girl*`

GWILYM LEE history repeats itself`

RYAN GOSLING play date`

JOSEPH QUINN bad idea, right? ⭐

RANBOO fluffy haired gamer boy`

JACOB ELORDI height advantage`

MOTLEY CRUE she is mine ~ mick mars`

CHRIS EVANS not used to normal` ⭐

SWAGGERSOULS our next step`

JSCHLATT too far ⭐ the hotel room* ⭐

JOHNNY DEPP just for us`

TRAVIS BARKER the parent trap`

SHIPS

family reunion ~ hermione granger x draco malfoy`

HEADCANONS

showing pedro pascal fan edits ⭐ sitting on jschlatt’s lap ⭐

NSFW ALPHABET

rook (jp capellette)*` eddie munson* ⭐ billy butcher* ⭐

[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.

[moodymisty]

Hello! I've never sent in a request before, so hopefully I'm doing this right? The Emperors Children and Fulgrim are really interesting in my humble opinion, so it'd be nice to see some content. Honestly something that is either really fluffy or just straight heart ache would be neat. Maybe the reader watching as the man she loves slowly becomes unrecognizable and debauched? I don't know anything really? I love your work! Thank you, and sorry if this is wrong, or request aren't open.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: I’ve not written for Fulgrim yet, so let’s break that barrier shall we? Here’s a snippet.

Relationships: Fulgrim/Gn!Reader (I will warn that the word nightgown is used twice but other than that zero gendered terms)

Warnings: None really other than the implication of slanesshi corruption I guess, and the implication of Fulgrim once wanting to invite Konrad for a threesome lol

Fulgrim enters his bedchambers, his armor long since discarded and climbs into the bed softly; crawling over silken sheets and blankets to lay behind you. You lay on your side and he comes closer until his chest is against your back, his legs touching yours. One of his hands raises to cup your shoulder and push the fabric of nightgown aside. Exposing your skin so he can press his lips against your shoulder, he tenderly kisses upwards until he reaches the crook of your neck.

“You seem worried, my dear.”

You tilt your head to allow him access to continue, while your face morphs into hesitation.

You are worried, but you can’t say the reason why; Not the real one.

“I’m just… I'm worried about Konrad. After everything…” You quiet yourself, and pray that Fulgrim doesn’t catch you in a lie. Though it isn't one, at least not entirely.

“Konrad lays in a bed of his own making. Don’t worry about him so much. I said what needed to be said.” You don’t face him, so you don’t hold back your face of sadness and worry as much as you should.

Konrad… Despite all of his issues, has done nothing but trust Fulgrim and attempt to connect with him. The two were quite close; Konrad desperately wanted one of his fellow primarchs to not despise him on first impression.

He was even kind to you, in his own way. He never once intentionally hurt you.

For Fulgrim to shatter his trust like that, destroy the relationship they'd had for many years, he’s changed. It was the final instance you needed to admit it.

But who could you tell? His men are his own and vehemently loyal and even if Konrad was here, he wouldn’t have the ability to understand or even care about why you’re worried.

Ferrus however, would.

You felt horrifically guilty sending such a message behind your lover’s back. But Fulgrim's gradual changes worried you, you've watched him begin to morph into something else, and his closest brother might be the only one who would understand why. His reply is still burned into your mind when you’d briefly managed to tell him something was wrong with Fulgrim without him or any of his Emperor's Children knowing.

When you return to Terra, I will send one of my men to fetch you quietly. Then you can explain yourself to me in private.

You can only hope Ferrus will hear your worries about Fulgrim and see what you mean, rather than cast you as insane. Though knowing him, the mere fact that he’s going to hear you out lets you know he already has his own suspicions.

But before you can sink any further into your own thoughts, Fulgrim's sonorous voice pulls you from them as his fingertips glide across your skin.

“My love, are you still acting so glum?”

His lips tickle the nape of your neck, a hand on your thigh pushing up your nightgown.

“Sorry, I…” Fulgrim laughs, fingertips tickling your inner thighs. You don’t know why it makes you feel a bit nauseous.

“You’re still thinking about Curze, aren’t you?” You nod and agree, if only to make sure he doesn’t get suspicious of you. He lets out a gentle chuckle.

“I’d rather you not think of him while I’m doing this unless he’s already in the room, my love.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Fulgrim had mentioned a few times about letting Konrad into your bedroom, but you know the Night Haunter would never speak to Fulgrim again. He's long gone; Whatever friendship they had is nothing but ash beneath Fulgrim's boots. And he couldn't seem to care less.

But Fulgrim doesn’t think that, think about how he’s destroyed his relationships one by one while you watched on; He’s too focused on your body and his own.

“Relax. Stop thinking about those pointless things, and let me touch you.”

[makeitagood0neao3]

Weather Me To Nothing (1/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,916

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Welcome and enjoy! Comment and kudos are always welcome <3 Crumble like a temple built from future daughters, To wasteland when the oceans recede.

Read Part 2

The chamber is so quiet, the heels of your shoes echo off the walls as you approach the throne. He is sitting on his gold throne, the House Corrino crest behind him. The lion is bright, making you blink hard as it reflects the light simulating daylight. Behind you, the heavy doors that offer complete privacy clang shut, sealing you in. The hall is nearly empty with only his most trusted advisors and Mentats present. A controlled amount of witnesses. As a child, the sight of the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV would stop you in your tracks until your mother swept you into her arms and carried you to him. As his eldest child, you were a representation of not only the House, but your younger sisters as well. Now an adult, every movement you make it watched, hesitations noted. Should the tempo of your gait falter, it will be documented. You father still fills the room, though not in size. You once imaged him as huge, the size of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen.

Your father has aged. Perhaps only you can see how his shoulders slump in his chair, though you know his physicality is not a representation of his power. Even now, as you pass by scattered members of his court, you can sense their tension, their straight spines and clenched jaws. He doesn’t need to raise his hand to strike anyone down, including you. When your mother died, he made you an example of your sister’s behavior in front of his followers. The last time you were here just mere weeks ago was the most furious you’ve ever seen him, though his wrath didn’t end in physical punishment.

Playing the long game, he knew to keep you waiting on your planet. Day by day with your toes in the warm sand on the shore, night by night kept distracted from your studies and instead obsessing over this moment, waiting for the moment he would call upon you to return. The Emperor is always a step ahead and you’ve always been clumsy.

Impulsive. Insolent. A disgrace.

You keep your gaze low, though your chin level, every click of your heel is a countdown until you are in front of him. You half bow, a sign of respect, though you have none for the man. When you meet his gaze, you ensure a light smile is on your lips, as if happy to see him. He meets you with the same grin, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. You learned as a child that his throne is also a stage. A place where he can play any role he chooses.

The forgiving Emperor. The doting father. The aging fanatic.

“Daughter. Thank you for arriving so quickly. I hate to take you away from your studies.”

“I answer every call from my Emperor and father,” you smile back. Knowing he wants to hear this above all else, you assure him of your loyalty to him and his empire.

“I have been reflecting on your most recent transgressions against this family and I believe I have found a way for you to atone.”

“I ask again, where is the evidence of this transgression?” You challenged lightly.

You still don’t agree that sending an anonymous warning to Duke Leto that his mission on Arrakis was an attack on his family and House was a transgression. Treason against the Emperor, yes. No one in this court had proof it was you, except for your outspoken disagreement before him and his council. It took hours to slip away from your guards and lure the transmissions Mentat away from his post. The message was sent, but it seems too late. He was reported dead before dawn.

He lowers his chin, his angular face pointing at you like a bird of prey, ready to snatch you from the spot with his talons. It takes everything in your to keep your hands still at your sides, to not pick or clench your fingers. Behind you, the sound of the heavy doors open. You don’t take your eyes off of the predator in front of you, though, a coy smile on your lips. Heavy footsteps echo as the visitors approach. Refusing to give into him, you keep your gaze fixed ahead.

“You have been of age for quite some time. As my oldest daughter, I have saved your union for a worthy ally. I have found the most loyal of them to strengthen the empire!” He says this with enthusiasm, deep in his deluded belief. Everything he does is to strengthen his position.

Your smile falters, lips pressed tightly as you clasp your hands together in front of you, hoping to prevent them from shaking. You knew this was coming, one day. Though as the least poised and submissive daughter in his line, you doubted he would risk marrying you off with an ally. Keen on keeping your nose in books and studies on your quiet planet, you have successfully avoided meeting most eligible matches while portraying the attitude of aloof. Most of the wealthy bachelors don’t want to work too hard to woo someone smarter than them. Someone who has everything and is impressed by nothing. You have tried to instill this in your younger sisters to no avail.

His pleased expression is not enough to convince you that this is not a punishment. Atonements in House Corrino are paid in blood. Duke Leto atoned for his House’s success in the empire with his. Your mother paid for it when she died in child labor. Though you share a bloodline with the Emperor, you are subject to the same kind of cruelty.

The footsteps are loud and thunderous before the stop directly behind you, an ominous shadow. You can feel their gaze on your back, but you are too afraid to see who it is. Too afraid of giving your father the satisfaction of your dismay on your face. To your right, a large form invades your space, standing so his shoulder nearly grazes yours.

At least a head taller than you, the brother of the beast, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He’s lean, made of chiseled muscle built to slaughter his enemies. His pale skin is contrasted by his black armor. His hairless head emphasizes his deep set black eyes. He doesn’t spare you a glance, instead keeping his attention on the Emperor. You turn back to your father, eyes wide as you shake your head. Always ready with a quip, you are truly speechless. This man killed his own father and not known for his brain, but his brutality.

This is the man your father settles you with?

“Feyd-Rautha has come a long way, Y/N.”

“Father-”

“How is the Dune, Feyd?”

“Spice production is higher than ever, thanks to the harvesters you delivered, Emperor.” It comes out in a rasp, mimicking the sound of his uncle’s voice without the depth.

Dune. You hated that fucking planet having spent an entire standard year there as punishment for something you can’t even remember. The moon the locals referred to as The Hand Of God prevented you from communicating with your sisters while there. Completely excommunicated, when the sun set, you were expected to dine with Vladimir and his kin and most nights you did.

On the rare occasion he wasn’t present, he left you alone with Feyd-Rautha. Neither of them kept it secret that they desired you to join the Harkonnen family permanently. Vladimir complimented your intelligence and strategic mind, while assuring you that your figure could carry and birth a healthy army of great nephews for him.

When your sentence was complete, you left with your skin hot and dry, without so much as a glance back. Upon your arrival, you nearly begged your father to never send you back. He gave you his word so long as you understood your place was behind him and his decisions, you were free from Arrakis.

To keep you from further embarrassing him and his legacy, he sent you on the sabbatical you had currently been on. Out of the way, out of sight, out of mind.

“Do you plan on staying on Arrakis or does your uncle’s business require you on Giedi Prime?”

“I will remain on Arrakis to ensure the production of Spice doesn’t stop. My brother has other responsibilities. My priority right now is to find the remaining members of House Atreides.” There’s a layer of humor in his tone. As if he isn’t standing before one of the most terrifying men in the universe. Perhaps he doesn’t believe he is.

Your head snaps to look at him. For being on a desert planet the majority of his life, he words are cold, lifeless. He would kill anyone his uncle told him to and not contemplate any differently. This man took on three of the best Harkonnen slave fighters in a gladiator game recently and left the arena without a scratch.

A marriage to Feyd-Rautha would mean a lifetime of breeding on a planet so hot it could kill you within two hours in the sand without a Stillsuit. The Harkonnen home planet is no better. Time passes slower, a standard year is almost three of that on Arrakis. It’s heavily industrialized, without oceans or forests. A heavy layer of fog covers the planet, blocking out the stars. If there are any visible nearby. Juxtaposed to the quiet sounds of shifting sand on Arrakis, their planet is loud and booming. No. That is not a life you can live.

“Be sure when you find the son, he is not injured. The other houses in the Empire are not pleased with the way they were handled. There has been chatter amongst them. We don’t want to give them more to talk about.”

An Emperor, no matter how powerful, is nothing without followers. Two Houses are nothing against the legions of the known universe.

“What will you do when you find him?” I ask, curious as to what his fate will be if he isn’t going to kill him.

“Prepare him for your wedding ceremony, of course.” This stuns me and at my stillness, Feyd-Rautha turns to face me. You don’t move, unable to comprehend the strategy of this game. “You are to be married to Paul Atreides. Imagine my surprise when we found out he was alive. I was further surprised when he asked for the hand of one of my daughters. A plea for peace and an alliance.”

“What about Irulan?”

“Irulan is the eldest. She is meant for a worthy match. You seemed to enjoy your time on Arrakis. Making allies with the local swine.”

You don’t speak, stunned for the third time in this discussion. How does he, and to what extend, does he know about your involvement with the Fremen? The help you offered was limited, they mostly refused your help, but you did what you could while there. And you were discrete, not even the Baron knew of your treachery.

Feyd narrows his eyes at you, assessing. He’s wondering why you over your sisters. The answer is simple. Your infertility makes you the perfect match for the bloodline that survived an assassination. The Atreides line will not continue if Paul weds you. Is Paul a vengeful man? What will he do to you when he finds out? Perhaps that’s the Emperor’s hope.

The hand of your father’s cruelty.

“You would give a beloved daughter to the son of the man you had murdered?”

“I like to think of it as ‘removed.’”

“It was an assassination. Who’s to say he won’t take revenge on you by killing me?” It’s the perfect solution to the problem you continue to be for him and is enough of a reason to declare war against House Atreides. He’d have the support of the whole universe.

You slump, shoulders no longer pulled back as your spine bends. The weight of your future is too heavy to hold. Your eyes drop to the floor, unable to keep them on your father, your executioner. Perhaps it’s safer with Feyd-Rautha and you can’t believe that’s the corner you've been backed into.

“That is why, dear daughter, you will kill him before he has the chance to.”

Feyd opens a pocket over his chest and pulls out a teardrop shaped vial with a blue liquid inside. It’s small in his palm as he holds it out to me. You stare at it, afraid that touching it will mean you am agreeing to this.

“This came from one of the herbalists. They found the plant deep underground on Arrakis. It’s a very old mixture that will put one into a deep sleep they won’t wake from. You are a humanitarian, so I have ensured it will be painless.” Feyd voice is kind, but you know it’s one of his manipulations. It was likely his uncle who decided on this poison.

“Is this a Bene Gesserit tincture?” You ask your father. His lips curl just slightly at the edges. You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t kill some-”

“Your interference before is why he is still alive. A loose thread and a threat to this family, to your sisters. Imagine the pain you have caused him, by allowing him to survive.” Your father’s voice from his seat is clear and firm. It is an order you can’t deny, regardless of my convictions.

“And what will I get for this act of loyalty for my Emperor?” I ask him, countering.

He is pleased, his talons curling over the arms of the chair. He pulls himself up and walks half way down the stairs to where we stand. Still keeping the high ground, but seemingly meeting you halfway.

“You get to be free. Free to continue your studies, on whatever planet you wish, and with whomever you wish, or alone.”

It’s too good to be true. He knows being left alone and away from the politics and his bidding is all you desire. You would relinquish your name, title, everything, just for peace. You weigh the options.

If you refuse, you are forced to marry the worst the universe has to offer, forced to stay within the Emperor’s reach as he murders anyone who stands in the way of him and House Atreides. If you agree, it is painless for Paul and only one casualty has to perish. The universe will think it was the Fremen who murdered him and you can live as a widow, tainted by the Atreides heir, alone wherever you choose.

Feyd-Rautha, for once, has read you correctly. You are a humanitarian and knowing you have taken the suffering of your sisters for them, knows you will also save as many people as you can.

You turn to Feyd, palms sweaty with anxiety, and take the vial.

The harsh, unforgiving sun eclipses Dune as the Emperor’s Flagship approaches the planet. You are seated in the haul, a Sardaukar guard on either side of you. Two is light protection, but since you are traveling to a planet with almost the entirety of the Harkonnen army, they are really operating as a formal escort.

Your repeated requests to say goodbye to your sisters were denied. The Emperor commanded you to take immediate leave for Arrakis. Feyd-Rautha nearly drug you from the chamber and to his ship, the rest of his posse stomping closely behind.

You hate to admit it, but for now, Feyd is your biggest protector during this transaction. He sits across from you, his face calm as he watches you like a predator, waiting for the moment to strike. His eyes drop to your chest, where the vial of poison hands around your neck beneath your shawl. It’s cold, the glass hasn’t warmed to the temperature of your skin. You don’t expect it will, either.

Once you arrive, Feyd will escort you to Arrakeen where you will surely dine with the Baron. The day after before dawn, Fed will escort you to meet Paul at a neutral place for the ceremony. Without the chance to say goodbye to your sisters, it’s difficult to imagine seeing them again. Being sent to this desert feels like an exile this time. After you complete the task given to you, you’ll be altered, different. Will your sisters even recognize you after this?

The ship enters the atmosphere and begins descending to the ground. Several Sardaukar ships accompanied by the Harkonnen fleet have landed before you, setting a safety perimeter for the flagship to land. The ship connects with the ground and settles, your guards standing before you. You stand as well, pausing in the middle of the haul as you wait for the door to open. Feyd-Rautha is next to you, preventing the Sardaukar guard from taking his position, invading your space.

“Don’t think I am as foolish as I pretend to be,” if he had eyebrows, they’d be furrowed in his glare.

“I don’t-” Your voice is cut off by his firm hand on your bicep, causing the Sardaukar to place their hands on their swords, though they don’t draw them.

“This arrangement to the Atreides bastard is an insult to my uncle and House Harkonnen. We have done your father’s bidding for generations.”

“Then contact my father for payment.“ Furious he thinks he has the right to place his hands on you, you cannot stop venom that drips in your words.

“You will not leave this planet without me as a husband. I have waited long enough.” He says it with so much confidence. Though unpredictable, he’s never been this aggressive. What makes him think that your guard, the tactical warriors more brutal than Harkonnen’s, won’t remove every one of his extremities if he touches you?

“It’s time you let me go,” you say, though he doesn’t release you. “In more ways than one, it seems.” Your eyes drag from his to the warrior beside you, who appears ready to attack, but is hesitating. If this were anyone else, their swords would have been drawn.

Feyd-Rautha glances at the guard behind you as he leans forward, a fraction closer, before finally dropping your arm. He is testing the boundary line, waiting to be stopped. He turns and leads you out. Before following behind, you glance behind you at your guards, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. It’s a warning to not hesitate again.

The dry and suffocating heat is immediately pressed upon you as you stop into the sun. Doing your best not to flinch at the wind cutting into your skin, you hold your chin level and keep your eyes on him. He is more impulsive than you recall, making him all the more dangerous. He’s approaching a Thropper, hundreds of Harkonnen surrounding the landing zone. They make a show of greeting you, an extension of the Emperor himself.

You call to him when he is halfway up the ramp. He stops and turns, only giving you half his physical attention. You come to a dead stop just before the ramp. Without dropping your smirk, your eyes drop to the step before meeting his. Elegantly, you pull your arm out from beneath your shawl, reaching for him. His eyes drop to your hand as he contemplates.

Though the wealthiest in the Empire, accumulating more wealth than even the Emperor, Harkonnens live in a primitive mindset. Women are not their equal nor worthy of their respect. They are warriors first, the ultimate toxic masculine. You are still a lady, however, and unable to resist knocking him down a peg in front of his warriors.

Still unsure how you will get yourself out of this without murder or marrying anyone, if Feyd-Rautha is right, and you are forced to marry him, you need his men to understand you are not a dog on leash. Their traditions don’t apply to you and you won’t be treated any differently than you currently are.

Finally, he agrees to play this game. Walking down the ramp, he steps off to the side. Once his feet are on the same ground as you, he returns the smirk and offers you his hand. You take it and step onto the ramp. His hand steadies you as you walk up before releasing you once you’re too high. Before your guard can follow, he’s on the ramp again, trailing closely behind you.

His sigh of displeasure is immediate as soon as you find your seat at the front behind the controls. He stands next to you, but you pay him no mind as you buckle yourself in.

“I insist-”

“As do I.” Not even glancing at him as you begin to flip on the overhead switches, starting the motor and engines. You take the aviation headset that rests on the steering handle and put it on. Your actions are enough to silence him, so he sits in the chair beside you, muttering something in Galach you can’t catch from beneath the headset.

The engine reverberates through the floor and sand swirls on either side of the glass when the propellers start. A guard behind you raises the ramp and when it closes, you lift off.

You didn’t think it was possible for this planet to become any more plain, but it has. Mounds of sand surround you in every direction. The spice on the top layer glimmering in the sun, reflecting it’s bright hue back to you. It’s hot even in the Thropper so you slide the shawl off of your shoulders. A fraction of your skin is on display around the thick straps of your dress.

A few hundred meters in front of you, a shimmering object catches your sight. Angling the Thropper toward it, you slow and see it’s a brand new spice harvester. The gears inside the machine tracks are free of rust and the steel casings aren’t discolored from the spice. Your father has spared no expense.

“These are bigger,” Feyd-Rautha’s voice comes through your headset. “We’ve been harvesting one and a half times more a month than ever before. Each comes with an entourage to keep the locals at bay.” His eyes are on you when you turn to look at him, but he’s focused on your shoulder. Fighting the eye roll, you turn back to the window and see two Throppers circling above the harvester, no doubt armed.

You don’t agree with the treatment of the Fremen or the aggression shown to them. This is their planet, their commodity. If anything, your father should be paying them to allow his presence here. It takes a hard people to live here, you can’t imagine ever adjusting to the effects of spice.

Even now, your heart rate speeds up and you attempt to slow your breath. The spice kicked up from the harvester is now filtering through into the Thropper, leaving you to blink hard to focus. Most experience mild hallucinations, but in the year you spent here, it just made you paranoid and unsteady. It heightened sensations and slowed your movements. How can the Harkonnen’s be so unaffected? You regain control over your mental state and continue on.

Landing at the capital, Arrakeen, your guards exit before you. Halfway down the ramp, Feyd-Rautha’s large, pale hand is extended for you to take. You accept, stepping off, and following him as he leads you towards your room. Once there, behind the closed door, you sit in the nearest chair and breathe deep, trying to steady yourself.

Read Part 2