#then you clearly have disgusting morals

[nostalgia-tblr]

stopped reading a fic just there because it was insisting that thor & co went on many violent adventures pre-movies but of course left poor feeble loki behind cos he's a) feeble and b) blessed with a better understanding of imperialism than the rest, and there are a thousand other fics that also think this is obviously what happened but i think i may just have hit my limit on this one :\

[moltengoldveins]

sometimes the fact that I’m out as ace to most of my conservative Christian friends feels so much worse than if I were just in the closet. It makes me feel a bit like the man standing in corner of party meme, because the vast majority of my friends Do Not Know what ace means, and think it means ‘Molten doesn’t like romance or sex at all, and doesn’t think about it unless prompted. She dislikes shipping, considering how often she talks about disliking ships in media, and she doesn’t like people blatantly doing PDA around her either. Clearly, she has no interest in sex or romance whatsoever and they are as foreign to her as the depths of space or the lost mysteries of ancient history~”

and then I’m over there in the corner like “I objectively think the narrative of most Batman franchises becomes infinitely more compelling and complex if Martha Wayne, Thomas Wayne, and Alfred Pennyworth were fucking. I genuinely think that’s a fascinating ship that should be more popular. I know more about the mechanics of bdsm than anyone here knows about any other topic except Dr. [Professor] because he has a doctorate and I do not. I could probably get one, though, if such a thing existed. I have made out with someone of the same gender - and I did it platonically. Josh over there can’t even bring himself to compliment his friend’s tie, and I’ve given someone hickeys because I was curious how much force it took, while actively discussing face blindness and tone deafness and how they affect self-identity with said person. None of you are capable of comprehending the manner in which I exist, it would kill you to try.”

[skitskatdacat63]

.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

"guys I do not condone any of this in real life" "this is fiction" "consent is key. this is only fiction" "murder is bad irl" — I wish fanfic authors didn't feel like they had to clarify this in author's notes or else they might be accused of being abusers or worse (I admit that such disclaimers are also something I personally use for my own stuff because I feel like I had to make it clear). like... people used to not care if an author wrote dead dove fics because people used to understand that ao3 fics are not a reflection of someone's in real life views or morality in any way. people used to understand that fanfics mean what they mean; fan fiction. none of it is real. maybe it's purity culture that normalizes witch hunt and censorship in the past couple years, and therefore authors feel like they have to clarify that just because they write about violence or noncon stuff doesn't mean they're murderers or sex offenders in real life. and I think it sucks that these things (purity and cancel culture?) have made authors feel like they have to apologize for the art they created instead of being proud of their hard work and all the dedication they put into creating these art. artists should not have to feel like they have to apologize for creating art that isn't all rainbow and sunshine. artists should not have to be made to feel ashamed of their own art if it's not all rainbow and sunshine.

I don’t agree with the “you can write noncon and dark fics as long as you make sure your readers get the message that these things are bad” or “you can write noncon and dark fics if it’s your way of coping with your trauma” take either. because writers do not owe you anything. the message writers want to send to their readers — whatever that message may be, if there’s any message or moral of the story for readers to take from the stories at all — is none of your business. why writers write what they write is none of your business. remember “don’t like don’t read”. no one forces you to read anything you don’t like. dark and noncon fics are a form of creative writing and creative writing is a form of art. you can’t pressure artists into creating art that “fit your moral compass” nor can you apply your own moral compass to artists to determine if they can create dark art or not, if their reasoning behind creating dark art passes your moral compass. like… what artists create and why artists create are none of your business. and you don’t get to shame artists for creating art that you hate / art that disgusts you. what you can do is ignore the art because it clearly was not made for you and that’s okay. what isn’t okay is you harassing artists because you don’t like the things they created.

writers, embrace and be proud of your works. as long as all the trigger warnings are tagged properly, you have nothing to apologize for.

[imbecominggayer]

How To Scare Your Readers

tw: mentions of murder and other horror media, its not specific or gorey but I just wanted to mention it

Today is one my hardest asks as it is a highly individual process to freaking out your audience with @differentnighttale asking: "How do you write horror, and how do you write it good nail biting and very unsettling type of horror."

Specifically, we are focusing on supernatural horror and dark fantasy. Due to the fact that there are numerous ways of scaring an audience, I'm going to focus on more diverse and interesting ways to freak out the readers. There are obvious tricks like "focus on the tactile senses" and stuff like that but let's cover something not as cliche!

Again, there are many ways to instill horror.

One: Combine Beauty And The Macabre

While this is a common trick seen in visual horror such as the works of Junji Ito or Midsommar, it's also an important and useful element in other beloved horror media.

This can be useful for a myriad of reasons.

The ability to combine the fantastical beauty of the scenery with death or the lovingly detailed imagery of a victimized body might be just the thing to elevate the scenery and visuals.

It also works to surprise your readers. If you are reading horror, you expect the murder and terror to appear in dark hospitals and obviously disgusting places. But what if the horror was in a cherry blossom field? In the church? In the character's childhood bedroom during the sunset?

It follows the perversion of the familiar. Most people internalize certain environments are seperated from society which might assist you if you are going for that specific type of horror. BUT! If you have horror in the supermarket, in the coziest little cottage, in the beauty.

TWO: Focus On A Specific Brand Of Horror

This is especially important for horror that is based off of pop culture spooks such as ghosts, ghouls, witches, zombies, and werewolfs.

Doing some research into why these monsters have survived in the public mind and what exactly is frightening abou them can influence your settings, characters, and horror.

There is horror about isolation.

There is horror about losing yourself.

There is horror about the female body.

There is horror about puberty.

There is horror about gender dysphoria.

There is horror about everything.

Decide what is the core fear you are proding at.

THREE: Be Ambiguous

Readers are comforted by linear stories with a beginning, clearly laid out morality, and a clear cut ending which provides either a happy ending or a sad ending.

Messing up any one of these things can lead to your story haunting the minds of your audience for a long time.

Midsommar is constantly debated about over if the ending is happy or sad.

Joker(2019), a thriller but not a horror, is infamous for it's amazing usage of hallucination and delusion to tell a non-linear story with a confusing ending.

Leaving the ending, villain, characters, or plot ambiguous and not clearly detailed might elevate your horror :)

FOUR: Use Your Own Fears

When you write about what scares you, that natural fear tends to radiate into your writing more naturally :)

This fear can be a lot of things from the specific phobia of bugs to the fear of being mistreated by a loved one.

Conclusion:

I hope I gave you some interesting advice that you haven't heard before @differentnighttale

p.s: at what point does something become "Mature"? I did mention "murder" throughout my post somewhat frequently but I never went into specific detail so I can't tell if it's "Mature" or not?

If it is mature and I mislabeled it then I can edit it to be "Mature"

[olderthannetfic]

I always see people reminiscing about the Good Ole Days and about how antis are a new thing but. . .is that really true? Or am I just being autistic and taking things too literally, and they just mean it's way more of a common debate now than it used to be before, and that the landscape of shipwank has changed?

Idk, it's like I constantly hear about fandom wank and shipwars and censorship from decades ago, and yes I know "shipping/doxxing/censorship has always existed" can co exist with "antis are new" but I think there's still a bit of a comprehension gap on my end.

am i just dumb? What am I missing here? FWIW - I do feel like the context of "anti" has definitely changed. Back in early 2010s tumblr (I cannot speak of other website/platforms) I remember that tagging something as #Anti Donkey Kong didn't mean you think DK is an evil abusive monster and that everyone who likes him/mains him is also an evil abusive monster and that Nintendo is pushing the evil abusive monster agenda. #Anti Donkey Kong would just be character bashing, wank, letting out your grievances about how ugly DK is, etc, but it was really just a tag used for your own personal opinions (and for DK fans to filter out). Whereas now #Anti Donkey Kong would mean please go die and delete all your accounts if you support DK.

So I definitely know that "anti" has a way more intense definition now than it used to - but for some reason I find it a bit hard to grasp just how new this whole anti thing even is in the firstplace. It honestly makes me sad that I've never seen a pre-anti internet, assuming there really was a time before antis.

--

Antis are new. Specifically, the "Conservative Protestantism in a gay hat" thing that that one tumblr post pointed out is new.

We had doxxing in the past. We had masses of shipwank. We also had "How dare you write that m/m ship. It's bad!"

The key is that the "Your m/m ship is bad" crowd used to openly be conservative Christian homophobes who objected to homosexuality itself. Nowadays, they're queer 20-somethings who like m/m ships but object to gay sex.

It's the anti-kink, anti-fantasy brigade coming from "our side" instead of the outside, essentially. It's respectability politics about "Sempai will love me if I just sanitize The Community and kick out the icky weirdos". It's personal disgust masquerading as morality where once it would have been masquerading as intellectual superiority.

It's a product of queerness being more public and tolerated overall. In the past, a lot of spaces devoted to m/m shipping had to be aggressively in favor of contentious fiction because the existence of anything m/m was itself contentious. There was plenty of "Well, my gay best friend said ___ is unrealistic, and my slash is good, unlike that of you plebes!" There was much less "Fujoshi means fetishizer".

Of course, I'm comparing the 90s internet to now or the mid 00s Livejournal fandom to Tumblr of this past decade. It really depends on whether Ye Olden Times was five years ago or twenty five.

The modern use of the term 'anti' did indeed grow out of the old habit of tagging your hate. As the default cultural mode shifted from "My NOTP is dumb" to "My NOTP is problematic", the usage changed. At some point, antis started getting offended by their self-applied term and pretending that the other side inflicted it on them. This is revisionism. Fiction-is-not-reality had some writeups with citations in the past.

The big shifts were happening around 2012-2016. The long slide into puritywankers being everywhere has only continued since then, but that's where the tipping point seems to have been. TikTok exacerbates this nonsense, and there are clearly plenty of people who are anti-queer and only weaponizing clueless queer youth.

The big shift is that liking m/m used to weed out most of the worst people, and now it attracts lots of them who will not fucking go away because they like the same ship, just the hand-holdy, no dicks can touch ever version.

They spend their time bleating about how AO3 should have been built for them and how anti-censorship activism doesn't matter... because they've grown up in a fandom world dominated by AO3, which shelters them from the reality that the "Ewww, all m/m sucks!" crowd is everywhere on other sites to this day.

That's probably why the shift is when it is. Certain aspects of mainstream queer acceptance were on the rise just as AO3 was getting big. But at the same time, the world is shit and everyone has anxiety they self-medicate through rage and security theater around sniffing out The Bad People.

[ace-turned-confused]

sickening desire

joel masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: stepdad!joel miller x f!reader summary: you and your stepdad don't have much in common, but you always try to keep things friendly. back home for college break, he's not making it very easy. word count: 2,7k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a skirt, big ol' age gap (reader is nineteen), food mention, joel is big & beefy, stepcest, cheating, fucked morals all round, pet names, joel's a disgusting dirty perv (i'm so serious), smut, grinding, mentions of m & f masturbation, unprotected p in v, cockwarming, 1 spank, creampie, dirty talk, sprinkle of daddy kink, praise kink, panty kink a/n: written for @beefrobeefcal's MARRIED JOEL SITS ON YOU prompt - i got to witness the birth of this on discord, and thought how can i make this cute idea deranged instead, so here we are. idk how all this happened. this is stepcest, you have been warned. if it's not your thing then pls scroll on, no hard feelings in here <3 not beta'd

After weeks of phone calls, texts and endless hounding from your mother, you caved and decided to come home for your college break. She was missing you like crazy, and apparently you had aunts and cousins who were just dying to see you after so long, no doubt ready to bombard you with questions about the life of a college girl as if you were the first of the kind.

So, you came home to your mom and her new-ish husband, Joel Miller. You can count the number of times you’ve met him on one hand, one of those occasions being their wedding. You’re not sure how they make it work, but then opposites do attract…

Marriage has been good to Joel, his mental health and financial stability have improved, and overall he seems a happier person — not that you could tell from looking at him, with a permanent scowl etched on his face. The only ‘drawback’ seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline — his jeans now too tight around his thighs, the seams visibly strained, and his tummy poking out past his belt. They no doubt add to his eternal pissed-off facade, but he’s far too stubborn to admit he needs to buy new ones.

Your mom reminds him, often, how much he’s filled out in recent times, and judging by the bitterness in her voice, she clearly doesn’t approve. You’re not sure why she disapproves, but you’d never admit that.

From what you know, he’s neither an overly good nor a bad guy, he’s just… Joel, and the two of you have nothing to talk about, so you keep your distance out of courtesy. At least, you try to.

Since you’ve been home, you’ve caught him staring a few times but pin it down to aged eyesight. Most days he greets you in the kitchen with a husky ‘mornin’ sweetpea’, and makes a point of brushing up against you, half hard and warm in his threadbare sweatpants. He’ll place a hand on the small of your back when he stands beside you, pinky wandering down to toy with your waistband.

You cover up the way your breath catches and stop yourself from clenching your legs together every time — either he doesn’t have a grasp on personal space, or he’s doing this on purpose. The way he watches you move around once he’s sat down says all you need to know. You try not to think about it.

-

You’re flicking between channels one night when the front door clicks open, the heavy stomp of workboots echoing down the passage and into the room. Joel waltzes in, dumping his keys and without a word, sits directly onto you.

“What the fuck?”

“This is my chair, sweetpea. Not my fault you’re in it.”

You try pushing him off you, a losing battle with the extra kilos he’s put on since tying the knot with your mom. He mumbles something to you, his words lost underneath the TV and your strained grunting.

“What?” You huff at him, growing more and more agitated.

“I asked, you gettin’ off on this like you did sittin’ on my lap?”

Your mind swirls as you try to pinpoint what he means. It’s just when you’re about to give him lip and ask him what the fuck he’s on about, that you remember — and suddenly you wish the world would just swallow you whole.

-

During Sunday’s roast lunch, you were surrounded by extended family, filling in the blanks and avoiding the painfully personal questions; Joel spent the day with his standard disgruntled look and your mom was overzealous in her storytelling — everything and everyone just how you remembered.

Everyone broke off into smaller bubbles after lunch, and you stared at Joel as he unbuckled his belt and slumped back on your aunt’s couch — he stared right back at you, head cocked to one side as he weaselled his way into your mind with just a slight smirk and a wink, large hand resting teasingly over his crotch. You left the room, intentionally distancing yourself from him the rest of the day.

It was late afternoon by the time you begrudgingly hugged each family member goodbye and settled in the backseat next to Joel, some extras tagging along for the free ride back to your neighbourhood. With your headphones in and all other passengers occupied, you tried to nap the rest of the way home and regenerate the energy siphoned from you throughout the day. You had no complaints, up until now.

You sat up when your mom stopped off at a different house with just over half the trip still to go. Her heart of gold meant she’d offered a lift home to too many people for her one car, so being the youngest, she suggested you just squash up or sit on someone's lap… Which is fine when you’re nine, not nineteen.

And not just anyone offered up a place, no, Joel lifted his hand in the air and said you could sit on him — with no other way to get home, you pinched your eyes and cringed, but did it anyway. You were fine for the first 15 or so minutes until the road became uneven, and you realised just how fucked this whole thing was — when you first sat down on Joel, he wasn’t hard. You took a breath to try to steady yourself without drawing extra attention.

It was just a… natural response? God, that doesn’t make it any better.

You shifted forward, tried to reposition your weight over his legs and knees and told him you were just getting stiff — wrong fucking choice of words as you became even warmer than before.

Your mom stopped off to refuel along the way, everyone climbing out of the car to stretch, and you made a beeline for the bathroom, splashing yourself with water to cool down.

Joel watched as you came back to the car and you tried not to stare when you saw he was fully hard in his jeans; you felt mortified when you saw the damp patch you’d left on the fabric.

Back on Joel’s lap for the rest of the trip, everyone else was asleep with your mom still driving, radio turned up and blissfully unaware. You’d be able to forget about this, lock the memory away and move on if you hadn’t been so fucking turned on.

What’s worse, you making your stepdad hard, or him making you wet?

-

Joel snuck his hands onto your hips and you tensed, caught off guard by his touch.

“Keep ya steady,” he muttered, fingers digging into your skin.

Holding onto the seat in front for balance, he felt you were trying to lift your weight off him. He tightened his grip on you, slowly pulling you down onto him completely. There was no going back — he was fully hard by now, so he may as well get the most from this.

He pulled you to lean into his chest, his voice quiet in your ear, “S’alright sweetpea, almost there.”

Your head was turned to watch your mom the whole time, and Joel should have cared, but he just couldn’t, not when you were all warm and sweet on top of him. You stayed taut the entire trip home, Joel’s hands on your hips and bulge pressed deliciously against your core. He shifted you atop him every so often, and you desperately wanted to hate how good it felt.

When you finally arrived home, you clambered out of the car and left everyone to fend for themselves, darting for your room. You were about to close the door when you caught Joel staring again, the front of his jeans damp and darkened from where you were perched. You unpacked your clothes, sorted out your washing, and even took a shower but the incessant ache was still there. You finally gave in and shoved your hand between your legs.

-

A loud advert plays on the TV and brings you back into reality, Joel still firmly on top of you.

“Don’t act all fuckin’ innocent on me now, I know those panties of yours were gettin’ all wet with you grindin’ down on me like that.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were real quick to run off to your room that night, you had to stick your fingers up in that cunt of yours to get yourself off?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d love to. I know you dream of gettin’ fucked real good by your daddy, huh?” He twists to look at you, the motion pushing more of his weight onto you. “No point in arguin’ with me, I heard you that night… I’ve heard you on a lot of nights since you been home, always callin’ out for me.”

You don’t talk back as you keep pushing to get him off of you — he has enough leverage just from hearing you at night, he doesn’t also need to know that you are enjoying having his weight on you like this, unable to fight back or do anything about it.

“Now you got nothin’ to say?” He lifts himself slightly and gestures for you to get up, grabbing your wrist before you can walk away. “Did I say I was done talkin’?”

He faces you towards the TV, standing you between his now spread legs. Skating his hands up the back of your legs, goosebumps rise on your skin as he moves higher and higher, lifting the hem of your skirt as he goes. He kneads the swell of your ass, sliding his thumbs under the edge of your panties.

“These the ones you had on that day?”

“Huh?”

“Barely touched you and you already can’t think straight. Are these the panties you had on when you sat on my lap?”

“Uh, no? I don’t know, Joel.”

He pulls your panties up to expose more of your skin, smacking a hand down on the side of your ass. You jolt forward at the impact, a fresh wave of arousal seeping out between your folds.

“‘S a real shame, I bet they were soaked right through, huh? Soakin’ ‘em right now, the way you’re droolin’ for me. You wanna know somethin’, sweetpea?” You don’t bother answering, lost in the feeling of finally having his hands on you. “Never used to enjoy doin’ laundry before you came to visit, but now… Well, now I get to see all the pretty panties you have. And I always know when you’ve been thinkin’ of me, they get extra dirty.”

He reaches up to grip your hip, his other hand twisting to push in between your legs. Your hips jerk as he traces his fingers along your damp panties, pushing up into you against the fabric.

“Seems like you actually were gettin’ off on havin’ me on top of you…” You crane your neck at the clink of his belt buckle and watch as he drags his zipper down. He stares up at you the whole time. “But now you’re gonna sit on me again.”

Pulling you backwards by your waist, he keeps your skirt lifted and hooks a finger into the gusset of your panties, tugging them aside. He runs his fingers through your folds, already sticky with need. You clench your legs when he pulls away again, and he sighs, frantic and satisfied; turning around again you see he’s taken his cock in his hand, thick and hard, coating himself in your slick.

He guides you down onto him and a gasp slips from you as he drags the head of his cock through you to line himself up. Your gasps turn to a strangled moan as he pulls you to sit, sheathing himself completely — it’s a delicious stretch without any prep, and again you find yourself wishing you could hate this, hate him for doing this.

He lets your skirt drop down again as you settle on his lap, and picks up the TV remote with one hand, the other a vice grip on your waist. He flips through the channels, ignoring the fact you’re sitting firmly on him.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? We’re watchin’ TV, sweetpea. And you’re gonna be a good girl for me and sit still. With all the starin’ and whinin’ you do, this was only a matter of time.”

“And all the staring you do?”

“As if you don’t fuckin’ love it.” You clench around him at his words and he sniggers at you. “You’re real tight, sweetheart. Now sit still.”

-

You’re not sure how long you sit like this — Joel staring deadpan at the TV with his hands wrapped around your waist, and you aching for relief as you hold back from squirming on top of him. The initial sting has subsided, replaced now with a steady and simmering burn as you leak around him.

Your breathing deepens as you fight with yourself — do stay composed and try to win, or give in and let Joel make you feel good?

“Won’t lie, sweetpea, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.” His low voice draws you from your inner conflict. “‘Specially now that you got me in you.”

You can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, and he punctuates himself with a lift of his hips, rolling you on him. Fuck it, just give in. Whimpering as he repeats the motion over and over, it’s the most he’s done the entire night.

“You wanna know somethin’ else?” He keeps grinding your hips against him, the stretch of his cock and the strain of your panties against your clit bringing you closer and closer. “Dunno if you’ve ever noticed your panties go missing? S’cause I took ‘em, sweetpea. I take your pretty panties and I use ‘em to jerk off, dirty or clean, doesn’t matter to me, s’long as they’re yours. I smell ‘em, I wrap ‘em around my cock, I picture you wearin’ ‘em when I come all over ‘em.”

At some point in his rambling, he’d snaked a hand around to your front and under your skirt, and shoved his fingers in your panties to circle your clit. Just like a lot of things lately, you’re trying to hate how much you love it.

“That’s it sweetpea, come all over your daddy.”

Your legs tense, trapping his hand as he works you through your high, murmuring praises in your ear as you writhe on top of him — unfortunately for you, it’s the hardest you’ve ever come. He doesn’t give you time to think, wrapping his arms around you to lift you up and bundling your arms behind your back.

“Stay there, ‘m not done with you.”

Steadying yourself by leaning on his jean-covered thighs, he starts pistoning up into you, over and over as he uses you for his own high. Squeezing your hips, he pulls you down to match his thrusts, the room filled with his grunting and your whining and the obscene squelch from between your legs each time he fills you. It’s not long before he starts shuddering underneath you, pulling you down hard as he spills into you with a groan.

He holds you, almost affectionately in his arms as he relaxes, warm breath being puffed into your neck as he nuzzles against you and his hands smoothing over your clothes. Turning to look at him, his lips are just parted and his pupils are blown wide. You try to discern the emotion behind his eyes, surging forward to press your lips to his instead, afraid of what the truth might be.

It’s soft, it’s sweet, it’s almost pure, the way he kisses you back, the hairs of his beard and moustache prickling your skin as a hand comes up to cradle your face, the other still held around your waist. You pull back from him, and he has that usual deviant glint in his eyes when he opens them again.

He stands you in front of him, just like you were before this, and he pulls your panties back over your core. He waits and watches as his spend starts oozing out of you and gets absorbed into the already damp cotton.

“Definitely gonna make good use of these ones, sweetpea.” He winks as he stands up, tucking his softening cock back into his jeans, still sticky from both you and himself. “Next time you can wear ‘em, just like I told you.”

tagging some friendos from the wip wednesday snippets, Imk if you'd like to be taken off <3

@luxurychristmaspudding @whocaresstillthelouvre @milla-frenchy @clawdee @burntheedges

@greenwitchfromthewoods @yopossum @evolnoomym @mountainsandmayhem @bubble-pop-eclectic

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[sad-trekkie-life]

Ok, but this scene… You could see the genuine FEAR in Kirk’s eyes, his realization he cannot control his body. Poor Jim was SA’d multiple times during the show, but this scene made me even more uncomfortable, it is notable by creators focusing on his face.

SA on males is still a topic people do not talk about often enough nowadays, and during many decades male SA in media was either downplayed, or even showed as something desirable or funny. So for me it is interesting to see scenes like this in TOS, where this type of situation was clearly portrayed as disturbing & wrong, and the female abuser was clearly a villain, not just a sexy chic.

Generally TOS is weird about this topic. We have The Enemy Within with some pretty disgusting implications, but we also have The Gamesters of Triskelion where the scene with Uhura was made in such disturbing way I literally had to pause… I didn’t expect it, and Kirk’s hopeless screaming made the scene even worse. But I was happy to see that she was able to fight off the creep. Could tell the episode was written by a woman.

This particular episode showed some interesting female character, where she was clearly an antagonist, morally gray character, although a sympathetic & understandable one, but also a victim of war, and of society - she was clearly as smart as men, why should she rely on drugs to make men listen to her?… Although I wanted to punch her multiple times, she didn’t deserve what she went through, her fate was shown as scary and tragic. This episode is one of the few with a clear bad ending (well, it was a commentary on Vietnam War after all) and where all of the characters (including Nona) make morally ambiguous decisions.

Interesting how TOS is both outdated and ahead of its time.

[takethelongroadhome]

the thing that (imo) no one is acknowledging about astarion is that shame is a huge part of his psyche. just as much as (arguably more than) fear--an important aspect of his fear is that he fears becoming the person he was so ashamed of again.

most of the abuse he's implied to have experienced from cazador is so extremely degrading and humiliating that it's almost unimaginable. his siblings describe him as especially likely to fawn and submit for safety. leon goes out of his way to mock him for being cazador's "favorite," whatever the hell that means.

when he meets the 7,000 spawn for the first time, he's not just willing to sacrifice them for the ritual, he wants them to die--he hates them in a very visceral, personal way. the pity and guilt he feels for them is drowned out by his contempt-- they're "pathetic, horrible." if you call him out on the fact that they clearly remind him of himself, he absolutely flips out and says he killed that version of himself. he not only is willing to trick and kill his siblings, he not only thinks they deserve that, he is surprised that you feel differently. he was one of them barely a month ago! he knows that!

shame -> contempt sublimation is very real. when you hate yourself for what was done to you, it's barely a leap to begin hating others for what is done to them (I mean, he says outright that he doesn't want to help the gnome slaves in grymforge because they're depressing). he hates the person he was forced to become under cazador--the person who simpered and played along with the man systematically torturing him for his own gratification, who had to abandon all self-respect and dignity for survival, and so he draws a sharp distinction between past-astarion and free-astarion and is obsessed with separating himself from any trace of the former. anyone who's a victim like past-astarion gets hit with the full force of his contempt and disgust. free-astarion is good and worthy because he is no longer like those pathetic victims, and is free to look down on them all from his tadpole-enabled throne!

it's to the point where he actively gets joy out of seeing victims brutalized, because he's had to adopt cazador's worldview over the 200 years he spent trying to appease his every whim. (as much as he hates cazador, he also clearly "looks up" to him--he hypes him up as a threat like he's in a powerscaling argument with you. he has to! how else would he have survived?) you are either the powerful and dignified victimizer or the pathetic victim, and for once he gets to be in cazador's position, relishing the just punishment of the weak for being weak. he has no other model for what dignity can look like beyond this victimizer/victim dichotomy. if he wants basic self-respect, he thinks he has to be like this.

this isn't a good worldview, both in the moral sense and in the qualitative sense. it's miserable. astarion will never actually be able to achieve peace or happiness like this. no amount of power will satisfy his sense of shame--it certainly didn't for cazador! what he needs is to feel real compassion for other people and for his past self--not anger, not grievance, not bitterness, but actual compassion. that's part of why you get approval for talking him out of ascending--he may truly, desperately want to ascend, because everything he believes about the world is telling him that the 7,000 spawn deserve it and it's the only way for him to become worthy and whole and dignified, but even more than that, he wants someone to convince him that he's wrong.

obviously this isn't, like, the only factor at play in his head. he contains multitudes! but I do think it's an important one

[heathermason6060]

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings

Warnings: serial killer daryl, rough smut, inconsiderate smut, NO noncon, stalking, stealing, mentions of killing

Summary: Daryl can't decide if he wants to kill you, or fuck you. Switches between Daryl's and Readers POV.

Notes: SO SORRY ITS LONG This was really fun but really challenging to write, I tried to keep him as in character as possible, but that's hard when making him a serial killer lol! I'm making this a two pt, with the reader finding out in the next part.

Some days Daryl thought his luck might run out. He'd been lucky for too long. As far as he knew, no one suspected a thing. Every time he'd go out “hunting”, no matter how long he was gone for, he'd always managed to bring back something. Deer, rabbits, squirrels when prey was scarce. 

It was easier now that the world had ended to keep it a secret. No threat of cops catching on, no more cameras on every street corner, no need to try to erase every possible trace.

The only thing he found to prove difficult had been finding a place to keep his trophies. He didn't really have a preference, hair, a tooth, or a piece of clothing, it was something he didn't understand the meaning of but something he did each time. He kept it in his room in the vent above his bed, behind a few boxes of books. The week prior he took it down to put the wedding ring of a man who tried attacking Rick out on their supply run, he’d had to restrain himself and keep the stabbing to a minimum because of Rick's presence. 

He found himself growing uncomfortably interested in you. A revelation that he really, really didn't like. You were off limits, you were one of Rick's closest friends, you'd been there way too long. And you clearly hadn't done anything deserving of the things he daydreamed about doing to you, unlike the victims he’d killed before.

The more he tried to push those thoughts away, the stronger they came back. His hands around your throat, the way your eyes would tear up as you struggled against him and the fact someone you trusted so much was the one ending your life. 

His eyes followed you over the flames of the campfire as you took your plates and went inside. Aaron had hosted a little get together in his yard in Alexandria, cooking dinner for everyone in celebration of the newest addition to the town. Some nobody he found out there on their own, who jumped at the idea of joining a large group of people. 

If Daryl had to kill you, he’d keep a lock of your hair. 

He couldn't stop staring at it as you went inside. His mind flooded with flashes of pictures of it, his hand in it, stroking your soft locks before grabbing a fistful and putting a knife to your throat. The way you'd squeal and beg, squirm against him as he presses the edge firmer into your skin. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away after you disappeared in the house you shared with Maggie and a few others. 

It was like you were practically begging him to follow you. 

Five different times that week you'd gone out on your own to ‘clear your head’, whatever the hell that meant. 

First time he heard Glenn mention to someone that you'd just gone out beyond the walls, he wanted to follow you. The idea was far too tempting. But he didn't, he knew damn well he couldn't trust himself with you all alone, no one to hear you scream. 

The fantasies he had begun to form disgusted him. He didn't just go out and kill any random human he felt like, he had to have some sort of rules or else things would get out of hand real fast. If he were to get caught, it needed to be someone Rick wouldn't think twice about him killing. Some raider, or any kind of piece of shit who'd be a threat to their group. He needed to have a fallback, worst case scenario one of Alexandria caught him. 

Second rule, none of his people. Ever. His morals were questionable, if he had it his way he'd go out and hunt down any human he came across outside those walls.

But never his people. In a hypocritical way he did care about them, in the same way that any normal sane human being would care about their family. He could never even dream about hurting any of them, he’d rather die. But they had to earn that place in his heart. 

It was a wonder you hadn't been killed by anyone else yet. The way you walked through the woods with your light pink sweater, leaving tracks in the leaves that a blind man could follow, and that fucking humming. He could easily track you with his eyes closed for miles with the way you kept humming. 

You'd gone into an old shack in the backyard of an abandoned trailer.

A part of him felt angry then, how were you so stupid? If it had been someone else following you, and not Daryl, who knows what they'd do to you? And you'd have no idea until it was too late. 

He paused at the thought. If he wasn't careful, that's exactly what would happen. 

He followed you home about half a mile behind the entire time. When you were at the road that led to the gates he turned back, deciding it was the perfect time to go hunting. 

The crossbow on his back weighed heavier than it normally did as he slunk down into the underbrush at the forest's edge. He hadn't decided on what animal yet, but the frustration and confusion alone caused by you made it pretty easy to guess. 

He wiped the blood from the molar before he tucked it in the box in his vent, and decided to pay Maggie and Glenn a visit.

The house was completely empty, so he let his curiosity get the better of him.

Your room was pretty. 

Your bed, a whopping full size mattress, made his pull out look like a military cot. You had an array of paintings on your walls, he remembered some of them. As soon as you got your own room in Alexandria you went out on runs with Glenn and Maggie just so you could decorate it. 

His eyes went from painting to painting, then to your dresser. You kept it unexpectedly neat for someone who behaved so sloppily in the woods. Your journal, a small glass box you kept your sentimental jewelry in, a few makeup products. What drew his attention was the jewelry box, he could see the pair of pearl earrings you used to constantly wear. You never took them out back then, not even to sleep. 

Orange bled into a dark purple against his face and he blinked, coming back to himself in front of your bedroom window. A strange confusion twisted in his gut when he realized he'd just been standing there, staring out your window for so long the sun had set.

You weren't stupid, or blind. 

You'd have to be a fool to not notice the way Daryl had been taking interest in you. 

There'd been several times in Alexandria where you'd be busy doing something, turn around and see him standing off in the distance, staring at you like fuckin’ Michael Myers. 

If you'd go on runs and he came with you, you'd often glance at him to see him already looking. He'd always look away, pull out a cigarette and act like he wasn't just burning holes in the back of your head. 

You'd come to the obvious conclusion that he had a crush on you. 

What else could it be? You'd always thought he was really hot, men like that were hard to come by. Quiet, observant, strong as hell, he’d do anything for the people he loved and he wasn't an annoying pervert who'd suddenly turn into an asshole if you rejected him. Not that you'd ever reject him. 

Each time you caught him staring your heart would race and you'd try to give a friendly smile, but apparently he was too shy for that. Which sucked, because of all the men you could have the hots for, Daryl was the most unapproachable and intimidating. 

“Hey, have you guys seen an earring laying around anywhere?” You asked at dinner, glancing around the table. Carol had invited the inner group over for dinner, she'd made pasta and cookies. 

You could never get enough of Carol's cookies. 

“What's it look like?” Maggie asked beside Glenn, the two of them looking at you thoughtfully from across the table. 

“Just a pearl earring. The one's I always used to wear.” You took a sip of your sweet tea, looking at the other faces to see if any of them had a split second look of recognition. 

“Not that I can remember.” Glenn cleared his throat and shook his head after swallowing a heavy mouthful of alfredo pasta. 

“I'll keep an eye out for it.” Rick tipped his head to you, nodding slightly before continuing eating. You smiled in return, knowing if anyone was likely to find it, it’d be him. 

He'd grown very fond of you recently, the image of you had shifted in his head from another person he was responsible for, to a dear friend he could trust with his life. Mostly due to the way you were with Carl, always doing your best to be a figure of comfort to him. Not as close as he'd grown to Michonne, but more of a young aunt who takes too much interest in art and jewelry.

“I haven't seen you wear those in a while.” Carl spoke up. 

You sighed when no one had any leads. “Yeah, I know. Just been worried about losing them, they're pretty important.” You took the last bite of your cookie, dusting your hands together before speaking again. “It's really weird, they were both in my jewelry box last time I checked, but this morning there was only one.” 

“You think someone stole one?” Carol's voice held a tight tone of suspicion, her eyes narrowing so slightly you could've missed it if you blinked. 

“No, I mean, no one goes in our house besides you all. And I know none of you care about a single earring.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek in deep thought. 

You felt that familiar sensation of warmth on your cheek, like someone had a hot iron near you. 

You turned your head to your left, met with Daryl's eyes from his spot at the end of the other side of the table. 

To your surprise he didn't look away like he usually did. He kept his gaze steady, his elbows propped on the table and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. 

You didn't feel butterflies like usual, and your cheeks burned for a different reason. For the first time you were the one to look away. 

Rick had put together a group to scout out further into town for more resources. The usual suspects, Aaron, Sasha, Rosita, Abraham, Daryl and of course, you.

He hadn't made up his mind on if he was glad or not. He'd been stupid, feeding the sparks of his mild obsession, and that pretty little pearl earring he kept in his jeans pocket felt like twenty pounds of red-hot metal.

They'd set up camp for the night in the woods right on the outskirts of town. Abraham had set up mediocre sound traps around the small clearing, and Daryl couldn't help but snort when you walked right into one and the cans failed to clash together. 

Fire was a dumb idea too. 

Daryl had started to remember why he preferred being alone. Aaron was too used to the safety of the Alexandria walls. 

Abraham told him he'd better put it out after dark, also throwing in a passive aggressive insult, and Aaron stuttered out an agreement. 

It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off you. He sat across the fire from you, watching you smile and laugh and joke with Rosita like you were two young girls in summer camp.

As the flames of his fixation on you grew, so did his confliction. 

He had no problems with you. He'd barely even paid attention to you before you'd arrived at Alexandria, you were just another background character in his story that wouldn't make a difference if you died or not. But you'd grown close to Rick and Maggie, two people he cared about. So by extension, he cared about you too. 

He wasn't sure when it started. It kind of just happened over time.

He was always an outside observer, keeping details of each person he knew on a list in his mind. 

But you, he couldn't think of any reason you'd be so special. It was obvious you were smoking hot, he wasn't blind. But he'd seen his share of beautiful women. Maybe it was the fact you seemed to always have luck on your side, you could go out singing in the woods and never run into any trouble. 

If the two of you weren't careful, that luck might change tonight. 

Abraham and Aaron were busy looking at a map of the town and figuring out what pathing they'd take in the morning. Sasha and Rosita were sitting on their bedrolls cleaning their guns and talking about meaningless things, he didn't care enough to listen. 

You were the odd man out. Just like him. 

Sitting in the dirt on the other side of the fire, fidgeting with a stick in front of you while you thought. 

He could tell you knew he was staring at you again. And judging by the way you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the stick you were drawing circles in the dirt with, you were trying your best not to look up. 

He didn't expect you to look up. He almost let the confusion show on his face, caught off guard by his incorrect prediction. He saw the way your cheeks flushed even though the light of the fire made your face glow orange. He flared his nostrils at the sight, why'd you have to make it so damn hard?

His heart dropped when you suddenly stood and walked off into the woods. 

No one had even noticed, too wrapped up in their conversations. Another thing that succeeded in his self restraint slipping away. 

Daryl followed after counting three minutes in his head. He'd really hoped you'd come back before then, praying you'd be lucky enough to slip back through the trees before he got to his feet. 

It was dark in the woods away from the campfire. 

He could hear you a few yards ahead, your boots crunching lightly on leaves despite your attempts at being quiet. 

He kept his distance, just following the sounds of your footsteps and the slight silhouette of your body, the moonlight seeping through the treetops barely grazing your hair and shoulders. 

This was way too natural to him. 

Now out here you were just like any other victim, but it brought him comfort knowing there'd be no way he could hurt you and get away with it. The two of you disappear off into the woods at night and only Daryl comes back? He might think the people around the fire made stupid decisions sometimes, but they weren't stupid enough to not be suspicious of him. 

Maybe he could say walkers got you. 

He clenched his jaw when he realized he was at such a desperate point that an idea that stupid even crossed his mind. 

“Daryl?”

The sound of your sweet voice made him physically recoil, his hand falling from the knife in his belt that he didn't realize he'd been gripping. 

He could barely make out your figure in front of him. You were facing him, maybe six feet away, standing underneath a large pine tree. 

There was no use in hiding. Your eyes would've adjusted enough by now to see the shape of him. 

Finally, he answered, his voice coming out in more of a growl than a human speaking. “Shouldn't be out here alone.” 

There was silence before you filled it with the crunching of your footsteps moving towards him. 

His body tensed as you drew closer, now able to make out the pretty features of your face. An image of you flashed in his head, blood running down your nose and lips, tears in your eyes, your fingernails raking down his wrist. 

“I just needed a minute to clear my head.” You said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren't out in the dead of night stomping around loud enough for any walkers within a five mile radius to hear. 

Daryl said nothing, his eyes fixed on your face as you slowly crept near. Although he hated not being able to read your expressions, he was thankful for it, because he was hanging on by a thread and if you even showed the slightest hint of fear, he'd snap. He wouldn't be able to resist if your lips trembled, or if your eyes widened and you stuttered a single apprehensive syllable. 

But as his eyes adjusted even further, his mouth ran dry and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt like he'd been slapped in the face. That would've been less of a stun than the look you were giving him, standing only a few inches away from him. 

Your plan had worked. You'd been plotting it ever since Rick paired you up in that group, the silent attention Daryl had been giving you ended up driving you mad. You found it absurd that all it took was a few stares to make you feel like he was some A list celebrity giving you special treatment.

Maybe it was a little stupid the way you went about it, but the curiosity eating you up inside didn't have you thinking straight. Walking off into the woods was one thing, but at night? In woods so thick you could barely see your hand outstretched in front of you? Blindly trekking through the leaves in the mere hope that he'd follow you and make a move? 

You hadn't had sex in way too long. 

Yeah, that was it.

That's why you were making the decisions of a dumb bitch in a horror movie. But at least it was Daryl you were after, you knew you'd be fine if you ran into trouble. 

You thought you'd be fine.

Emboldened by the darkness and privacy you'd secured for yourself, you approached him. Your heart hammered against your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep from panicking, the fear of rejection or a humiliating scolding almost made you change your mind. 

Your eyes strained in the dark to make out the features of his face. 

He looked almost expressionless, but there was something in his eyes, something that had your steady breathing turning into shuddering breaths coming from your mouth. His gaze looked like a textbook example of ‘dark’. Your heart felt like it was literally about to explode, and when you saw his upper lip barely twitch, you let out an accidental sigh, too exhilarated to feel embarrassed with yourself. 

He was right in front of you then. You'd crossed every single inch of ground that separated you, and you could smell his signature scent of cigarettes, smoke, those spicy little mint leaves he'd chew on for his oral fixation. There was a hint of male musk as well, just barely there after a day walking outside in the woods. 

You could see his chest rising and falling more dramatically now. 

He was still dead silent, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you looked over every inch of him. You'd been biting your lip so hard it started to ache, and so you released it, your mouth opening to speak, you yourself unaware of what you planned to say.

The sound of Abraham’s whistle signal breaking through the thick silence had you feeling like you fell out of a plane. You sucked in a gasp and pulled your hand back from where it hung inches away from Daryl's chest. 

Daryl's posture snapped into something so different it gave you whiplash. He was Daryl Dixon again, the sight so drastic you couldn't help but feel unnerved. 

He whistled back before looking at you once more. It was still too dark to tell if he looked relieved or disappointed. “C'mon.” 

Keeping his distance from people had never been a problem for Daryl. But what you did that night had permanently altered something inside him. 

He didn't know if he wanted to fuck you or kill you. Maybe both. 

You became his new favorite pastime. 

When everyone fell asleep that night, he sat with his back against the same tree he'd been sitting under for hours, his eyes keeping their unwavering stance on your sleeping form. All the while he imagined hundreds of different things to do to you. 

His mind kept going between strangling the life out of you, watching it bleed from your eyes. Or the other one, the image where he was burying his face between your legs with his tongue and teeth sucking and nipping, licking till it became too much and you begged him to stop.

He carefully planned out his next encounter with you over the course of days. He acted it out the night of a “party” at Aaron and Eric’s house, so focused on his plan he didn't even know what they were having a party for.

Daryl didn't care if you caught him staring anymore. That night in the woods he could practically smell how bad you wanted it, it didn't matter to him anymore if he disregarded all basic manners.

The last time there was a party in Alexandria was when Rick's group joined. Daryl hadn't gone to that one, the feeling of being an outdoor cat watching indoor cats eating their fancy wet food too much for him. 

But he'd do anything to continue this little game with you. It was new, and there were no rules. 

For the most part he was his usual self, sticking to the side and keeping enough casual conversation to blend in. The perfect balance between himself, and the part of him that imagined in great detail all the sounds you'd make. 

He took a sip of the beer Aaron forced in his hands, his eyes looking back to you. 

You looked like a fresh cut of meat just waiting for him to sink his teeth into. 

The dress you wore hugged every single piece of your body, fitting you in a way that was almost poetic, but it was modest enough that it didn't draw unwanted attention. You were beside Rick most of the night, happily chatting and drinking champagne in a way that oozed confidence. 

Every now and then you'd look at him, and he'd savor all the details of the way your confidence faded into something he didn't have a word for. You looked nervous, but hungry, like someone reaching out a hesitant hand to stroke the pelt of a tamed predator. 

Daryl wanted to bite that hand, hold it in his harsh jaws while your other one stroked his fur. 

You played your part well, after most of the formal greetings and casual conversation had been taken care of you slipped out the back door. 

He counted three minutes in his head before making his exit, which was stopped by Carol.

“Leaving already, huh?” She gave him a knowing smirk, unaware that her assumption he was just bored was incorrect. He'd never been more entertained. 

“Yeah, shit ain't for me anyway.” He played along with a nonchalant shrug, pulling a lone cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Done enough already just by comin’.” 

Carol nodded, that smirk still on her face as she looked at the people standing around making friendly conversation. “Don't get into any trouble. Don't wanna help you hide bodies again.”

Daryl snorted, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. If there was anyone he'd come to for help hiding bodies it definitely would've been her. “Yeah yeah. Night Carol.” He gave her a pat on her shoulder before turning sideways to fit through the cracked door. 

He hadn't expected you to be so good at this. He'd been prepared to walk down the steps of the porch and see you standing down the sidewalk, waiting for him like he was your prom date. 

You weren't too good, though. He found you rather easily. The bottom of your heels left slight little indents in the dirt, leading between the houses, down the street, and right up to the sidewalk in front of your house. 

His heart rate sped up a little when he remembered that house was completely empty, all but you.

Or so he thought.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. He checked every room, growing increasingly irritated when each one turned up nothing. He was about to give up and just head home when he checked your room one last time. 

Something caught his eye, a blade of grass, his eyes followed the bits of grass to see those black heels sitting under your dresser, taking the place of your boots.

You tried to keep from anxiously picking at your fingernails as you stood behind the thick underbrush at the woodline, watching for any sign of movement along the outside walls. 

There was a spot at the back wall near a platform no one really watched anymore, which is where the both of you had gone to leave without being seen. 

You were beginning to think maybe you'd read him wrong. Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered that look he gave you at the party, it was impossible to describe. He was lacking any sort of expression, but in his eyes held this darkness that made swallowing your champagne hard when you'd seen it. The way he leaned against the wall near a group of people, his eyes steady and fixed on you, you could only decipher that as a look of craving for something he'd been wanting for a long time.

If you hadn't been looking at the Alexandrian walls, you would've missed it. For a split second you saw a flash of dark clothing, even darker hair, and you darted from your position behind the thickets.

Thankfully it wasn't as dark as that one night. 

The sun had dipped down below the trees and out of sight, but it left just enough light for the sky to be a dark blue. The full moon made it even brighter, and soon you were in one of the houses right outside Alexandria. 

You stood in the living room and waited. You'd already checked the house for walkers before this, not keen on the idea of a growling monstrosity of green and purple flesh ruining whatever might happen there when Daryl arrived. 

If he arrived. 

You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't coming. The heavy front door was open just a few inches, you'd wanted to be able to see him approach the house, to take him by surprise, maybe giving him the same fright he'd given you countless times.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy. You felt that feeling again, like you were in danger, the feeling you might get being stalked by a large cat. 

There was a breeze behind you, and you recognized it as a draft from the back window being opened. 

Although it was happening behind you, your mind raced as you played out the scene. His hands bracing against the walls on either side of the window, his first leg dipping over like a spider emerging from its tunnel. 

The tap of a boot meeting the wood floor under the window, so light and careful you almost didn't hear it. A second foot, he was in the house, only across the room from you. You held your breath as the footsteps drew near, slow, deliberate, you could tell just by the timing of his steps he was approaching you like a leopard closing in on a wounded deer. Confident, patient, nearly sadistic.

The feeling of his breath on your bare shoulder sent chills through your body and goosebumps down your arms. It was cold and barely there, you felt like if you turned around you'd be met with an empty house.

His fingers were just as light as his breath, tracing the thin dress strap over your shoulder, down and to the middle of your spine. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Daryl could be this confident in this way. He acted like every antagonist in a romance novel, dark and self-assured with every move he made. 

You felt yourself relaxing as you leaned your back against his chest, feeling the leather of his vest on your skin, as well as the buttons on his black shirt. 

The feeling of his hand snaking over your shoulder and up to your neck succeeded in sending every last drop of blood in your body down between your legs. You were fully prepared for the best slow, deep, mind-blowing sex of your life, but that quickly changed when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

It wasn't a firm and sexy squeeze, it was a ‘wait that's actually way too tight’ squeeze. 

Your eyes shot back open but you tried to keep your cool, your hands instinctively reaching up to grab at his wrist.

Apparently, Daryl didn't like that. 

He suddenly had your back pressed against the wall of the living room with movements so quick and precise it made your head spin. You looked up at his face, lit with a dim blue light from the windows, searching for any signs that would be cause for panic. 

He decided to give you that reason you were looking for, and wrapped his hand around your neck again.

For once, Daryl wasn't fighting some internal battle on if he should kill you or not. 

He'd made the decision as soon as he crept in the window and saw you standing in the living room, facing the front door and biting at your nails. 

That decision wasn't final, though, you had the power in your hands to change his mind. 

Hopefully you'd be as lucky as you always were. 

He looked down at your face as he kept his one handed grip on your throat, burning the image in his mind. Your eyes were wide and full of this otherworldly beautiful fear, so much uncertainty it made his already hard cock twitch. 

Your hands were still on his wrist, as if it gave you some sort of control, something he found endearing. You still trusted him, you still thought you had a chance to regain the control you thought you had this whole time.

“This what you wanted?” He breathed, looking from your eyes to your lips. Your face had turned a shade darker from his grip, your lips turning a pretty hue of red. “Wanted me to hunt you down, and then what? Huh?”

He watched for your reaction, waiting to see how you'd play the hand you'd been dealt, and to his pleasant surprise you managed to nod. 

Daryl's hand loosened just enough to send the blood back to your head and you sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a trembling whimper. 

His lips twitched into a soft smirk, and he dipped his head down to press his lips against yours. You kissed him hungrily, swallowing the growl from his throat as your bare knee pressed against the aching bulge in his jeans. You moved it in firm circles, and he decided that earned a returned gesture.

He used his knee to roughly spread your thighs before giving you the same treatment. The whine that drew from your lips, and the way your eyes rolled back in your head, had him letting out a deep groan. He ground his knee up between your legs, long enough to feel the wetness seeping from your panties and through his jeans. 

You didn't get a chance to tell him about the bed you'd cleaned upstairs for this. Which was unfortunate, given you'd gone out of your way to do so, not that he would've cared anyway. 

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, fingers finding the zipper of your dress and unceremoniously pulling it down to your ass. Your heavy breathing fueled his desire and he grabbed a fistful of your hair before yanking your dress down with his other hand so fast it burned. 

With the grip he had in your hair he forcefully guided you onto the floor, releasing you only to settle between your thighs and slide his hands up your bare chest to his favorite part of you. 

You got that look on your face again. Lust blown pupils, breathing softly through your mouth. You still hadn't figured it out yet, that you could very easily be in danger. 

This time he used both hands. 

A yelp got choked from your throat as he squeezed, allowing himself a few seconds to please himself. The white of your eyes turned a light pink at the edges, a few beads of tears forming there as well, the sight making his dick throb. 

He released your neck and you gasped, sucking down lungfuls of air as your head spun. You felt like you were on a carousel the way you got so dizzy. 

While you regained your bearings he unbuckled his belt and took out his dick, his right hand wasting no time in giving himself relief. You took the opportunity to slide off your panties, and when he saw the glistening of your wet folds in the deep blue lighting he growled. The sinful sound earned a whimper from you, and he refocused on your face to see a pitiful look of impatience.

Daryl switched to stroking himself with his left hand, and guided the tip up through your slick folds. He savored the way you looked then, biting your bottom lip as you prepared yourself. 

Instead of giving the satisfaction he pulled his tip back and carried on fucking his hand. As soon as your eyes opened and you went to protest, his free hand went right back to your neck.

He loved the way you looked then, desperate and pathetic, so full of frustration it leaked out through tears in your eyes. He squeezed hard, completely cutting off blood and air to your brain, tugging his dick faster as you squirmed.

Daryl lifted up his knee to pin one of your thighs to the floor in an effort to keep you still. He took his hand away from his cock and spit in his palm, wasting no time in getting back to touching himself. 

He could've easily come right there. If he wanted to, he could keep squeezing just a few more moments, and your squirming would've stopped. He could spill his load on your stomach and effortlessly slip into his cleanup routine, but aside from the fact that part of him didn't really want to kill you, the way you orgasmed had him fucking frozen.

He hadn't even touched you, but you came. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together and the leg he didn't have pinned down wrapped around his waist, your hips rolling in a desperate attempt to get friction against your clit. He relaxed his hand from your throat and you let out this bubbly whimpering sound that made his hips instinctively jerk forward. 

Daryl watched you, holding his breath without realizing it. She just came from you chokin’ her. The words repeated over and over in his mind as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm. 

He had to snatch his hand away from his dick to keep his own orgasm at bay. Not yet, not a chance in hell, not after you just did that. You deserved something for showing him the hottest thing he never would've thought possible.

His body went on autopilot. He slid down from your body, planting kisses in a trail from your neck to your naval, down to your thighs, then back up again. He buried his face between your legs, not giving you a moment's notice or time to recover. He swirled his tongue around your clit, grazing his teeth against it before sucking it between his lips.

You bucked against him like a wild horse, the stimulation so much your body didn't know how to react. It was desperate, finally getting some stimulation, but you'd just had a world shattering orgasm only seconds before. He wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you down against his mouth again, his grip tight to keep you from squirming away again. 

The only control you had was your ability to choose what to do with your hands. Your fingers wrapped around clumps of his hair, winding up so tight it made his scalp burn. 

He growled in response and took your clit between his teeth, holding it there as a stern warning, only letting it go when you stopped pulling so damn hard.

If he had the power to freeze time for everything but the two of you, he would've eaten your pussy for hours. But he settled on just long enough to pull another orgasm from you, sliding the tip of his tongue from your throbbing clit to the new trail of slick cum dripping out of you. 

Daryl didn't give you time to recover from that one either. As soon as your cry faded out he flipped you on your back, ignoring the yelp of protest you made when your hip bones dug into the hard floor beneath you. 

The only warning he gave you before shoving his cock into you was a quick slide of his swollen tip between your puffy folds. Just right enough to lubricate the head, and then he drove it in.

The way you groaned in pain from the stretch almost made him cum right there. He stilled inside you, not for you to adjust but for him to fall back away from the edge. The benefit to you was just lucky. 

“Fuck.” It was the first time in a while that he'd spoken, and it was solely due to the way your hot plush walls squeezed his dick like a fist. 

He should've known you'd feel like that, he hadn't seen you with a man the entire time he'd known you. His chest shuddered with his ragged breaths, and once he was ready he put both hands flat on your upper back. He put his weight there, keeping him upright so he could lift his hips and fuck his dick into you with all his weight.

Your arms slid out in front of you, your hands grasping for something, anything, you needed something to hold onto.

He wouldn't grant you that kindness either. He rested his knees back on the floor on either side of your thighs and grabbed your arms, bending them painfully behind you. When he held your wrists together at the base of your spine he started fucking you again. 

Each rough snap of his hips drove a whiney moan from you. He liked that a lot, it sounded similar to a different type of crying, and he slowed down to keep his dick from getting friction burns. While you used the opportunity to squirm under him in an attempt to get more comfortable he spit on his fingers, letting it drip onto the base of his cock before changing positions once again.

He moved your arms up over your head and laid down on top of you, the weight of him pressing down on your back pushing all the air from your lungs. 

Your check rubbed against the floor as he started thrusting again, this time settling on a new pace, rough and fast despite the fact he barely drew his dick out. If he wasnt fucking you so roughly, the feeling of his head resting against yours would’ve given you butterflies. You became acutely aware of the closeness, there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies, and every grunt and groan he made had his lips brushing up against the side of your ear.

He used his hips to grind his dick inside you, the new motion drawing filthy gasps and whines from you from the way his tip seemed to roll and dig into each and every crevice inside you. You'd never felt anything like that before, so used to the normal thrusting. He only pulled back about an inch, rolling his hips in a way that had you shamelessly moaning. 

Daryl moved your hair from the back of your neck, pushing it up and away before leaning down to dig his teeth into the skin right at the base of your neck. He bit hard, something you didn't expect, and you cried out in pain, your body jerking under him. 

It was hard for you to breathe with his full weight on your back. The heat of his body gave you uncomfortable hot flashes, adding to the sweat you'd already made. Your hair stuck to your forehead and you made an attempt to push it off, which was made difficult when he changed paces once again.

He started drawing out further now, but he'd just drive back in harder, faster, causing your body to grind roughly against the wood floor. The skin over your hip bones started to burn as well as your nipples, something you found almost agonizing but shamefully pleasurable at the same time. 

He fucked you like that until you came for the third time, now around his dick. He pushed himself off your back and used his hands on your shoulders to keep you pinned down, watching as he breathed through his mouth at the way his cock disappeared inside you. 

You were lucky he felt like a new position. 

He waited until you stopped writhing under him from your orgasm before grabbing your thigh to turn you on your back. 

Relief washed over you as the pain in your hip bones faded, only to have that relief taken from you when he grabbed your waist and yanked you up and off the floor. 

Your feet didn't even touch the ground, your body swaying as you tried to get a sense of gravity, Daryl's hands tight on your sides as he took you to the couch. 

All you could do at that point was relax and let him move your body for you, your hands shaking against your chest as he sat you on the arm of the couch. You let him push you down on your back, your ass and legs dangling over the arm for a few dizzying seconds before he grabbed your legs and held them around his waist. 

Daryl pushed his dick back in your abused pussy and groaned, gripping your thighs tighter so he could pull you closer to him.

Your back arched almost uncomfortably, your hips angled up against his pelvis, the only part of your back that touched the cushions of the couch ended up being your shoulders. You were thankful you could at least breathe now. 

Daryl was skilled at taking small bits of relief like that away. 

He leaned down and bit your already sore nipple so hard and so suddenly you nearly shouted. Your hands instinctively went to grab his hair for support, but he leaned back and your fingers fell from his face. 

He was proud of the new angle. Your pelvis tilted up and him fucking down into you sent him as deep as possible, and soon he began fucking you rough enough that it bordered closely on too painful. 

Lucky for you, you liked it. Your walls burned pleasurably from the dragging of his dick, and he started speaking again. 

“Look at you, dirty little whore.” He teased as he looked down at your abused body with a grin. Your nipples and hips were red from him fucking you into the floor, your neck equally as red from the force of his hands. 

Your sweet, sweet pretty face, twisted up in a mix of pleasure and pain, your cheeks red, your lips swollen, streaks of black makeup running down your face. The sight made him seriously consider picking up drawing, because that look was, without a doubt, the best thing he'd seen in his entire life. 

“Daryl,” You finally plucked the courage to speak to him and he raised a brow, impressed, he'd gotten used to you taking it so well without any complaints. “Too much.” Your voice broke as you whined, another orgasm bringing you to shambles. 

He snorted as he watched you come around his dick yet again, your words asking for mercy but your body clearly asking him otherwise. 

“You can take a little more, yeah?” Even he was becoming spent, his heart banging in his chest so hard he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his hands down your sweaty chest to your breasts, his dick twitching inside you at the way you cried when he pinched that same sore nipple. 

“I don't know,” Another wave of shivers overcame you, eliciting exhausted, long and shaky whines. Your body couldn't process going a little under two years with little to no sexual activity, and then suddenly being mind numbingly overstimulated with the most exhilarating sex you'd ever had in your life. Each time you thought you'd gotten used to it he'd pull the rug out from under you, either by causing pain or giving you more pleasure that you knew what to do with. 

As if on cue you felt his flattened hand smack the side of your face, demanding your focus. Your eyes struggled to find him, your vision fuzzy and wobbly, but when you looked up and saw him your heart fluttered. 

“Look at me. C'mon.” He didn't want you passing out on him, that took all the fun away. 

Despite the obvious fact he had a clear disregard for your comfort or discomfort, the way he was looking down at you sent butterflies through your stomach and chest. His pupils were so blown with lust that you couldn't see the pretty color of his eyes, and his eyelids were heavy with the approach of his orgasm. His lips, glistening from the way his tongue had darted out to wet them, parted as he huffed in ragged breaths. 

You could tell if he had a picture of you like this, he'd be reacting the same way with just his hand. The thought had a moan bubbling past your lips. 

“C'mon.” His hips snapped forward roughly, jerking in a break from his steady aggressive rhythm. You cried out from that, your hands finding the sides of his dangling belt to grab onto like the reins of a horse.

He'd held back his orgasm as long as he could, but the sight of you shaking and trembling under him, exhausted and overstimulated, he couldn't last much longer. Your face twisted in discomfort as he fucked you faster again, your hips suddenly doing their best to wiggle up and away from the frenzy of his dick. 

You'd managed to get a few short moments of relief, sliding backwards until his dick nearly slid out.

His upper lip curled in disbelief, and he shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don't be a baby, you can take it.” You were yanked back down on his dick, the sensation of being forced back into overstimulation had you moaning in distress. 

You nodded your head feverishly, setting your jaw as you looked up at the ceiling, trying your best to keep it together. But each time his hips would ram into yours it made his crotch slam against your clit, and it got too much, your breathing sped up as the panic of overstimulation set in. You really tried then, actually tried to wiggle away, and to your surprise, and much needed relief, he stilled his hips. 

You were expecting him to maybe find a better way to restrain you, or put you in a position you couldn't move from, but he just used the moment to catch his breath before his demeanor changed completely.

“Hey, hey, shh.” The sweetness in his tone made you whimper, your eyes falling closed as he comforted you. It felt so fucking good, you found yourself willing to do anything and everything to feel that tenderness some more. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” He cooed as your breathing slowed and your fingers stopped shaking.

Daryl released your thighs and with unexpected ease, he slipped his hands under the arch in your back, picking you up and moving so he could sit down on the couch, keeping you stuck on his cock the entire time. 

The new position of being on top sent a fresh wave of pleasure flipping in the bottom of your stomach, the tip of his dick pressed right at the end of your walls.

It wasn't painful like you'd felt before when your cervix was accidentally hit too hard, quite the opposite, the feeling of pressure was so strangely good you found yourself pushing down with all your weight, desperate to feel more. 

Daryl tossed his head back with a grunt at the feeling, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting it. His hands took their place on your hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin there. 

He'd only switched to this position because his legs were getting unsteady, but the way you looked above him was something he didn't expect to enjoy as much as he did. 

He took a second to catch his breath before he planted his boots firmly on the floor, pressing his back against the couch, and when he was perfectly leveraged he used his hands to keep your waist hovering above him, using the angle to fuck his dick up into you so hard you immediately came again. 

The way you came for the fourth time made his jaw drop. 

He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, taking in every second of it as he breathed through his open mouth. The way your face tensed up in twisted concentration, and then the way it dropped as you fell apart, your mouth falling open with a guttural moan that put every single goddamn porn video he'd seen to shame. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your mouth hung open in such a beautiful ‘O’, he broke. 

He let go of your waist so your full weight would slam down on his cock and he came, his head tilted back against the couch, his dark hair falling away from his face. 

You watched his face the same way he'd watched yours, rolling your hips down against him as you drew out every wave of the strongest orgasm you'd ever had. He looked fucking beautiful. You'd do everything in your power to get him like this again, but this time with your camera. 

His orgasm literally shook him. He clenched the skin over your hips in a tight grip, using it to keep you as tight as possible against him. In those few seconds his mind went blank, almost devolving him into an animal. Those instincts wanted to keep you there on top of him, so he did, rolling his pelvis to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Daryl held you there until way after he came down from his high, only releasing his grip on your skin when he felt his dick grow soft. 

You couldn't move off him if you tried. Your legs felt like you'd lost all muscle mass, same with your arms. Your body slumped forward and you fell against his chest, your nipples burning as they rubbed against his shirt and vest. 

His arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing your body tight against his, his hips giving a few last weak rolls up against you. 

It took you both a while to catch your breath, the mouth breathing leaving the two of you uncomfortably thirsty. 

He made the first move when he realized you couldn't, and he slid your body off of his into the seat beside him. He sat there for a few more seconds before he carefully put his tender dick back in his pants. 

His belt buckle clinked noisily as he fastened it, his fingers shaky and inaccurate.  He watched as you slowly rose to your feet and grabbed your panties, the rising and falling of his chest gradually slowing. 

The sight of you struggling to climb into your dress had him feeling a smug sense of satisfaction. He chewed on the skin around his thumb, watching you slip your feet into your boots before you leaned against the wall next to the front door. 

You looked at it and faltered, realizing that the two of you had been pretty loud. When you looked back to him with a concerned expression you were just met with an uncaring smirk, the man now on his feet and wiping the sweat from his face with the top of his shirt. He grabbed his crossbow from the floor and flung it over his shoulder before leading you back home.

@ophelialaufey

[idiotmf]

Moving into a house infested by shadow demons

I may have this recent obsession with my newest creation for random blurbs I write, but... hear me out while I dump random information on you that you didn't ask for... (also NSFW, minors scram)

Shadow demons are beings made of, well, shadows. They can hide in yours or manifest as anything they want, shape-shifters if you will.

Since they are beings made of shadows, they cannot catch light, therefore they are a little hard to make out, often appearing more as a silhouette but they do have very distinctive, glowing eyes.

Very original, I know.

Now... They infest houses, apartments or just general areas. They're typically regarded as low level demons, as they are bound to the area they infest, feeding off of human emotions; specifically strong emotions like fear, hopelessness and, most importantly, lust.

I currently have two shadow demons that I adore writing about and they are... Well, I feel like they would hate each other.

× Aryllus

Aryllus is a sweetheart. He isn't interested in feeding off of emotions. He finds life fascinating, he loves spending his endless time reading, observing the animals and humans outside this old brick cottage that he can't leave.

He's very blunt and emotionally not the most intelligent but he makes up for it with his academic intellect. He's been trapped here for a century, maybe two. He doesn't know. Time is of no concept to demons, after all.

He's also shy at first. He doesn't want to be discovered by humans. He dislikes being treated like a pest or an inconvenience, so he would rather starve for all eternity than be viewed as a monster.

When you do discover him, and you don't seem afraid of him, he rejoices. He's patient and gentle in every interaction, thinking he has no morals as a demon but very clearly being a kind entity.

But... be careful, even if a shadow demon's primary food is emotions, Aryllus will probably steal your sandwich. And then try to eat the plastic it came in. (-_-')

And then there is...

× Oryllion

Oryllion is heartless, manipulative and possessive. His only interest lies in breaking the inhabitants of his infested house, making them his mindless little toys for his insatiable hunger.

His preferred method is keeping you in a constant state of arousal by any means necessary. You're working on something? Too bad, he's eating you out/ sucking you off under the table. You want to leave? No, he's tying you up with his tendrils and attaching little suckers to your nipples until you scream in agony and pleasure.

He's dominant and degrading, never once uttering your name. You're merely his pet or his toy. His eyes, while nothing more than glowing white orbs, show disgust with you. Even while he shapes his body into the most incomprehensible shape, writhing with obscene appendages and a sheer endless amount of limbs just to force you to orgasm for his next feast, he clearly looks down on you. Humiliation is a part of the fun for him.

But... As much as he wishes, even Oryllion can't fuck everyone into submission. Occasionally, families will move into his domain, much to his dismay.

But hey, at least he gets to traumatize children with his SFW Eldritch horror shapes for a quick snack.

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: The Na-Baron's birthday celebration on Giedi Prime at the beginning of the season makes you realise just how much work you'll have to put into becoming Empress—and even more into avoiding Harkonnen, who's showing you way too much attention. This is something that your almost-fiance definitely shouldn't like, and something that he doesn't notice. After all, there's little you can see in the darkness of Giedi Prime. Warning: kind of royal au!; 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; Inspired by: Bridgerton and "Would've, could've, should've" - Taylor Swift Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART I ~•♤♤♤•~ PART III ~•♤♤♤•~

"Smile. And powder yourself. You look pale, as if we were going there for a beheading and not a ball." Your mother says, adjusting the position of the grid of diamonds decorating your head. You flinch as you feel the cool metal of the gems brush against your cheek.

The damn thing was heavy, but nice. You remember perfectly how Lord Luwael's eyes lit up when he saw you wearing a similar ornament in your hair.

"In a way it is. First we will see the fight in the arena." You are sceptical of what comes next when your ship lands on Giedi Prime. You didn't like this place. It was black and white, barren, devoid of life and any moral principles. It was therefore an ideal place for gossip to arise - especially the spicy ones.

Besides, your... last encounter with Na-Baron was still fresh in your memory. Especially in dreams. On those terrible nights, you dreamed about how, in the darkness of your gardens and under the moonlight, you allowed him to do... more wicked things. Things that even husbands and wives shouldn't do behind their chambers' doors. And as much as you felt aroused after every dream like this, you were also disgusted with yourself and hated the Na-Baron even more for your little fantasies.

This helped immensely when it came to increasing motivation to win the emperor's cousin's heart, but no amount of flirting with him helped you forget the touch of a certain Harkonnen. You found it very interesting. And you hoped that after fighting in the arena, your body would adopt the same attitude towards him as your brain. He was dangerous and should have been avoided by you at all costs, and yet, in every fantasy about him, you enjoyed his burning touch more than the previous ones and wanted much more to happen between you two.

"Better for you. Half of these charpies in silks and sparkles will faint and never set foot in a ballroom. Take this opportunity and stick to the arm of the emperor's cousin." She advises you, licking her finger and twisting a lock of your hair so it rests unruly against your temple and falls onto your cheek.

"Lord Luwael wrote to me all summer. Besides, you saw for yourself that he visited our planet several times."

"It does not mean anything. He could only be bored, so he flew around the planets looking for entertainment. You have to charm him, Y/N. Drive him crazy with a... desire for you so great that he will do anything to have you—only then will he propose to you. It's still a miracle that he looked at you, since we come from a worse dynasty than him." He reminds you dryly, and you press your lips into a thin line. He doesn't wait for your answer. She leaves your room, clearly expecting you to follow her, when the ship announces that you are about to land.

You take a shaky breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your home-coloured dress hugged your curves perfectly, showing off the best of your figure, and your makeup highlighted your cheekbones and gave your eyes depth. All of this made you an irresistible sight. Lord Luwael would have to be blind not to appreciate your beauty. You will leave Giedi Prime with a ring on your finger or on the ship of the emperor's cousin. You did not see any other possibility, nor did you want to allow something other to happen.

You put on your soft, genuine smile and leave the room to join your mother on the exit ramp. Moments later, the ramp descends, revealing the black sun of Giedi Prime. You frown and squint as you adjust to the atmosphere on the planet. Your mother and you come down to earth. As soon as you can see beyond the patch of land in front of you, you shiver as you notice the Na-Baron waiting near your ship. You feel your anxiety and nervousness rising inside you, but you try your hardest to maintain your polite smile.

"Viscountess Y/L/N. Lady Y/L/N." He greets you, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your spine. You try to control your breathing and heartbeat, as panic is rising within you.

He looks... even more intimidating than on your home planet. That night, his mask had covered practically his entire face, but now you could see him in all his glory. And damn you, because those tempting lips he had weren't the only advantage of his appearance.

His face looked as if thousands of painters had worked on it, as if it had been lifted from ancient paintings depicting beautiful demons tempting people to damnation. And, oh, what a handsome devil he was. If you believed in an afterlife, you would wonder if he escaped from hell to lead people into temptation.

You couldn't help but wonder if he would recognise you. Does he know that it was you who went with him to the garden a few months ago? You try to read some reaction from his face, but he maintains an emotionless, composed demeanour as he looks at you and your mother.

"Na-Baron. It's a great honour to be here to celebrate your birthday. May fate always be in your favour." She greets him kindly. You shiver in relief as he thankfully doesn't pay much attention to you as his gaze comes back to your mother. 

"I hope it will. The maids will show you the way to the guest wing and your chambers. All celebrations will take place tomorrow. I hope that you will soon get used to the atmospheric conditions in Giedi Prime. Until then." He nods at the maids standing behind him. Bald women come up to you and hand you tiny baskets. "Our guests find it quite useful."

You look at the things in the basket; your attention is caught by sunglasses with black lenses and a strange coat. Your mother reaches for her coat and, with practiced skill, slips it gracefully over herself, along with her glasses, as you stare unsteadily at the strange fabric.

"Lady Y/L/N. May I?" Na-Baron asks. However, he doesn't wait for your answer.

He comes closer to you, takes your cloak from the basket, and hands it to your servants. He wraps the coat around you, adjusting it to your figure and making sure to cover all of your exposed skin.

"We Harkonnens have a special pigment in our skin to prevent the carcinogenic effects of sunlight and burns from long-term exposure. You must remember to wear this coat outside to avoid any diseases, Lady Y/L/N." He says, standing behind you and tying the fabric of your coat together. He uncovers your face for a moment and puts on your sunglasses. "Nor your beautiful eyes to be damaged." He whispers, so only you can hear him.

You shiver, staring at him blankly, glad that your sunglasses allow you the convenience of hiding your eyes from him and whatever you're focused on.

Was it possible that he recognised you? Was he giving you a hint that he knew you were his white swan? NO. Impossible. He probably flirted with every single woman who came to Giedi Prime. After all, he was going to find a wife this season. He had to show his softer side and hide Giedi Prime's brutality from the naive noblewomen so that some stupid and naive one would marry him.

"We thank you very much for your kindness, Na-Baron." Your mother speaks for you, obviously angry that you haven't spoken up for yourself. You just nod, shifting your gaze to the castle behind him, trying to escape his watchful, searching gaze for a moment.

"Your welcome." He responds with a nod to your mother.

He takes your hand in his, making you tense slightly as he leans down and presses a short kiss on it. A shiver runs through you as you feel the shape of his lips through your gloves, and your mind automatically recalls the memory of that night. You smile at him politely and quickly join your mother's side, leaving Na-Baron on the ramp as another ship arrives.

"Do not act like that. Don't show that you're afraid of them. And be careful. It's very common for people here to disappear after showing disrespect to the Na-Baron. You know how, right?" She whispers furiously to you as you are led inside the palace by the maids.

"I... I know. I'm sorry." You say this thoughtfully, turning discreetly over your shoulder to watch him greet the other noble families. This time, he doesn't kiss anyone's hand or help anyone put on their protective cloak. You shake your head. He probably saw that you weren't engaged to anyone yet, and that's why you got... special treatment from him.

"Just don't act like a scared mouse. I raised you better."

Right. Your mother raised you better. That's why you shouldn't have disappeared into the garden with this mysterious stranger from the very beginning. It would save you a headache now that wasn't caused by the oppressive atmosphere on Giedi Prime. You just wanted this season to end as soon as possible. Preferably your marriage.

You walk hand in hand with Lady Y/F/N towards the arena, gossiping about what happened since last night. The Giedi Prime sun is somehow more bearable today; you don't know if it's because of the items given by Na-Baron or because the weather was exceptionally not as cruel as the day you arrived, but you feel much better. (Or maybe it was because you didn't see Na-Baron Harkonnen today.)

"I tell you, Princess Irulan was furious. I heard she destroyed her room, and the maids worked all night to get it back in order. Do you think it's possible? That the Emperor wants to marry her off to Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha?"

"Possible. It wouldn't be a stupid move. After all, Irulan cannot become emperor. She may be the firstborn, but she has no right to rule. It is logical that her father wants to marry her off to the second-best possible party, of course, when it comes to financial and political issues."

"Second best? Who's first?" You just smile at her question, watching the other noblewomen and their families walk towards the arena.

"Of course, as a woman in love, I must say that Lord Luwael."

"Has someone talked about me?"

A faint blush appears on your cheeks. You and Y/F/N turn around to see a smug Lord. You give him an equally mischievous smirk and curtsy, grabbing the arm he offered you.

"I do not think so. You must have misheard, Lord Luawel. Maybe it's the sun of Giedi Prime that bothers you so much that you lose your hearing?" You tease him as the three of you enter the arena.

"Lady Y/N, you don't have to worry about me so much, as sweet as that is. Fortunately, I don't need as much protection as you ladies do. However, I must admit that Giedi Prime is a terrible place. It does not allow you to see the natural beauty of certain things, taking away their colours."

"Maybe there's something… positive to be found here?" Y/F/N asks hesitantly as you pass a group of Harkonnens heading to the arena. The men say something in their harsh, unpleasant language that makes you shiver. You are only further insisting that there is nothing good to find on Giedi Prime.

"Positive? With all due respect, Lady Y/F/N, the Harkonnens have destroyed everything beautiful that could be left on this planet. Including their appearance and behavior." You giggle, careful not to let anyone else but the three of you hear you. But you wonder why your friend's attitude is so... sullen. She plays with her glove nervously as her eyes fall on the baron's older nephew, Rabban. "I don't know who is worse, him or his younger psychopathic brother."

"I think both of them are equal in their madness." You comment, agreeing with Lord Luwael.

Your eyes involuntarily land on Na-Baron, who exchanges a few words with one of his servants. You shiver when his eyes find yours—as if he has a special detector that makes him aware every time someone's eyes linger on him for too long.

He nods to you, looking at you carefully and examining your dress. His lips twitch into a smile when he sees you're wearing the coat he helped you adjust to your figure yesterday. You quickly turn your head towards Lord Luwael and give him one of your practiced, beautiful smiles.

"I… I'm sorry. I should join my family. Lord Luwael. Lady Y/N."

You frown, watching her walk away like a beaten puppy. You decide to question her about her strange behavior later in the evening. Now you had to focus on your lord.

"And you, lady? Are your wonderful mother and father with you?" Lord Luwael asks, placing his hand on top of yours after managing to penetrate the layers of material protecting your skin. He acts as if he wants to pull you much closer to him.

You feel the skin of your hand burn where it touches his, but unfortunately, not from... the excitement of this tiny, forbidden contact. Someone's eyes are watching you carefully, but you are too afraid to look towards Na-Baron to confirm that it is his irises that are staring hatefully at your joined hands.

"My mother had a headache, so she staid in her chamber. Unfortunately, my father couldn't show up at all. I hope you won't abandon me and leave me so lonely in this barbaric place, my lord?"

"I wouldn't dare do that. I am a gentleman. After all, someone has to catch you if you faint, my lady."

You smile sweetly at him, ignoring the sudden urge to kick him in the crotch for his words. You must maintain the innocent demeanour of a cute, awkward, and sweet noblewoman. Even though you hated it...

"Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate it, my lord." You say, wondering if you should actually pretend to faint and let him catch you. It would be very romantic if he carried you out of the arena in his arms and took you to the medic. Plus, you wouldn't have to watch... Na-Baron's entire performance.

You take your seat in the guest box. The arena shakes with the screams and applause of people who are truly eager for their Na-Baron to shed blood. Lord Luwael hands you the binoculars and gently removes your cloak as you both notice that you are protected from the sun's rays by a special black glass window.

You shiver as the Harkonnen's war drums sound and the announcer says something in their language, announcing Feyd-Rautha's fight.

A blush involuntarily blooms on your cheeks when you see that Na-Baron has decided to fight without a shirt or any armour protecting his chest. You hungrily stare at his muscular torso as he shows off his warrior body, which is decorated with paint—probably their war symbols, bringing good luck in battle.

"A real poseur and playboy. He only does it to attract attention."

"Probably. But you can't say, that it doesn't work, my lord." You say and nod towards the other ladies, who are also staring at the muscular figure of a warrior that Na-Baron proudly displays.

"Does it work for you?"

"I'm just a woman. But I prefer… slightly more hairy men." Lord Luwael chuckles at your comment, giving you a mischievous look. His attention briefly returns to Na-Baron, who lets out a belligerent cry after the murder of the first prisoner. You see him shiver slightly and his eyebrows furrow before his attention returns to you.

"So would I also gain your attention if I appeared… in a similar condition?"

"My lord, you would then have my complete undivided attention." You respond equally flirtatiously. The man sitting next to you hums in appreciation. His hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he stares at you, entranced.

"You, lady, have my undivided attention at all times and occupy my every thought." Unfortunately, you can't respond to his comment with something as sweet as Na-Baron's angry, painful scream that echoes from the arena.

Your attention returns to the fight. Na-Baron fights the last opponent, who, surprisingly, is not under the influence of drugs. You watch the fight with curiosity, even more so when you see blood pouring from Na-Baron's side.

"He had to distract himself. So far, he hasn't had any problems fighting him." You hear people commenting around you, but your eyes are focused only on Na-Baron.

You shiver as his gaze wanders towards your box, and it feels like he's looking right at you, making sure you're watching him. You put this idea out of your head. He probably didn't even know your name. He couldn't recognise you; he would definitely show it by now if he did.

You shiver as he lets out a menacing scream and charges at his opponent. His movements are quick, well-aimed and aimed as he delivers slashes, perfectly avoiding the blade of the prisoner he is fighting. You hold your breath as he knocks the blade out of your opponent's hands and stabs him in the stomach several times.

Na-Baron whispers something to the warrior and slowly lowers him to the ground as he draws his last breath. You can't take your eyes off his bloody form. His piercing gaze is still directed towards your lodge as he raises his blade. The crowd in the arena screams, people applaud, and you feel Lord Luwael next to you slowly begin to fall to the ground.

"Lord Luwael!" You scream, attracting the attention of the people around you. Several men help you, and they lift the unconscious lord. They carry him outside, and you want to follow them, but unfortunately for you, the second round of Na-Baron's fight begins, so you can't just leave. So you go back to your seat, thinking hard.

Lord Luwael apparently had another negative trait besides being a hopeless romantic—a firm believer in preserving a strictly traditional, patriarchal system. He fainted at the sight of blood and abhorred violence.

You sigh, wondering how the hell you're supposed to cope with a husband and an emperor who's afraid to draw someone's blood and pick up a sword.

Your gaze falls back on the fighting Na-Baron. If only he was less... Harkonnen... You shake your head at the idea that crossed your mind. No. You are going to become the empress. Nothing could change that plan, and certainly not one night of oblivion and pleasure with a brutal, psychopathic future Baron of a dead planet.

But that doesn't stop you from admiring the way Na-Baron's muscular chest ripples with each rapid breath or the way his muscles twitch with his movements. And unfortunately, you can't stop your thoughts from wandering and imagining him moving into a much more... intimate situation.

"Did she watch the fight?" Feyd asks his servant as the medic stitches up his wound.

He finished the fight a few minutes ago. People were probably starting to gather in the ballroom, but he had to clean up and put things in order before he appeared in public. Before he shows himself to you.

"At first, she was a little distracted by this... lord. But he fainted halfway through Na-Baron's fight, so afterwards her attention was entirely on you, my lord."

"He fainted? Weak spawn. Did she enjoy my performance?" Feyd asks, slightly irritated by the way the medic's fingers are shaking with fear as he tends to the wound.

"She was definitely impressed. I think Na-Baron's decision not to wear the breastplate helped, as did the fact that the guards made sure not to let Lord Luwael into the arena again."

"Very good, you did a great job. Keep it up. I'm going to need you to distract that pet of hers for a while. You can do it, right?"

"Of course, my lord Na-Baron."

"Women like flowers. Those outside Giedi Prime." The medic comments as he finishes stitching up his wound. Feyd looks at him for a moment, then nods at his servant.

"This is a wonderful idea. Order a vase of the rarest flower species to be placed in her chambers. I'll give you a note tonight, after the ball."

Before Feyd finishes his sentence, he already holds the medic's arm and plunges a dagger into his stomach. The man groans in shock as he stares in sheer terror at the Na-Baron.

"Because of you, I'll be late for my own ball." He growls and puts on a black shirt, ignoring the blood on his fingers as he walks out of the infirmary.

He walks through the halls of the palace, hurrying to his chambers to change. His thoughts involuntarily go to you, remembering your intoxicating scent and the softness of your skin under his lips. Damn him if he lets some lesser man have the taste of what is his.

You belonged to him from the moment he killed for you the emperor's dog that tried to bite you. If necessary, he will kill another one to make sure that no man will dare to adore you again.

But Feyd couldn't do it; as much as he dreamed of it, he preferred to gain your... feelings rather than force you to marry him. And maybe he enjoyed the thrill of chasing you, but only as long as his claims for you weren't at risk. And this little... lord was hanging around way too close to you.

He didn't know at all what you saw in this weak man. He wasn't handsome, he couldn't fight, and he couldn't defend you. Certainly not before Feyd. You needed someone strong—someone who wasn't afraid of your true nature or unleashing it. You weren't yourself hanging out with that lord. He watched the two of you closely, and countless times he saw you tighten your hand around a glass, a fan, or in a fist when that lord made a remark that irritated you, but instead of snapping back like you did with Feyd, you smiled falsely sweetly and nodded obediently.

His beautiful, brave swan, instead of hissing at the fools around her, only tried harder to attract them. And this annoyed Feyd immensely. You could be so much more than just a pretty face. You had a character that Feyd admired in you, but instead of showing it with pride, you hid it deep inside, afraid of society's opinion.

You would make a wonderful Baroness. With you by his side, he wouldn't worry about anyone seeing him as weak man. And he himself found worthy company in you during that wonderful night on your planet. If only you hadn't run away from him, hadn't believed the rumours so much, and weren't afraid of him, but rather of what he might do to you, you and Feyd would make a wonderful match.

As he approaches his chamber, he hears the ladies giggling. He decides to hide in a side corridor and wait until the gossiping women leave. But he perks up his ear excitedly when he hears what they're talking about—and that you're among them too.

"Na-Baron put on quite a show. Have you seen these muscles?" Feyd can barely keep from giggling. But he can't help but wonder how you assessed his... muscles.

He did it especially for you—to tease you a little with what you could have had that night if you hadn't run away from him like a scared little mouse. How many nights did he spend dreaming about catching you before that frail lord got you...

"Oh please. He's a cruel brute. Psychopath. Did you see how he treated that poor man? Moreover, most of his opponents were under the influence of drugs."

His hairless eyebrows furrow. He feels his rage rising; he wants to come out of his hiding place and show this royal bitch a real fight, but he knows that his uncle will kill him for laying a hand on the emperor's daughter.

"I'm not surprised at him. After all, he's the next Baron, they won't risk his life for some lame arena show."

"What do you think about it, Lady Y/N?"

Feyd licks his lips, eagerly waiting for your opinion on his fight. His heart beats fast as he wonders what you will say. Will you praise his fighting skills? Appearance? Ruthlessness and brutality? Or maybe you loathe it as much as Princess Irulan does?

He waited nervously, his heart beating fast as he waited impatiently for even one word from you.

"I… think we had a rather… interesting fight anyway. Regardless of the circumstances."

His excitement fades when you limit yourself to such a simple, diplomatic, and natural answer. He doesn't want to hear something like that from you. He wants your opinion; he wants to hear the burning heat in your voice as you express your true thoughts and emotions with great conviction, even if they go against what he wants. He wants your passion—the same passion he has experienced the few times he has had the opportunity to be around you.

"But it's not honorable! How dare they treat prisoners like this?" Irulan growls furiously at you.

"And in your country, how are they treated, my princess? They either end up in a noose or have their heads cut off. Here, maybe being under the influence of drugs isn't the best thing, but at least they have a dignified death for warriors—those who don't fight Na-Baron are fighting in the arena for their freedom and are not under the influence of any substance. I don't think this is the case in many countries. Besides, it boosts morale and entertains the people. Two birds with one stone."

Feyd feels a smirk involuntarily form on his lips. He knew that his little, wise swan would think just like he did. However, I regret that you do not praise his skills as a warrior but only focus on the usefulness of such fights. Next time, he will try harder for you. Maybe he will even give you the heart of the strongest warrior?

"Of course you'll flatter him, Lady Y/N. After all, he clearly has his eyes on you. I saw the way he looked at you the day you arrived—it was clearly love at first sight."

"Oh yes! And I saw him looking across the arena towards your box! He got so distracted by looking at you that one of the prisoners stabbed him in the side! It's so sweet, just like a real romance book."

Feyd freezes for a moment. Was it that obvious? He couldn't, right? Maybe he was accidentally looking for you in the crowd of other people, but... he couldn't be that easy to read, right?

"I would never dream of courting Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, not even in your wildest fantasies my ladies. So maybe let's focus on the real, more likely matches that could happen this season."

At your words, Feyd clenches his hands into fists. How dare you so openly reject his possible advances? It was the best match in the empire. In fact, he could be a future emperor, and he'd damn well do it for you if that was all it took to get his hand in marriage. Seething with rage, his hand involuntarily went to the blade attached to his side. He had to find someone; he had to take it out on someone; but then again, he needed to hear more. Why does the thought that he adores you bother you so much? Did he do something to you? Has he offended you in any way? Was it your reluctance and disgust at the idea of having him as a suitor just because he was a Harkonnen?

"You mean your questionable engagement to my cousin?" Princess Irulan mocks you, fueling Feyd's anger both with the way she speaks to you and with your engagement to that weak piece of flesh wasting air in your presence.

"Why questionable, my princess? I think this would be the perfect match. Lady Whistledown herself devoted several of her paragraphs to it."

Feyd rolls his eyes at you. Have you also read the nonsense of some old lady who was bored enough to comment on events in the world of noble families? And here he thought that his swan was too smart for that...

"My cousin may be stupid and be fooled by a few pretty words and eyes, but he doesn't make rash decisions. He knows what kind of marriage will be best for him. He won't marry someone from a lesser family just because some anonymous writer is having fun spreading rumors."

"Do you have someone special for Lord Luwael in your mind, maybe?"

"I think we all know very well who I mean."

Feyd smiles, and for the first time, he is not hating the princess's existence. If she actually took this weak lord from you, the fight for your hand and heart would be much more enjoyable for him; after all, he wouldn't have to worry that you would marry some other man while he was trying his best to get closer to you. It would definitely make courting you easier if Irulan tried to charm your weak little lord...

"Hmm… possible. But tell us, princess, how's your Bene Gesserit training going? Has the Reverend Mother assigned you any task yet?"

"I believe this is none of your business."

Ah, so you knew. You knew that the Bene Gesserit were planning to marry him to Irulan—something he certainly wouldn't allow. But if he lets you believe it, would you fight for him? Would you try to convince him to stop chasing Irulan? You could. After all, you would see it as a threat to your position as empress. Feyd is curious what lengths you would go to if such a situation occurred—how far would you go in trying to seduce him and leave Irulan?

Feyd is no longer eavesdropping on the rest of your conversation. You pass him, and he quickly sneaks back to his chambers, changing his clothes. His mind races as he wonders what he should do now. And he decides to give you one last chance before he puts his plan into action.

The balls at Gieid Prime are… different from those you usually witness. The ballroom is lit by a thousand candles, the room is kept in semi-darkness, and you are more than convinced that some orgy is taking place somewhere in the corners and recesses of this huge hall.

You are just finishing your dance with Lord Luwael when Feyd-Rautha enters the hall. Na-Baron is greeted with loud applause and cheers. He smiles at the crowd of people, showing a row of night-black teeth. You shiver at the sight. You just don't know if it's out of fear or desire. You realise that every time you think he can't make himself a more terrible monster, he comes in like the bane of your existence and proves you dead wrong.

Oh how you wanted to finally leave Giedi Prime.

"Unfortunately, I think we should wish him a happy birthday. Everyone does it."

You nod at his words, seeing the rest of the guests actually gather around Feyd-Rautha. You place your hand in the crook of his arm and let him guide you towards Na-Baron. The alcohol you managed to drink without your companion's attention and the man's mere presence will give you a bit of courage. Although you know, if a real fight broke out between these two men, the candidate for your husband would probably faint from fear when he saw the first blood and lose it. What a pity he had such an annoying condition...

"Na-Baron. Happy birthday." Your companion says as you reach Feyda-Rautha. His blue, ocean-glacial eyes stare at the two of you, ignoring you for a moment to send an appraising glance towards the man whose arm you're holding. You see a strange tension building in the room between these two...

"Thank you very much, lord…"

"Luwael." He finishes for him, angry that he is not properly recognised and acknowledged by the Na-Baron.

"Ah yes. It slipped out of my mind. Wouldn't you be offended if I took the liberty of asking your lovely partner to dance? It's my birthday, after all." Na-Baron's attention is completely on you, and you wish he and Lord Luwael had spent more time on this little alpha male fight. You open your mouth, ready with an excuse to deny him the dance, but the man next to you speaks first.

"Of course. Enjoy yourself." Na-Baron gives him a smug smirk that only widens when Lord Luwael flinches at Feyd's black teeth.

You suppress a grimace and give your hand to the Harkonnen. He takes your hand with incredible gentleness and leads you to the centre of the room, right onto the dance floor. Before the dancing starts, he has the courage to take off your gloves. You give him a confused look, your heart beating faster, as he leans in to press a kiss on your hand. You shiver as the skin of your hand registers the now familiar shape of his plump lips.

He places his hand on your waist and connects your hand with his, leading you to the rhythm of a rather calm song.

"Such fire… and yet your anger does not reach Lord Luwael. What did he do to deserve this special treatment, my lady? Maybe you're worried about him after he fainted in the arena like some weak, little boy?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." You say, turning your gaze away from him, wanting to spend the rest of the dance in silence. You keep your eyes peeled for Lord Luwael, but unfortunately, you can't find him anywhere. As if he had evaporated.

"Is it so, little swan?" A cold chill runs through you as you use the nickname for you that he used that night. You feel your world freeze for a moment. He continues to lead you in the rhythm of the dance, allowing himself to pull you a little closer to inhale the scent of your perfume, but you don't notice, terrified of what he told you he knew.

"I... no." You blurt out, trying to control your emotions, and put on the mask of indifference on your face again.

"Well... I guess you know. Your heart beats so fast, almost as fast as that night when I tasted your wonderful nectar straight from the source. You know there's nothing as sweet as your juices?"

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" You growl furiously, unconsciously digging your nails into his palm.

"So she can still hiss! And she even has claws. I remember how sweetly you scratched my neck with them before you ran away like a scared little bird."

"Shut up." You growl, feeling like you're starting to lose control of this whole conversation. And not just conversation. You noticed that you had somehow found yourself outside the ballroom. The music from there reaches you in the form of a gentle hum as it presses you against the wall of one of the empty corridors. You swallow, realising what a sh*t situation you are in.

"Or what? Watch your tone, little swan. It's my birthday. You should be nicer to me. I didn't actually hear you wish me a happy birthday; your little puppet did it for you."

"Unlike some, he is a real gentleman, not a puppet or monster."

"Ah, but we know very well that you don't want a gentleman. A gentleman wouldn't do to you the things I did to you, and we both know how deliciously you moaned under my touch and how you shuddered as my tongue tasted you. Do you think your weak lord can do to you the things I showed you in the darkness of your house planet? That he can satisfy your desire? That he can free you from your shackles of social conventions as I can free you? You need someone bigger than the lesser man. I've already told you that. You won't settle for a man like that."

"You do not know anything about me. One night—not even the whole night—spent under my skirts won't suddenly make you know my true desires. You have changed, Feyd-Rautha. You're not the same boy from the Lankiveil I used to know." He hums thoughtfully at your worlds, watching you carefully and curiously.

"Hmm… maybe you're right, little swan. I think I need to do more to convince you that I am right."

You sigh as his lips press against yours in a frenzied, passionate kiss. You punch his chest, trying to push him away, but he presses hard against you, pinning you against the wall. You feel the toned muscles of his body as he grinds against you, demanding full access to your mouth.

You bite his lip until it bleeds, but that only turns him on more. His strong, large hand cups your breast, squeezing it tightly. You let out a surprised moan, and his tongue somehow finds a way to slip into your open mouth.

The material of your dress tears under his strength; his hands pull your breasts out of your dress and caress them as if his life depended on it. His fingers graze over your sensitive nipples, and you can only moan into his mouth as he sends a warmth straight to your core that reminds you desperately of how his tongue was working so well to release you that you had denied yourself.

You come to the shameful conclusion that maybe you could have let him bring you to orgasm before you ran away from him.

His lips finally leave yours, but you don't enjoy this freedom for long. They move to your neck, licking and nibbling madly, as if someone were about to tear him away from you. And the worst thing about it all is that you don't really know if that's what you want.

You scream as his black teeth dig into your skin, leaving a mark in the crook of your neck. You hear the click of enamel against metal as he accidentally catches your necklace, but he doesn't move away; he just sinks his teeth into it, as if trying to split a diamond in half.

He pulls away from you; you see the blood on his plump lips—your blood—and it only makes you more aroused. His hand slips under your skirts and reaches to your core, caressing you teasingly. You gasp, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

"Such a good little whore when she gets fingers and a few hickeys on her neck. Does your lord know what a shrew you are until someone kisses the venom from your lips? Does he know what fire burns inside you? Does he know what a wonderful feast you have between your legs for a thirsty man? Does he know you as well as I do? Has he seen how beautiful you look in the whirlwind of passion?"

His every question is punctuated by the rhythm of the thrusting of his fingers. You moan softly, holding back tears of pleasure, as he slowly brings you to the edge. You dig your nails into his shoulders, holding onto him with all your strength as he plays with your clit and sucks hickeys on your breasts.

"So sweet… so soft… so wet. And it's for me. Just for me. For Harkonnen. Say it. Tell me who fucks that little pussy so well with his fingers. Tell me who's driving you crazy. Tell me whose attention you really want, you wanton little bitch, and maybe I'll let you cum, despite the way you treated me… and on my own birthday…"

"I... you... you..." You gasp in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.

"Nah. Not like that. My name, beautiful little swan. Scream my name. Exactly the way you should have done that night in the garden." He whispers into your ear, biting the lobe. You moan as his fingers go deeper inside you, and his other hand caresses your breast, playing with your nipple.

"I... ah... Feyd.... Feyd, please..." You cry for him as your hips grind against his hand, seeking the sweet release that only he can give you.

"Yes…just like that…cum for me. Give me my birthday present and shout my name." You can only nod dumbly as you feel him take you over the edge. You bite down hard on his neck, refraining from making any noise as you tighten around his fingers, finally coming.

You gasp, feeling the metallic taste of his black blood on your tongue.

You move away from him as if burned. Your heart beats insanely fast as you stare at him, trying to process what happened. He pulls his finger out of you with a squelch, and you blush furiously. He puts his fingers in his mouth, sucking them. He moans at the taste of you, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Perfect birthday gift. Although I believe I can get more." Just as he moves to kneel between your legs, you hear the voices of the guards patrolling the halls. You push him away from you in panic and run forward, trying to improve your appearance a little.

This time, he's not after you. He didn't make any attempt to chase you. He allows you to traverse the halls of Giedi Prime without the feeling of his breath on your back, but you are very aware that you have miserably lost today's battle against him. He did exactly what he wanted with you and would have gone much further (and unfortunately, you would have let him) if you hadn't sobered up with the possibility of getting caught.

You told yourself that this was what you needed to get over him. After all, forbidden fruit always tasted the best, and once you experienced the Na-Baron's... undoubted skills, you could move on and marry a man who was the absolute opposite of him, a man with whom you didn't have to worry so much about the future, as with Feyd-Rautha.

Yes, this was what you needed—one last affair before the wedding—to make sure you're doing it right. Because what would await you as Na-Baron's wife, or, God forbid, concubine? Nothing good. The Harkonnens were the harbinger of misfortune, suffering, pain, aggression, and, apparently, good sex.

Whatever you and Na-Baron were doing, it had to end now.

"I'm supposed to be his wife?! This barbarian?! You can't do this to me, father! Feyd-Rautha will destroy the empire and plunge us into the blood of war and senseless brutality. He's a psychopath; can't you see it? Surely there must be another way to keep the throne!" Irulan's screams echo throughout the guest wing. Your eyes widen in surprise, the unpleasant pang in your chest only adding to your daze.

So the rumours were true. The emperor wants to give Irulan to Feyd. You don't like this idea very much. If the Harkonnens married into the Corrino family, your right to the throne of Emperor, or rather the right of Lord Luwael, would be in jeopardy. No one stood a chance against them.

You snap out of your daze when you see the door handle to Irulan's chambers begin to move. You quickly run to your room and close the door quietly behind you as you wonder what the hell just happened in these few hours.

You return to your chambers blushing and with a rapidly beating heart. You can still feel Na-Baron's lips vividly on your neck, and you're sure you'll have to cover it tomorrow so no one will see the hickeys that bastard gave you.

How stupid you were again! How could you let him get so close to you again and corner you when you were alone in his territory?! And what's worse, he knew that it was you who went with him to the garden that night; he knew and he wanted more from you...

You shudder as wicked thoughts enter your mind, all because of Na-Baron's tantalisingly absurd whispers. How could you enjoy his attack on you? How could you moan so loudly in a deserted corridor? How could you shout his name and attract the attention of the guards?

You were damn lucky that no one caught you, that Lord Luwael disappeared somewhere, and that he didn't see you giving yourself to this... this monster like a mindless whore. It had to be the alcohol. They must have put something in your drink; you couldn't just... enjoy the touch of a Harkonnen, a Harkonnen who just a few hours ago had slaughtered you in the arena before your eyes and was enjoying it like a little child enjoys a candy... A Harkonnen whose body was ethereal beautifully...

You are snapped out of your thoughts when your mother enters your room in a state of… extreme daze.

"Mother? Have something happened?" You ask her, worried that your little (another) tryst with the Na-Baron might have turned out to be not such a secret at all.

"Lord Luwael just asked for my consent to propose to you. You did very well, Y/N. You will be an empress."

You swallow nervously and smile, nodding your head. Your mother hugs you, and you feel millions of thoughts racing through your head. You will become empress, but only if Irulan and Feyd-Rautha don't marry, and there was only one way to make sure that would happen.

You had to play a game with the devil himself and seduce and deceive him until the day it would be too late for his marriage to Irulan and you and Lord Luwael would take the emperor's throne. But how the hell were you supposed to do that without getting burned?

Taglist: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran

[todelve-intomy-monthlyfixations]

While Damian might have very questionable morals due to his upbringing in the league, one thing that I believe he is firm about is equality between a man and a woman.

Think about it. His mother, who trained him mercilessly, is also one of the best fighters to exist. People fear talia. Like, actually, fear her. But at the same time, his mother was the only real parental figure he knew for a long time and while her affections may have not always been transparent, they were still there. Hence, he regards his mother very highly. She raised Damian single handedly, and Damian views this as another display of his mother's strength and endurance. Then, there is his sister Cassandra, who continuously leaves him impressed with her skills, though he will never say it out loud. Not to mention Stephanie with her determination and Babs with her intellect. Then there's Raven, Selina, Diana, Kori, etc. Basically, every female that he has ever had an encounter with, is completely badass and amazing — further proving his upbringing of believing men and women are equal.

Damian thinks this is common knowledge with the way that the rest of his family acts as well, because they can often be seen working alongside strong female partners, so he has never had the idea that people may think otherwise. It isn't until Cass and him are facing a D-list villain who makes a petty comment about how women shouldn't be in this field or should just sit still and stay pretty, that Damian realised that some people in this world are really THAT fucking stupid. He doesn't understand how someone could look at his amazing sister (who is clearly kicking that villain's ass), or women in general, and view them less than simply because they are women. It shocks him. When this villian slips out this comment, he's slightly frozen, and all he can do is look over to Cass. Cass, who seems like she is unbothered, but Damian doesn't miss the way her jaw tenses and fists tighten out of anger, ever so slightly, though she tries to remain level-headed (something which, one again, Damian is amazed by). After handing over the villian to custody, he still feels tense and appalled at the nonsense the villain says so he brings it up with Cass and asks her how often she has to deal with ignorant idiots like that and how she handles it because he wouldn't be able to stand it if his skills were constantly questioned. Cass offers him a strained smile and places a hand on his shoulder before saying "more often than you will ever know."

Following this, Cass's words sort of stick with Damian and he begins to just become more attentive — on the field and at school. It is then that he realises how unfair the world is to women. He begins to hear the small, backhanded taunts a few of his classmates make, hears the disgusting things that his sister and teammates have to put up with, and he hates it. But he realises that staying silent is no better than adding to it so he does his best to do better. The next time he's faced with one of his peers belittling a female classmate, he makes it known that it is in fact because of that very female classmate, their school has a national title in debate. Next time on patrol when he hears stupid things being said about his sister or partners, he makes sure the opponent sees just how truly amazing the women he (proudly) fights alongside are.

[crazysodomite]

i never know how to phrase this right bc i dont want to seem like one of those people who thinks Sexuality Is Evil. i don't have any problem with sexuality at all. please dpnt assume😭

that being said, i feel like some people overcompensate for sexuality being shamed by making everything sexual... idk how to phrase it better to not sound weird like that but its like this: society says nudity is inherently sexual, and thus disgusting. and people overcompensate for it by going "yes, nudity is inherently sexual, but that's good, because it's Hot and Sexy" instead of just being "nudity isn't inherently sexual, its just neutral" and something being or not being sexual isn't a reflection on its moral quality. going to a sauna isn't inherently sexual, it can be, which doesn't make it good or bad, but it just a neutral action at the same level as being in a room of people who aren't naked in a sauna.

in the same fashion people think sexualizing someone = good and signals respect. i respect you as a person because i think you're Hot and i say sexual things about you uninvited because sexuality = good and finding someone sexy is respecting them and flattering to them.

in the same fashion people see art and say "this is obviously sexual, which is fine, because sexuality is good" while ignoring the author's intent/wishes. my drawing of a nude figure isn't inherently sexual, seeing it that way is fine, but i don't enjoy that interpretation pushed onto me.

i might get flak for this but i don't even think there are clearly defined borders of what is and isn't sexual and trying to define it isn't productive. something that is Inherently Sexual to you might not be sexual at all to another person. and seeing something and going: clearly the author intended this to be sexual because i see it that way 🧐isn't appreciated. im an adult and saying sexual things to me unprompted is still inappropriate, that's to say nothing of Not fucking checking age in bio before commenting on someone's post.....

sexuality isn't bad in any way but seeing certain things or displays of affection or nudity as inherently sexual presents A lot of Issues, even if you think sexuality is Good

[eroguron0nsense]

Garp, Fascism, and Parental Failure

Garp is truly one of the most interesting One Piece characters for me because of the extent to which his dogged, relentless devotion to a fascist system–and the supposed "order" it promises to uphold in the face of anarchy or rebellion–perseveres no matter how many times it fails him and his son and his grandsons. He's fully aware of the deep-seated corruption and atrocity, and feels some kind of moral obligation to bend its rules to protect the innocent (as we can see with his attempts to protect Rouge and Ace), but when faced with widespread femicide and infanticide, genocide, slavery and endless examples of egregious cruelty, he is unable to comprehend the notion that the system is indefensible, or that the only moral choice he can possibly make when faced with that level of atrocity is to leave and resist it. His son recognizing the inherent, inexcusable failures of the World Government and its armed enforcers–literally quitting the force to start a revolution– changes nothing. The order to slaughter pregnant people and infants at Baterilla can't convince him otherwise. The countless instances of bribery, the tolerance of atrocity from state-sanctioned privateers, everything about the history of the Valley of the Gods are all things he's aware of, and takes issue with, but never comes to the conclusion that he cannot affect positive change within a system designed for oppression. The public execution of his grandson–a prime example of the marine's fundamentally irrational, arrogant, vindictive cruelty clearly bound to blow up in all of their faces even before their Pyrrhic victory at the summit war–makes him waver, but even when confronted with this obvious, indefensible injustice against a child he raised and rescued by people seeking to murder him on live TV and desecrate his corpse as a show of power, he cannot bring himself to act against it in any meaningful way no matter how much it hurts him to leave his grandson to die. If he can't veto it, he'll stay Vice Admiral and suffer through Ace being sacrificed on the altar of fascist state control, and functionally leave Luffy for dead in the process while he's at it. He fails every single person he wanted to love–Ace, Luffy, and almost certainly Dragon–and allows himself to be reluctantly complicit in countless crimes against humanity again and again and again because he's so deeply steeped in this notion of preservation of order through state control that he convinces himself that even this disgusting, atrocious, fundamentally flawed and untenable excuse for a government is better than abolition, better than revolution, or just the act of expecting accountability or literally anything better from the systems that issue false promises to protect you. Dadan beating the living shit out of him and calling him a failure as a grandfather, as a self proclaimed defender of the people, is one of the most important scenes in the Postwar Arc because a lesser series might frame Garp as a tragic, helpless figure suffering more than anyone else due to conflict of love and duty, but One Piece refuses to whitewash his actions/inaction or allow the grief and suffering caused by systems he's complicit in to take precedence over its real victims: the D brothers.

There's so much I could say about statism and anarchism and the ways people have internalized the supposed necessity of state violence to the extent they can't oppose that violence even when it ruins them or their loved ones, but that horrible indoctrination and its devastating consequences for both him and his family are what makes Garp so fascinating to watch and so thematically/politically important to One Piece as a whole.

[severussnapemylove]

Sometimes I wonder if JKR even realises she wrote Snape as a victim of sexual assault. Because he unambiguously is, and she writes him as traumatised by the incident. So it seems mad to suggest that she might not have thought through the implications of her own writing, but if she did get it, I am baffled by how sympathetic she remains to James. Harry is never really made to confront how vile his actions were, because he looks for comfort from Remus and Sirius rather than telling Hermione who would react in horror and disgust, and he gets to skip over it completely in The Prince’s Tale. JKR clearly considers James a hero, and has confirmed that in interviews. She’s even more sympathetic to Lily, who is portrayed as an absolute paragon of goodness, morality and virtue, despite her being attracted enough to James *after* he publicly commits sexual assault on a less privileged kid to marry him! What a malfunctioning moral compass. JKR also has no sympathy at all for Tom Riddle Sr, who is a victim of rape, and his rapist Merope Gaunt, who is herself strongly implied to be a victim of incestual abuse, is condemned by Dumbledore and the narrative not for what she did to Tom but for not being as courageous as nice, pretty, middle class Lily Evans because Merope committed the crime of…dying in childbirth. The only conclusions I can draw from this is that JKR is the sort of ´feminist’ who doesn’t believe men can be the victims of sexual crimes, and that deep down she thinks being a member of the underclass who can’t drag themselves out of it alone is indicative of moral failure.

This! All of this!

I don't think she puts it together at all. She's incredibly tone deaf about a lot of the abuse she puts these characters through. And with the blasé attitude she has about male victims of SA in the books definitely goes along her brand of toxic radical "feminism". It looks like she just doesn't recognise the severity of what happens to these characters. On top of Severus's attack and Tom Riddle Sr, remember that Ron was roofied with love spell that was intended for Harry, and Moaning Myrtle is incredible predatory towards the boys. Sadly, this attitude carries over from the author to a chunk of the fandom too. I've seen so much dismissiveness of the assaults against the male characters, especially Severus. And it's even more disappointing when I see people who have experienced abuse saying that what Severus endured "didn't count" as abuse. Had someone today on another platform having an absolute meltdown at me, saying that what happened in SWM wasn't sa, and that he wasn't traumatised from his abuse and if his anger was caused by trauma then why wasn't Harry the same. Seriously, you can't tell another person that what they experienced wasn't "bad enough to be abuse", that's a very warped mentality. Survivors are supposed to support each other, not belittle each other's trauma. Also, what book did they read that they think Harry doesn't have issues from the life he endured? He has different issues than Severus, yes, because he had different life experiences and everyone's reactions to trauma are different.

"Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage."

WTF is this!!!??? This is just plain victim blaming. "Your mothers' courage"? Lily had supportive, loving parents, was loved by her peers, admired by her teachers, had a very comfortable, secure life. Merope was physically and mentally abused for her whole life. They really criticized the poverty stricken, abuse victim for not being as "strong" as the Mary Sue of the Wizarding World??? Toxic as hell. Personally, as someone who has dealt with self-harm, mental illness and generational trauma in my family, this attitude of "they weren't strong enough" is nauseating and infuriating.

There really is a disturbing trend of extreme poverty equalling a dead-end life with no hope. Which is again an extremally toxic and judgmental attitude and a very dangerous message to put in a book aimed to children. The attitude towards abuse, poverty and indecent assault of men is beyond problematic, not only in the books but in far too many members of the fandom.

I could rant more but this will go on for pages.