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solspina · 3 months ago

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Rating primarchs based on how good of a boyfriend they would be

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Horus : 8/10

He’s a nice guy for the most part, very charismatic and though very goal focused he’s also kind and open to those he’s closest to. Outwardly, he’s very straightforward, stern, and absolutely ruthless to his enemies. There’s humanity within him though, and he won’t keep his friendly, loving demeanor away from those who deserve it. Find him at a celebratory event, drunk with Sanguinius, moments in which he’s full of nothing but laughter and love for his brothers and the one who stands beside him. His love language is quality time.

Leman Russ : 4/10 (negotiable)

Though he knows love, it seems to be quite strictly familial. He’s described often as ruthless and barbaric, naive and braggish. If you can put up with things like that, I’m sure he would be a fine boyfriend. Similarly enough though, he’s had many women try to court him all at once, and successfully. I can’t promise his loyalty if someone better looking comes along, as no one ever taught him the importance of that. Outside of the constant, lingering fear of replacement, he can have his caring and understanding moments, occasionally bringing you gifts from crusades and sieges on other planets. Maybe his loyalty to the emperor would apply to his lover too, if you tell him what it means to you. His love language is gift giving.

Ferrus Manus : 7/10

Rage is his fatal flaw if we’re being honest. Not towards you, but towards battle. Toward you I imagine he would be more straightforward and honest, though trustworthy and strong willed to make your relationship work. Loyalty will never ever ever be an issue with him, but it seems like he spends more time with war and battle than he does you. He spends time with you when he can, though, and he truly does care. Points off for his temper. He gave his brothers personalized gifts, and i’m sure he would go through many lengths to do the same for you. His love language is gift giving.

Fulgrim: 6/10

He’s constantly trying to be perfect, and he wants whoever he’s with to be perfect too. A lot of the time, it gets to his head. He can be incredibly ignorant quite often, and isn’t very considerate of your feelings. You’re more of an idol to him, a model. You’re human, so he sees you as perfect, something he and his people should strive to be like. Youre idealized, and under rose tinted lenses, this looks a lot like love… Lots of acts of service and gift giving.

Vulkan : 10/10

The only man you will ever need point blank period. He’s patient, he’s empathetic, he’s kind, he’s humane. He’s incredibly easy to love, and he truly is beloved. The Salamanders love you too, sometimes listening to your commands as if they were his. You’re respected as long as you’re under his arm. He wants to understand the way humans feel, especially understand the reason they wrap their arms around each other and sleep with their bodies entwined at night. His love language is physical touch.

Rogal Dorn : 6/10

He’s incredibly loyal, and also incredibly honest, but his seriousness can get in the way sometimes. You love him, very much, but there are times you get into petty arguments and he has to go consult Horus and Sanguinius for advice on what to do. He’s also very reserved at times, a lot like a single dad who’s just doing his best to keep his job and go about his day. Acts of service would be his love language.

Roboute Guilliman : 9/10

Guilliman is a great boyfriend, a great tactician, a great warrior, all of the above. The only reason i’d take a point off is because I believe he may be a little arrogant at times. He believes that his way is the right way, but he’s usually willing to listen to you and your concerns. He’s incredibly intelligent, very sympathetic and understanding of human trials and concerns, and he’s a lot like we are modern times. I think he would look for comfort in a significant other, and his love language is likely acts of service.

Magnus the Red : 3/10

Another man that I don’t recommend being with. He’s more arrogant than Fulgrim. When I said Guilliman believes his way is the right way, Magnus takes it a step up. He thinks he’s ALWAYS right. He cares, and he means well, but he’s way too much to put up with. Highly manipulative and self absorbed, don’t put yourself in that situation. He values knowledge more than he does you.

Sanguinius : 10/10

Besides the fact he’s a vampire, you’re probably the most safe with him. He genuinely cares for you and your well-being, and sleeping next to him at night with his wing draped over you is an absolute dream in a universe plagued by war. His sons may fall to their bloodthirst when they’re on the home ship, and Sanguinius is fast to wrap himself around his human partner and protect them from any and all harm. You hold him through his sorrow every time a mass of humans or his sons lose their lives, and you watch him kneel to offer you his loyalty and unconditional love rather than you offering it to him. He gives both physical touch and words of affirmation.

Lion El’Jonson : 7/10

Of course he has his moments where he can come off as aloof and paranoid, but that’s for the most part only on the battlefield. Outside, he’s incredibly charming and charismatic, but in a noble way. When his paranoia gets to him after an argument, he seeks out Sanguinius and Horus for advice, wanting nothing more to fix your relationship and solve whatever went wrong. He become more secretive as time goes on, but old habits die hard. I believe he’d offer acts of service.

Perturabo : 6/10

He’s incredibly smart, but finds relating to you and your human tendencies incredibly difficult. His moods can shift and change rapidly and violently, but I believe he means you no true harm. He would never hurt you intentionally, often opting to back away and give himself space, sometimes for days. He never returns to you without a mechanically engineered gift, though, one of his design. Alongside a very gentle hug and a conversation about how you care about him, what he loves. You love him, not for his usefulness to the emperor, but for him. His love language is definitely gift giving.

Mortarion : 8/10

He’s very confused as to why you would choose him. He’s disgusting, an abomination, he hated everything from psykers to his oppressors, what did anything matter if he would be left to the mercy of another oppressor anyways? All thoughts he had until he met you. He was cold and hateful to you at first, untrusting, and yet you showed him kindness. You showed him kindness over and over again. For once, it wasn’t just a one time thing. You’re the only thing in this universe who sees him as more than a warlord, more than the embodiment of death itself, so for you he has a soft spot. He hates the idea of having a human curl up next to him, absorbing his warmth and disease alike… and yet you do. You remind him that his touch is not deadly, and he too is capable of humanity. He will be more considerate of his decisions, because for once, something matters. His love language is physical touch, because he’s been deprived for so long, you’re the only one who allows him that piece of humanity.

Lorgar : 5/10

Does he love you? Does he not? No… He needs you… Maybe he just needs space actually.He loves you, he really does, and by god he tries his best, but when you’re as impulsive and indecisive as he is, it’s hard to know sometimes. If you’re okay with it working 50% of the time, maybe more maybe less, I’m sure you’ll be fine. His love language is… uh… well?

Jaghatai Khan : 7/10

Loyal, decently humble, and a relatively peaceful man. Outside of war, he has potential to be great to you. When war is his focus, however. Expect no attention, he’s a fierce warrior and needs to focus on his allegiance to the emperor, that’s what comes first. You follow very closely after, though! He’s quick to praise you for the things you do well and gently remind you of a better course of action when it comes to the things you don’t do too well. Acts of service enjoyer.

Konrad Curze : 2/10

DO NOT DATE THIS MAN. Konrad is a walking red flag. The self loathing, the anger, the angst, the general belief in humanity as a fallacy. He’s also incredibly violent, and may cause you serious harm if you ever managed to anger him. He’s a primarch, and you’re a human. Don’t you dare piss him off. I don’t know why anyone would realistically want that. Please continue to paint him as mean angry babygirl with a soft spot in your fics though. If you think you can fix him, you can’t. The emperor already tried.

Angron : 4/10

Before his conversion to chaos, Angron would’ve been a great boyfriend if we’re being honest. He was kind, compassionate, encouraging. He loved you when you were enslaved beside him, but once he became a primarch and lost everything, his beloved included, he became one of the most ruthless and cruel people out there until he succumbed to Khorne. He doesn’t remember you. His love language was words of affirmation.

Corvus Corax : 4/10

A very melancholic and depressed primarch. He’s very angsty and honestly a major drag to be around. He and Konrad, i feel like, would be better boyfriends to each other than either of them would be to you. Corvus isn’t as violent as Konrad, but he definitely carries on the hatred, the sorrow, and the bitterness. He’s also very sensitive, so expect to be met with either violence or a breakdown if you try to leave. 2 extra points because you may get to keep your life, his love language is words of affirmation, always followed by self deprecation.

Alpharius Omegon : 7/10

He’s they’re a great boyfriend to be honest, though very secretive, and that raises many questions. You don’t know that there are two of them. It’s a secret, not even one that you’re allowed to know the answer to. Alpharius is obviously the more dominant brother, the one who you think has a soft side. He doesn’t. That’s not him, that’s Omegon. Omegon is much more gentle, quiet, and quite honestly a little more touchy. Why? because you make him feel seen. Alpharius is used to the spotlight, so giving him every ounce of your attention feels like the usual, though he still enjoys it very much. Alpharius expresses love through acts of service and gift giving, while Omegon expresses love through words of affirmation and quality time. They make up for everything the other lacks, as long as you don’t know the massive secret they’re keeping from you…

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missadangel · 2 months ago

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The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x Princess Reader)

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II. The Letter

"Omnia, quae fiunt, eveniunt ut oportet; et si diligenter observaveris, hoc ita esse invenies." M. Aurelius

“Everything that happens, happens as it should, and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so.”

The carriage shook from time to time as it traveled along the stony roads of the capital. Octavius was sitting across, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as you peered out from under the curtain, eager to see where you were being taken. You had many questions, but you were hesitant to ask him directly. After all, in their eyes, you were just an ordinary woman with the status of a slave.

But as you watched outside, you realized that you were more fortunate than other women of the same status. Instead of being taken away in a cart like you, they were dragged, beaten, and forcibly taken away in chains.

As the carriage approached a huge rounded building, you opened your mouth in astonishment. It had to be the Colosseum, you had heard so much about it, but you never expected it to be this huge. This massive structure was so magnificent that it was truly pushing the limits of the human mind. It was fascinating, frightening, and amazing.

You stood in awe of the most intriguing structure on the streets of Rome until it disappeared from view. Then, with a sigh, you turned your head in the direction the cart was going. After passing insulas, temples, aqueducts, fountains, and gardens, you drove through a large wooded area. The car began to sway noticeably as the terrain shifted from stones to dirt and grass. Then, a large villa appeared in front of you.

Unlike the sand-colored villas in the Egyptian lands, this one was almost white and had a crimson herb-colored roof. At the entrance to the garden, the tall white columns holding up the roof were decorated with various figures and reliefs. It was extraordinarily beautiful, and as you looked around for a long time you were surprised to realize that Octavius had already gotten out of the cart and was waiting for you to come out.

"My lady," you were even more surprised when he offered you his hand.

You lifted the hem of your cloak and carefully stepped down from the carriage.

"I am not a lady, sir," you gripped the handle of your bag tightly instead of taking his hand.

Octavius withdrew his hand and looked at you in confusion.

"I know, I didn't want to address you as a slave, you are so much more."

On the outside, this burly man had a stern temperament that was not to be crossed, but he was very kind.

"That's all right, sir, I appreciate your kindness, may I ask you something if I don't overstep my bounds?"

He nodded.

“Why am I here? Why did the General buy me?”

Obviously, he didn't care about you for ten days, why did he suddenly remember you and bring you to his villa, you wondered.

"Ask him when he arrives, I was only supposed to bring you here, I must leave now as I have completed my mission."

"Sir!"

A middle-aged, chubby woman ran up to you, and from the way she looked at him, you realized that she knew Octavius very well. She was about to ask him something, but she turned her head and looked you up and down, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"A slave? Or did the emperors send her as a gift to our master again?"

You took a step back, your eyes wide with panic, and turned your head to Octavius.

A gift? What did she mean by that, you asked yourself.

“No, they didn't send her. The general bought her from the slaver,” Octavius stated firmly as he strode towards the carriage. "Show her to her room and make her comfortable. I have to go now."

"Yes, sir," she said, then turned her head to you.

But you were looking at the carriage speeding away, feeling abandoned by his departure.

“Hurry up, girl, inside with me. The General is almost here. You need to dress properly," she commanded, beckoning you with her hand.

You did as she said, and passed between the imposing columns, entered the garden with a large pool in the center which welcomed you with its sparkling water. The villa had a large courtyard and more than one garden. In the center of the square pool in this garden was a statue of Neptune holding a spear in his hand.

There were vines surrounding the tall white columns and short trees accompanying them, and in front of them, a fountain made of white marble. You listened to the sound of the water running through the fountain as you walked behind the woman. It seemed peaceful, but that was not exactly what you felt inside.

When you entered a small room, the woman called one of the other girls over. In this room, there were two wooden wardrobes and a large wooden chest. A young girl with red hair came running to you. The other woman grabbed you by the arm and looked at your clothes, her face disgusted.

“Dress this girl quickly, she must be ready before the master arrives,” she touched your hair and ran her fingers through it as if combing it. “She looks like she's had a bath, but her clothes look terrible, get rid of them when you're done,” she said as if giving orders. It was obvious that she was in charge of things here, maybe because of his age.

The girl opened the closet door and took out a white silk and tulle fabric. You took out your bag and put it aside, but you were not comfortable. After all, there was something very important in your bag.

"Are you nervous?" the girl asked you curiously when the other woman left.

"A little, but about what?"

"About spending the night with the General," she said, lowering her voice.

You looked at her in shock. ‘I'm certainly not here for that,’ your voice trembled with anger.

The girl let out a little sigh as she helped you get undressed. You felt uneasy, but she was so kind and gentle. ”He won't touch you anyway,” she opened the wardrobe and took a piece of fabric in her arm. “He’s never touched any of the girls the emperors have sent for him. They've all been sent away the next day."

"Why is that?" Your voice boomed in the small room, couldn't help but wonder why a man would refuse such a thing.

The girl laughed at your reaction, and you smiled back shyly. She stood in front of you, draped the wool fabric dress over your shoulders, letting it drop over your breasts, and tied it to the belt around your waist. Your arms and neckline were bare, and you covered your wrist with your hand, but it was clear she didn't care about the bruise. "Nobody's sure, but we think it might be because of his wife whom he divorced a long time ago. He's a noble and decent man. I'm sure he'll treat you well, just like he treats all of us.”

"He bought me, not the emperor," you stated assertively, tugging at the belt around your waist and trying to feel comfortable.

"Did he? That’s even more strange. He hasn't bought any new slaves for a long time." The girl touched your hair, combing it with her fingers and gathering a strand on the right side before fastening it with a thin hairpin. "But maybe it's because you are so beautiful," she said, smiling at you warmly. "Where are you from?”

"I grew up in Alexandria, but as far as I know, I am Roman, an orphan," you stated confidently. "You don't look like Roman though."

The girl smiled but her eyes held a hint of sadness. "I was taken as a captive of war at the age of fourteen, but I tried to escape, and the slaver beat me to death." She took a deep breath and continued. “I would have died on those cold cobblestones if he had not been kind enough to buy me and let me live in his villa here.”

You suddenly realized that your story didn't seem as bad as hers. You felt sorry for her.

"I apologize," you said sincerely.

She had a warm smile, and warm brown eyes, her hair was a mixture of red and orange, and she had freckles on her face, she was friendly and one of the nicest people you would meet in a long time. She touched your shoulder with a warm smile.

"The General isn't as harsh and ruthless as he seems. If he brought you here, he must like you. You're lucky."

“But he's never met me,” you said suddenly. There was no situation in which he could have liked you. In fact, he almost broke your wrist because he thought you were the enemy.

That's why you were worried. You wanted to believe he was a good man, but your instincts told you otherwise.

"I'm Norell, by the way," she said, smiling.

"I've never heard that name before," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"It means from the north. I'm from Scandinavia. Do you have a name?"

You wanted to tell her the name your uncle and his wife had given you, but the woman from earlier came over and scolded you both a little for stalling. When she tried to take your bag, you resisted strongly and held it in your arms.

She frowned at you and pointed to the bag, "It looks old and dirty. Put it where you will stay, out of my sight. Norell, show her where she'll be staying. I have to check the kitchen.”

"Yes, Tullia," she said as she led you out of the room. You touched your new clothes as you walked into another room. These clothes were ordinary clothes that any slave would wear, but for you they were unusual. You'd always worn men's clothes when you were with your uncle. You'd never let your hair hang over your shoulders outside the house. That's why you almost like dressing like that if you ignore the fact that your neck and shoulders are completely exposed.

"This way," Norell said, pointing to a room that was slightly larger than the last one. There were two mattresses a large wooden chest and a small closet in the corner. She pointed to one of the mattresses against the wall.

"You can sleep here.”

It wasn't the most comfortable option, but it was far superior to the beds in the Valetudinarium. You sat down and put your bag under the blanket. Meanwhile, she was observing you curiously.

"It's what's left of my family," you explained.

"Don't worry, I would never touch your things," she assured you. You trusted her, even though you'd only just met. But you'd promised your uncle about the letter, so you tucked it under the mattress when she left the room. You were eager to open it, but you wanted to make sure you were completely alone first.

While you were sitting there, you realized how tired you were. You didn't know if it was the effect of traveling with the ship, but your head still felt like it was shaking. Your body was almost collapsing when you noticed a cat outside the window.

Since you grew up in Egypt, you had a cat in your old house too, that looked just like this cat, was dark black with beautiful green eyes. You called it over with your hand, but it ran ahead, towards another garden in the courtyard so you ran excitedly to it.

As you followed her at a brisk pace, you couldn't fit through the gap the cat could, so you entered through the wooden gate of this separate garden, fortunately, it was open. It's a beautiful garden with many herbs, plants and flowers. You distinctly remember using the hypericum (St. John's wort) plant with your uncle on many occasions. This is a medicinal plant with healing properties. You sat on the grass and picked a bunch of hypericum. You crushed the leaves with your fingertips and rubbed the bruises on your wrist with the liquid that came out. Then the cat brushes its tail against your feet. You take her in your arms, sit her on your lap, and begin stroking her head feeling her soft hair under your fingers making you feel peaceful. But you were exhausted and could not keep your eyes open, so you lay down and closed them.

As the general arrived at his villa, the sun was preparing to bid farewell to the capital of Rome. He had barely sat down since he stepped ashore. He was tired, yes, but also filled with an indescribable excitement. He tried to remember why or when he had felt this way for so long, but he couldn't even remember. He had been on the road for months, on his way to Egypt to put down the rebellion. He had finally succeeded, but it had exhausted him. Moreover, being assassinated and wounded on the way back, and having one of his soldiers mutiny while he was recovering, was not something an ordinary man could handle. He touched his wound through his leather armor and felt grateful to one who healed him. Even though his body was so tired, he was determined to meet this girl.

Tullia greeted him with a happy smile and ran to him.

“Sir! You're home at last! I sacrificed three pigs to Mars to ensure your safe return!”

Acacius smiled at her and stepped out of the carriage, his eyes fixed on the garden of his villa. "Tullia, the girl Octavius brought here today, I want to see her." His voice was firm and impatient.

"Yes, master, he did. She's inside. Come in."

Acacius strode into the garden, leaving the squire struggling to keep up. He looked around but couldn't find what he was looking for. "I don't see her, Tullia. Where is she?"

Tullia swallowed, "My lord, she was here. I'll find her," she said as she started to leave, but Acacius stopped her by raising his hand.

"Send her to my room and prepare my bath," he ordered, heading for the stone stairs leading to his room.

Everyone mobilized to find you at once and prepare their master's bath.

His squire entered Acacius's room and helped him remove his armor. Once he was finished, he left the room. Acacius removed the shin guards from his knees and took a deep breath, now wearing only his burgundy tunic. He felt relieved but still impatient and decided to go out onto the balcony to watch the scenery. He was thinking about you when he gazed at the gorgeous city in the distance. He smiled to himself as he recalled his first experience of falling in love. He had assumed that he would never feel that way again, ever since he had turned his back on love. He was convinced that Venus’s son Cupid would never grant him a new love. All this time he thought of himself as an unlucky lover, punished by Mars, the god of war. Mars had endowed him with the ability to fight, he wondered if it was because love could be his weak point. He was about to find out.

As he made his way inside, he noticed something in the garden below that caught his eye. He noticed a young girl with golden hair, resting on the green grass in the garden that bordered his chambers.

Acacius made his way down the stairs of his balcony, his heart beating faster with each step, filled with excitement and curiosity. As he made his way down the last step and drew closer to you, he was a little disappointed to see your eyes were closed. He was curious to see those eyes he'd seen in the tent before. He approached you and leaned in, looking at the beautiful girl sleeping peacefully, waiting for you to open your eyes, just as you were waiting for him then. He looked at your wrist and, gently grasping it, was pleased to see the bruises. His fingers matched the purple spots, as if they were meant to be there.

You felt pressure on your wrist where the bruise was. You opened your eyes, not because of the pain, but because you were already dreaming about it, remembering that moment. When you realized that his face was just a few inches away from yours, you opened your eyes wide in surprise. You wondered if you were still dreaming. His dark brown eyes had taken over yours, making it impossible to look away. Then his perfectly-shaped lips curled into a wide smile.

"So it was you," he said with soft voice.

You were rendered speechless. You attempted to rise to your feet, but he grasped your shoulders gently, maintaining eye contact with you.

"I made a mistake. I apologize," you mumbled.

"Mistake? You healed me, so there's no mistake or reason to apologize.” He smirked and stood up, holding out his hand. Despite your initial hesitation, you took his hand and got to your feet.

"I shouldn't have slept here like this," you said, embarrassed, as you shook your dress out to get rid of the leaves and dirt.

“It was such a treat to watch,” he smiled at your surprised face and turned around heading to the stairs. "Come with me," he beckoned you, not asking, but commanding.

You followed him without complaint, though your tension has increased. Acacius entered his room and waited for you to come in. As you entered from the balcony, you saw the armor he had just taken off on the right. Beyond that was a desk and chair, then a small table and two chairs, and in the other corner, a large bed and a closet.

Tullia came in with a tray of food, knocking on the door of his room first.

She opened her eyes in surprise when she saw you.

"I've been looking for you all over. What have you been up to?"

Before you could respond, he ordered, "Leave us alone and let me know when the bath is ready.”

“Yes master," she said, giving you a quick look before she left.

"Are you hungry?" he asked while pouring wine into a cup.

You shook your head no but it was a lie, your eyes were on the food, swallowing. He smirked, sat down in a chair, and took a sip of wine. "Sit," he indicated the chair opposite him with a gesture.

When you didn't, he frowned. "I know you're hungry. Come," he said, his voice unyielding this time.

You approached and sat across from him, avoiding eye contact meanwhile.

"Eat," he commanded, pointing to the spoon.

You took a spoonful of food you had never seen before, but it looked delicious. As soon as you put it in your mouth and swallowed, you felt the bite reach your empty stomach. Realizing how hungry you were, you quickly took another bite, surprised even by yourself.

He watched you closely, his eyes were on your hands. With a quick move, he grabbed your other hand gently, and placed it in his palm, as if measuring sizes. "These fingers are too thin to be a medicus," he muttered, looking at you. "How did you become a medicus? It must have been very difficult for you as a woman."

As you swallowed the morsel, he poured another glass of wine and handed it to you. You were taken aback by his unexpected politeness, but took the cup from his hand, then took a quick sip.

"My uncle taught me everything I know, sir," you confessed.

"This Medicus was your uncle?"

"He was, yes," you almost whispered, the mention of him having renewed your pain. He studied your face, reading your expression.

"May the Gods bless his soul and grant him sustenance in Elysium. I’ve never met him, but thanks to his knowledge I am still breathing, I will be grateful to him until the last moment of my life.”

As he speaks, you sense a sincerity in his voice that helps to ease your pain a little. You are surprised that you do not feel the same resentment towards him as you did before. His words seem to console you.

“You're not his slave, then. Who are you?"

He looked at you with unwavering eyes, waiting for your answer.

“I am Aya the orphan, a girl who was found on the banks of the Nile when little and raised by the man I called uncle, sir,” you stated frankly, but he appeared perplexed.

Acacius leaned back, still looking at you ‘Aya’ he murmured himself. ‘It's a name I've never heard before, I wish to know its meaning.’ He crossed his arms.

“This name I was given to me by my uncle and his deceased wife means ‘miracle.’ I believe they thought I was sent to them by the Gods.” You looked at him, feeling uneasy. “I think it’s-.”

“It's beautiful,” he completed your sentence in his way, and you took another sip from your cup, feeling his eyes still on you.

“You said you were an orphan? You don't know your mother or father? Your uncle must have found out why they abandoned you in the river.”

You shook your head, you didn't know, but he didn't seem to be satisfied with that answer. He put his cup down on the table, then stood up and walked over to you.

"Your uncle, or the man who found you, raised you as a medicus until this age. You probably had to wear men's clothes all the time. He let you live as a man, not as a woman. More, he never wanted you to marry a man," you noticed that he said the word 'marry' in a different tone. You felt like he was interrogating you also startled as he knelt beside you. "Like he's hiding you from something or someone.”

He was waiting for an answer, but his face being so close made you tense up. You had to take a moment before answering him.

“I was pleased with helping other people, curing them as a medicus, sir. He never forced me to do anything I don’t want to.” You were confident and sincere, and he could hear it in your tone.

He stood up abruptly, “I see,” he murmured still thinking about it. There was a knock at the door. They informed him that his bath was ready. "I want you to accompany me," he said suddenly, his smile making your heart race but you were trying to figure out the best way to decline his offer gently and respectfully.

"Sir, I-“

“Since I’m so tired, I want you to help me bathe, and as my medicus, you should check my wound, right?”

"That makes me your medicus as well as your slave," you frowned at him.

He approached you with a bold move that made you jump, but he had a mischievous look on his face. "I'm gonna have to get completely undressed for both, so."

Your cheeks flushed and you tried to look away, but you knew he was right and you hated it.

He opened the door and gestured for you to follow him, you took a deep breath and followed him. Norell smiled when she noticed you going downstairs, but you couldn't smile back, following him to the bathhouse made you nervous.

As you moved from the courtyard to the other, to the west wing, you could tell by the smells that the kitchen was there. It’s because of the hot water circulation, just opposite the kitchen was the balneum (small bath house). There was no separate bath house in your uncle's small house, so you had to go to the Egyptian bath house three or four times a week to bathe.

Tullia pushed the door open for you two to enter. Acacius told her to leave you two alone and closed the door after you entered. The hot water was ready, and the balneum was filled with the scent of various oils and essences that dissipated in the steam with the heat of the water. Since you were well-versed in herbs, you could easily tell which scents belonged to which flowers by their aroma.

When you saw Acacius heading for the bathtub, you clenched your dress in your hands. It was scorching hot inside and you were sweating buckets. He turned to you, and you knew from the look in his eyes that he was asking you to come closer. You walked towards him, trying your best not to think about anything else but his wound. He grabbed your fingers and led them to the hem of his burgundy tunic, making you grasp it. He watched you patiently as you tried to stay calm, pulling the tunic up to check his wound. He seemed to enjoy it when he noticed you were tense.

“I need to take it off completely. Could you?" he said in a soft, gentle voice.

You took a deep breath and pulled the tunic from his head with trembling hands, letting it fall to the ground, trying to ignore the fact that he was completely naked in front of you. You concentrated on his abdomen where his wound was, trying not to look down at his lower parts. As your fingers traced his abdomen to check his wound, his eyes wandered over your face, admiring your beauty.

“It is almost completely healed on the surface, sir, but it may take a little longer to heal completely from the inside. If you feel any pain or inflammation, I may need to make a herbal ointment,” you said as your eyes caught by his.

He brought his face closer to yours and you felt the heat radiating from his lips. You could feel the steamy air and your sweat making your dress a little damp. His hot breath caressed your neck, making your heart race and you almost gave yourself to him to take you, but you managed to pull yourself back.

Acacius chuckled, turned, and sat down in the bathtub. The water rose with his weight, and some flowers floating on the surface hit the edge.

He seemed to relax, threw his head back, and closed his eyes, making a gesture with his hand.

“Rub my back a little, maybe your soft, healing hands can take away some of the pain.”

“That sounds more like the work of a slave than a medic," you muttered, he ignored you but you could see his lips curl into a half smile.

When you touched his shoulders with your fingers he sighed, you tried not to care but he seemed strangely pleased, a soft moan escaping his lips as you rubbed in gentle strokes. Your eyes traced the scars on his body, wondering how he got them.

“The God Asclepius must have endowed you with his healing powers," he purred. How can I repay the owner of these fingers that healed me?”

Suddenly, you stop rubbing his back and glare at his face behind his partially curly and gray hair, trying to think of something to say.

“I wish you would set me free," you bit your lower lip, wondering if it was too much to ask.

Acacius opened his eyes. "You have no family to go to, do you wish to return to your home and live all alone?

He was right. Even if you went back to your home, you wouldn't have an uncle or anyone to live with. You had to face this truth and you hated it. He turned his head to you, "Shall I give you a chance to choose?”

You tilted your head to look at him, the steamy air making your throat dry.

“If you don't want to be my slave, why don't you live here as my medicus? I am a soldier and a warrior, I may need your help in the future.” As he turned his body fully towards you in the tub, some of the squashed water ran out and soaked the hem of your dress.

“Wouldn't you stay here to heal me?”

“But I am a woman, sir, I cannot be a medicus, no one would call me that.”

“As long as you are under my roof, you will be called that,” he said in a reassuring tone.

“But I will remain your slave outside this roof?”

“You will, yes.”

“And will you set me free one day?”

“No,” he said loudly, his voice echoed off the marble walls.

When you sighed and pouted, his large hand cupped your chin, then slowly slid to your neck to your shoulder, moving to the fabric of your dress, clearly trying to gauge your reaction meanwhile. You grabbed his hand and stopped it as he peeled the fabric over your shoulder, "I choose to be your medicus, not your slave, sir.”

“Very well,” Acacius snickered, grabbed your wrist this time, and looked closely at the bruise. “It seems to be healing,” his fingers rubbing your bruise, somehow you didn’t feel angry, you liked it when he touched you with his big strong fingers like only they can heal it.

“I won't touch you against your will,” he assured you. Then he pulled his hand away and laid back, closed his eyes again. “You may leave now,” he said coldly as if trying to calm himself.

You were grateful, but you couldn't ignore the feeling of his absence on your skin. But you did as he said, left him alone in the balneum and went out. You shivered as the fresh air hit your almost wet body as Norell approached you with dry and clean clothes in her arms.

“Is he coming out?”

“No, he asked me to leave him alone.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

That night in your new room under the roof of your new home, after a long talk with her, you waited patiently for Norell to fall asleep, but your eyes were so heavy you couldn't keep them open any longer.

You were planning to open the letter when you woke up, but you never got around to it. It was not as easy as it seemed to be alone in this big villa.

But since you saw the General leaving the house in a hurry in the morning, you knew his room was the best place to be. No one could get into his room while he was away, and this was your only chance. You were told he would be back late in the evening, so you had time to open the letter.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you were determined to find out. You considered the possibility that your true family might be wealthy or even royal. But why did they want to push you away or abandon you? What did the previous emperor's seal mean? Why did he seal with his own? Was it normal for him to put his own seal on every letter? There were so many possibilities and questions but you were tired of thinking. You were going to open it as soon as possible, find out everything, and move on.

In the villa, everyone was preoccupied with their morning chores, so it was simple to slip away unnoticed. You were already on a mission to collect the dirty laundry and bring it downstairs to the wash, so you had a good excuse if you got caught.

You strode into the general's room, took a quick look around, and put the dirty laundry he had taken off into the laundry basket in your hand. Then you put the laundry basket aside and sat down on the floor next to it. When you were sure that no one was coming, you took out the letter you had tucked between your chest and the fabric of your dress and started to read.

You took a deep breath, carefully pulled and removed the rope around the letter without harming the seal, then lifted it, which belonged to the previous emperor Septimius Severus, and opened the letter. You saw the letters clearly written in neat handwriting.

“My dearest child, my beloved daughter blessed with golden hair and hazel eyes. The irises of your eyes are a soft brown hue, with a greenish tint, as if they contained the nascent growth of spring.

Gazing into your eyes, I see Rome, the beautiful and prosperous days that await her. You bestow joy and fortitude upon me, enabling me to actualize this vision. It is my ardent aspiration to ensure your collective felicity and to witness your growth and prosperity. It has been a considerable span of time since I lost your mother, my esteemed wife, the resplendent Paccia Marciana. I am yet to fully acclimate to her absence, but I had to remarry because I had to have an heir. I don't want to offend you, my pretty, golden-haired daughter. I do not intend to accuse you of being a girl. I hope you won't misunderstand me child, but I'm afraid it's not possible for you to stay in Rome. Julia is not as understanding as your mother Marciana. My son Caracalla is even less so. He is a very cruel boy. I am concerned that when I ascend to the Gods to the Elysium and he is on the throne, he may be troubled by your presence and do you harm. I cannot allow them to harm you in memory of your mother, so I must send you away from them, away from all. I have placed my old friend Vibius, the medicus from my youth, in the land of Egypt. I believe you will be safe with him. It would be best for you to be as far away from here as possible. I truly hope that Caracalla will rule Rome well. I am not entirely certain, but I sincerely wish to believe that he will.

And I hope that when you are a young girl, reading this letter, you will understand my reasons for sending you away. You are my firstborn child, my only daughter with spring eyes and golden hair, the first of the name Septimia Aurelia, who brought blessings to Rome the year she was born. And you will always remain so my sweet child.

Your father,

Imperator Caesar Lucius Septimius Severus Pertinax Augustus.”

You read each sentence again and again to make sure you hadn't read it wrong. Everything was correct. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, and you knew it was real, not imagined. You sat there, detached from time and reality, as tears rolled down your cheeks and dripped onto the letter you were holding with trembling hands. Your life began to pass before your eyes piece by piece, the lush green fields where you used to run around with joy as a little girl, the people you called uncle and aunt who raised you with love, always protecting you from the outside, keeping you away from other people, your uncle taking you on as an apprentice when you were very young and teaching you all his knowledge, buying you flashy girl's clothes on the condition that you only wear them at home when you wanted to wear them, insisting that you always wear a cloak when you went out in public, all of these were completed like the missing pieces that brought you back to where you belonged.

You wished you had never opened the letter, never imagining that the truth would hurt so much and leave you so helpless. You had no home to go to, your Empress mother and Emperor father were no longer alive. In their place were your Emperor brothers and their mother, your stepmother, and your father had warned you about them in no uncertain terms.

The word "Emperor" will forever hold a new meaning for you. Everything you knew, everything you learned, everything you lived, felt different now. But you were the same person. It was unreasonable to expect you to be anyone else, regardless of what your name was.

As you wiped away your tears, you heard voices outside and swiftly folded the letter back into its original shape. You didn't have time to hide it. Your first thought was to put it into the general's wooden chest full of papyrus, empty envelopes, and papers. You would come and get it later.

“What are you doing here?”

The last thing you expected to hear was the General's voice yet he was there, had opened the door looking at you curiously. He was wearing an all-white tunic, white leather armor and a white shawl that fluttered like angel wings in the wind behind his shoulders, all embroidered with gold. Seeing him like that you forgot the shock you just had, he was looking breathtaking. Suddenly you realized that you didn't answer his question, so you quickly picked up the basket. “I'm here to pick up the laundry, sir,” you said bowing your head, hoping he wouldn't be suspicious.

“I thought you chose to be a medicus and not a slave,” he said as he approached you. “Let the others do it, come with me now.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the room with a serious look on his face, hurried down the stairs, and stopped to call Norell out as he observed your clothes. "Dress her properly," he ordered.

While you were trying to figure out what was going on, Norell held your hand and led you to the dressing room to do his bidding. She opened the wardrobe took out some fabrics, all white, and placed them on a chair in the room. You couldn't help but ask when you saw that the clothes were different from the last time.

“Why am I wearing these?” you asked her curiously.

“Today's a bit special.”

You were startled to hear the General's voice just outside the door.

“And the color of the dress you're wearing has to match mine.”

How can I match his charm, you thought, it wasn’t possible.

You didn't mind being naked in front of Norell, but knowing the General was just outside the door made you a little nervous. Norell sensed your unease and giggled, then she helped you put on a white tunic, then a peplos (long dress) of the same color and a gold embroidered palla over your shoulders, then tied it around your slim waist and put the other part over your head. She was an expert, or so you felt because it was the first time you had ever worn this kind of dress. You felt as if the wish you had made as a little girl had come true. Norell combed your hair, first downwards and slightly side parted, then combed it again, then braided it, took a piece from the front left and twisted it round the back of your head. She secured the twist inside the braid by inserting a wire barrette inside the braid and finished the braid, letting it hang over one shoulder. When she was finished she looked at you and smiled, “You look beautiful. Now all that's left are the accessories.”

The General opened the door, he eyed you up to down, then grabbed your arm gently. He gestured to Norell, and soon she returned bearing a box containing a gold bracelet and assorted jewelry which produced a tinkling sound when she moved.

“Sir, these don't look like something a slave would wear,” you were surprised.

Acacius quickly put the bracelets on your upper arm and wrists. “My slave wears whatever I want,” he said firmly, his gaze fixed on you one last time, a confident smile on his face. You felt your cheeks flush, but the word ‘slave’ bothered you more than before. Yet you still couldn't be angry with the General, not when he was dressed like this.

“But where exactly are we going?”

“To the place where the ceremony will take place, then to the Colosseum. Come on, get your sandals on, we have to hurry.”

Norell appeared beside you, lifted your foot, and helped you quickly put on the sandals, despite your insistence.

“Looks pretty,” he pushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen on your forehead with a gentle touch then you weren't sure whether he was in a hurry or impatient, he put his arm around you and pulled you out of the courtyard with quick steps.

“I saw you leaving, this morning,” you said while Acacius tugged and pulled the shawl he was sitting on with his hands to feel comfortable.

He cleared his throat. “That’s right,” he looked at you. “I didn't want you to miss a day like this, so I came back for you,” he admitted. How could he be such a charming, gentle, and at the same time dangerous warrior? You also wondered how all your anger, all your resentment towards him had passed so quickly.

“I'm grateful, sir,” you said sincerely, he smiled at you.

As soon as the carriage entered the alleys of the Capitoline Hill, one noticed that the streets were full of people, just like yesterday. It was as if no one had returned home and spent the night on the streets. Soon as the carriage approached Via Sacra Street, you realized you were wrong, it was even more crowded than yesterday. In Egypt, such crowds only gathered on special occasions and religious festivals. However, you were not used to being in a crowd, walking freely in the streets, especially when you were dressed as a woman. Despite having resolved the queries that had troubled you since childhood, you still felt unfulfilled. It was not that you held any resentment towards anyone, but your father and uncle both tried to do you good in their way, but you still couldn't help feeling wronged. Somewhere deep in your heart, a voice kept telling you that something was wrong, and it grew louder with each passing moment. What your uncle had said to you kept echoing in your head. “You’re going to have to choose.”

But what were you going to choose? To go to your emperor brothers and explain everything and have them give you official recognition and hope that they don't kill you as a result, or to go back to Egypt as if nothing had happened and live as before, far away from everyone and everything?

“What makes you think so much? I wonder.”

At the general's voice, all your thoughts dissipated like a cloud of dust. You had almost forgotten that you were in the cart together and that he was sitting in the seat opposite you like a statue of a god.

“I'm a little nervous, sir,” you said honestly.

“Nervous about seeing the Colosseum for the first time?”

He was right, that was one of the reasons, but the real reason was the thought of seeing your half-brothers in the flesh.

“Yes,” you clenched the fabric of your dress.

“We'll be there after the ceremony, I'd love to have you with me but the slaves and others will be watching from the stands upstairs. I could ask the emperors for special permission for you to stand beside me, but I am concerned that your beauty will inevitably attract their attention,” there was not the slightest trace of humor in his voice. It would have worked in your favour, if you didn't feel ready to face your stepbrothers.

“Sir, it's not a problem really, I'll watch from where I'm supposed to be,” you said with a half smile.

“The more I can keep you away from them the better,” he murmured vaguely, peering out from behind the curtain. “Here we are.”

When the carriage stopped, the crowd's enthusiasm rose, Acacius stood up and came in front of you, a serious expression on his face as he reached for your hand and grasped it.

“It is no longer possible for me to hold your hand and for us to walk side by side, you can follow me at a distance.” He stroked your fingers with his thumb, withdrew his hand, and got out of the carriage.

You looked at him as he got out, his shawl fluttering in the wind behind him, caressing the steps of the cart.

“Sir!” Octavius ran towards him through the crowd, cheerful. You watched the two of them with their backs turned, talking to each other, the crowd chanting the General's name. Then they both turned their heads back towards you, Acacius nodded for you to come out, no one was looking at you anyway, and all the attention was on him, you took a deep breath and climbed down out of the carriage. Acacius and Octavius made sure you got out and began walking forward. As you walked behind them, keeping your eye distance, you could hear people talking and chanting. You couldn't help but wonder if one day if something happened and you sat on the throne as the emperor's daughter, would they cheer for you like that? You shook your head and tried to dismiss the absurd thought.

Acacius and Octavius were joined by other soldiers, and it was clear from the crowd that there were many people from different social classes. The wealthy, the nobles, the dignitaries, the craftsmen, and the slaves. Looking at them, you realized your clothes seemed strange to you. They had almost no jewelry on their sleeves; they were ordinary. But here, slaves could accompany their masters or enter the Colosseum, unlike in Egypt. The crowd also included women, nobles who looked at you with a piercing gaze. At first, you were perplexed by their actions. But when you looked them up and down, you saw the problem: jealousy. In Egypt, everyone ignored you, thinking you were a thin young boy in a strange cloak. Here in Rome, you were a beautifully dressed young girl, the envy of even the noblewomen. Life should be full of miracles and surprises.

The Roman triumph was a civil ceremony and religious rite of ancient Rome, held to publicly celebrate and sanctify the success of a military commander who had led Roman forces to victory in the service of the state or, in some historical traditions, one who had successfully completed a foreign war.

The venue for the ceremony was the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, one of the most important temples in the capital. Most Roman festivals were calendar fixtures, tied to the worship of particular deities. While the triumphal procession culminated at Jupiter's temple on the far end of the Via Sacra (sacred road) in the Roman Forum, the procession itself, attendant feasting, and public games promoted the general's status and achievement. In effect, the general was close to being "king for a day", and possibly close to divinity.

Accompanied by the red rose petals thrown to him to honor him, the General ascended the white marble stairs of the temple with quick steps, shining like pearls in the sun. At that moment you immediately recognised them, they were not unnoticeable anyway, your half-brothers, the emperors, approached the General. They were dressed in white and gold, just like him. From their appearance, it was not difficult to guess which one was Geta and which one was Caracalla. The general greeted them with a hand pressed to his chest and Geta gently placed the golden crown of laurel leaves on his head. While everyone was shouting and cheering with enthusiasm, you suddenly felt a pain somewhere deep in your chest. You deserved to be with them, you wanted to be, it was your birthright. But your emperor father had to take you away, was it because you were not a man? He had asked you not to blame him, not to be angry with him, but you couldn't help it, as they stood there in all their reality you realized that you really had to choose. If not now, one day. Looking at him from a distance, Caracalla raised his hands towards the people and spoke, and you wondered if your father's warning about him had been right. His hair was the same colour as yours, but his face was different. His eyes were wide with excitement and eagerness. He didn't seem so bad besides you knew it was wrong to judge a person at first glance.

You soon realized that there was some tension between him and the priest next to him, Geta raised his hand to silence him, which was very rude and disrespectful. Obviously, your half-brother was not a man of religious tradition.

“Now that our ceremony is finally over, are we ready to watch the big games?”

The whole crowd let out a roar of excitement, and it was clear that everyone was just as pumped as he was.

“Then let's head to the Colosseuuuuuuuuuuum!” he shouted and pointed in the direction of the Colosseum with his right hand.

“Our gladiators are waitiiiiiiiing!” Caracalla joined him in shouting, their voices blending and echoing throughout Capitoline Hill.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing when you realised that the General was smiling forcibly as he applauded him, you could see how annoyed he was with them. Fighting all these emotions inside you, you had neglected to pay attention to the general, but if anyone dazzled you more than anyone else, it was him. With his golden crown on his head, he was more than an emperor, he was like a God, the son of Mars, Marcus himself, who more than lived up to his name. He was glamorous, sending his radiance first into your eyes and then sending vibrations deep into your chest. As your heart beat faster than ever, you wondered if this was what love felt like. If love wasn't what this man was making you feel this way, what else could it be? You could only guess because no one had ever advised you to do so. So you realised that you wanted to remain this man's slave until you die without revealing your identity.

Now that the crowd was heading away from the temple towards the Colosseum, you followed them. You tried to keep the general and Octavius in sight, but it was difficultPeople were hurrying along, bumping into you. As people rushed past, you wanted to go to another direction to avoid getting lost, you passed more people and got closer to the temple, and you looked for him. You saw the Emperors and General were going down the road in a chariot. You were about to run after them when the senators came down the stairs. And then your eyes met with a dark-browned skin member of the senate, he looked at you with wide eyes. You looked away and went into the crowd because he was coming towards you. But more people were coming from the road, so you turned left and went behind the temple to hide. When you reached the corner wall, you looked back and saw no one. Then someone called out to you as you headed towards the other road. You ignored him, but this time he called you by name. “Wait, Aurelia!”

You froze in shock. That was your real name, and you thought everyone who knew it was dead. You turned your head with curiosity and saw the man from earlier running towards you. You gripped the dress fabric in your hands feeling extremely nervous. The man was panting as he approached. "Is it really you?"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think you mistaken me for someone else."

The man looked you in the eye and smiled with confidence. "I'd recognise those eyes anywhere, it's you." He was observing your hair. "Septimia Aurelia, do you know how much I have searched for you, my lady?"

@myownwholewildworld @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @immyowndefender @lailathepedritofan @screechingchildfury

if anyone wants me to tag them please comment :) thank you all <3

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #ao3 fanfic #marcus acacias x reader #narcos fanfiction #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #pedro pascal gifs #gladiator ii #gladiator movie #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #gladiator chronicles

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joequiinn · 4 months ago

Text

As We Combust | Emperor Geta x Priestess!reader

Summary: The Priestess is the only one who can ever tell Geta what to do...

Warnings & Tropes: SMUT, fem reader, both praise AND degradation kink, fingering, oral (fem receiving), sub!Geta, dom!reader, 3rd person pov, historically inaccurate rep of Roman priestesses

A/N: idk I frantically wrote this in an hour like I was possessed. The Priestess is a character I've been working on since the trailer dropped - she's meant to be a reader, though in this instance the 3rd person pov sorta suggests she's an oc maybe she'll become that idk. Something about awful, cruel Geta becoming a pathetic sub for a woman speaks to my soul, so we'll be seeing more of these two in the future~~

W/C: 1,162

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

A blaze so high it lights the night / Long fingernails dug in my skin

Yourself so wet invites me in / Our lust increased feeds desire

As we combust, yeah we on fire / I feel you shake so deep inside

Oh scream my name and squeeze me tight / I'll do anything to make you come

“Look at you, being so good for me.” The Priestess praised in a husky tone, rolling her hips in time with the feverish lapping of Geta’s tongue. She watched through hooded eyes, lips parted with heavy breath, while beneath her the Emperor sat atop his knees, mouth ravenous as he licked at her core. The rumble of his moan vibrated against her sensitive nerves, causing her toes to curl as she threw her head back, “Gods, just like that…”

Her fingers pulled roughly at his hair, nails scratching fiercly against his scalp. Another elicit groan sounded from the Emperor, his own pleasure rapidly mounting as the leg hiked over his shoulder began to quiver. As one hand squeezed the soft flesh of the Priestess’s thigh, his other bounced up and down his cock in jerky, aching motions. He was so close now, the beads of precum wetting his fingers each time he squeezed the bright red head of his cock.

But the Priestess wasn’t there yet, and he knew she’d be displeased should his climax arrive before hers.

Practically whining as he extracted his hand from his pulsing cock, Geta brought that same hand to her slick lips, teasing them momentarily, only to have his hair yanked in disapproval - the Priestess wasn’t one to play nice when teased.

“Behave.” She gasped out, rutting her hips with a stutter against his open, drooling mouth. The command drew more desperate sounds from the pathetic Emperor, who promptly did as he was told and inserted two fingers between her folds, curving them once he was knuckles deep. The sound of intense pleasure that escaped the Priestess was a beckoning siren’s song to his ears, a wanton encouragement to bring her to the cliff’s edge. He dexterously sucked her clit while slowly dragging his fingers in and out, in and out, relishing in the sweet taste and quaking thighs of the Priestess now at his mercy.

“Yes, yes--!” Her pitch increased as she gripped his shoulders, nails so sharp that they broke skin. Her hips rolled with more and more fervor, her chest rising and falling in rapid shudders as Geta’s greedy mouth sucked and licked and nipped at her clit. His fingers slid faster and rougher, practically drenched in the Priestess’s desire as his knuckles slapped against her skin again and again and again. His cock was throbbing, desperate for relief, but he knew better - he knew that the Priestess must come first.

His jaw nearly hurt as he kept lapping her up, but the Emperor dared not disrupt his pace - she was so close, and he needed to watch her come. The Priestess’s leg tightened on his shoulder, her pussy clenching around his fingers, and in his need to make her come absolutely undone, Geta slid one more finger between her drenched folds, causing her toes to curl in eager surprise.

“Fuck--!” Her hands roughly grabbed at his hair, tugging as if her life depended on it. Her voice was a sultry, low moan as she instructed, “Look at me.”

A sound of desperation escaped Geta upon hearing her command; he opened his deep brown eyes and tilted his head back just enough to meet the dangerous, lustful gaze of the Priestess. His tongue swirled her clit, watching hungrily as her lower lip quivered, practically drooling on herself as she rolled her hips against his mouth. Sweat glistened down her neck and chest, highlighting the dip of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts - just the sight of the Priestess alone was nearly enough to ruin him, nearly enough for Geta to spill all over his quaking thighs.

The hooking of his fingers at just the right angle finally sent the Priestess over the edge, her pussy clenching selfishly around him, her eyelids fluttering shut as her head shot back; sounds of utter ecstasy leapt from her dangerous, sultry lips, the seductive call daring to beckon the attention of the entire palace.

Geta’s other hand held tightly to her quivering thigh, realizing with a gasp that he was too close, his coil unwinding to the sound of the Priestess’s gasps. His jaw quaked against her center as he withdrew his soaking fingers, roughly clenching his cock in his hand as if he could somehow control himself. But it was too late for the Emperor, the pressure of his squeezing hand sending him to the brink.

As his warm seed spilled out and drenched his already soaking hand, he withdrew his mouth from the Priestess, a near flustered look in his eyes as he watched the cum drip from his fingers and onto the floor, his moans loud and uneven as his chest heaved deeply.

Still riding out her orgasm, the Priestess clung to Geta for balance, her body shaking and shuddering as she saw stars behind her eyes while coming back down to earth. She finally met the Emperor’s gaze, taking a moment to drink in his dark eyes, his full lips, his flushed face; she realized, then, that he was staring back at her in guilty desire.

The Priestess’s eyes slowly crawled from his face to his leaking cock, staring with both satisfaction and disapproval as she eyed the puddle of cum between his legs. As her tongue traced slowly along her lower lip, her sultry gaze returned to Geta’s face, causing him to practically shiver in anticipation, a breathless gasp leaving his mouth.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” The Priestess scolded as she caught her breath, lowering her leg from where it had been resting atop his shoulder, “You know better.”

He nodded quickly, his hair sticky with sweat as he watched the Priestess as if hypnotized. She smiled wickedly, relishing in just how pathetic Geta was for her, and her alone. She delicately but firmly pressed two fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head back as she leaned down, the two of them almost nose-to-nose as she assessed him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Her teeth were like fangs as she grinned largely and cruelly, looking between his face, his cock, and his mess.

“Clean it up.” Her words were but a hot whisper across his lips, causing the Emperor to shudder as she shoved his face back. She turned to walk from him, her strut slow and sultry as Geta stared at the shiny peach of her ass. She lowered herself into a chair, her stare commanding as ever as she raised a cruel brow, once more looking between him and the puddle of cum he let spill on the floor. She clicked her tongue in reprimand, “Oh, don’t start behaving poorly now. Do as you’re told.”

With a gulp, Geta slowly lowered to the floor, tongue hanging hungrily from between his lips as he dared not break eye contact with the Priestess. Her mouth gaped in intense desire, her eyes a dangerous pair of daggers piercing into his own, “See, you're so, so good for me…”

#emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x female reader #joseph quinn x reader #gladiator 2

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0bticeo · 8 months ago

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lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all.

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews.

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely.

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal.

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of.

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies.

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul.

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you.

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward.

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back.

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun.

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet...

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood.

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear.

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for.

soon.

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light.

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor.

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black.

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move.

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress.

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside.

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha.

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled.

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak.

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little.

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs.

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste.

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips.

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite.

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be.

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease.

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen.

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started.

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger.

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall.

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up.

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts.

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue.

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him.

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late.

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open.

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune x reader #dune x you #dune x y/n #obticeo writes #bald freak supremacy

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soapssuds · 8 months ago

Text

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 2 | A Plan Fails

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

Warnings | reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, grammatical errors, etc.

want to be a part of the taglist? then pls go to taglist ^-^

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When you opened your eyes, you noticed how your ceiling didn’t look at all like your room. Not to mention that everything hurt. Which was understandable, you did fall down a long flight of stairs after all in hopes of-

Wait, you can remember everything!?!?!?

Despite the pain, you shot up from the bed. Your hands gripping the sheets as you panicked. You were no actor in one of those fancy plays that you would sneak into every once in a while, and Jing Yuan, as you have heard from others, was a sharp individual. If you wanted to hide something from him, then you would basically have to write to him in letters in hopes that he doesn’t come see your lying face in person.

What am I going to do?!

Looking around, you finally took notice how you were laid up in the infirmary. No one else was around to see your outburst and no one outside was alerted that you were awake, well, until you heard bustling footsteps coming right to the infirmary door.

Even though I don’t have amnesia, I’ll just have to fake it! I’m in no way an actor, but Jing Yuan has barely said two words to me since I got here, so I highly doubt he knows what I look like when I am lying! I’ll just have to take the chance and fake it till I make it!

Hurriedly, you laid back down and tried to straighten out your sheets before closing your eyes. It was a dangerous game that you decided to play, but you wanted out of here. You already threw yourself down the stairs, faking amnesia should be easy compared to that. (Though, you were still a bit angry that the amnesia thing didn’t actually happen…)

And just as you calmed your racing heart and turbulent thoughts, the infirmary door was slammed open, “where is she?!”

You couldn’t stop your eyebrows from furrowing at the sound of Jing Yuan’s voice. You didn’t expect him to be the one to be waltzing in here.

“She’s over here, Your Highness.”

You had to force your eyes from popping open. That voice was unmistakenly Blade’s. But how was he that close to you? Was he in the room this whole time?! Did you just not notice him?!

Jing Yuan walked over to where Blade was, “have you been guarding her this whole time?”

“I have.”

You died a little on the inside. Your soul shriveling up as the seconds passed. This is unbelievable! Out of all the times you don’t notice Blade being in the same room as you and NOW is one of those times.

“Has she woken up at all?”

Jing Yuan turned his gaze to you, and you tried your best not to quiver in your bed. Since Blade most definitely saw you wake up and shoot out of your bed in a panic, then he will definitely tell the Emperor that-

“No, she hasn’t.”

If you weren’t trying to act like you were sleeping, you would have given him the most bewildered look imaginable. Blade. Emperor Jing Yuan’s right-hand man and general. Just lied.

You felt a light yet firm hand caress your face, calloused fingers gently moving strands of hair out of your face, “I see,” Jing Yuan muttered, “well, when she wakes up. Please have someone inform me but stay by her side.”

“Understood.”

You thought that was the end of it, but immediately felt a pair of lips press against your forehead before the presence was gone altogether and you heard a door closed.

“You can open your eyes now, princess.”

Cracking your eyes open you were met with Blade crossing his arms over his chest, “care to explain yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, but more of a demand.

You sat up whilst grabbing your sheets again, “I…I wanted to get out of this arranged marriage. So I thought if I got amnesia then I could leave and go back home.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

You frowned, “terrible. I didn’t get amnesia. Instead, I’m hurting all over. Which reminds me, why did you lie back there? You obviously saw me wake up and panic.”

Blade shrugged, “I wanted to know what you were up to. Besides, I’m not the only one who saw you.”

“What do you mean?”

“During your little staged incident, the one who caught you before you could tumble down even more stairs was Dan Heng.”

“He told me he saw the whole thing. How you perfectly timed the maids, to how you fell, and how you tumbled down the stairs. He said it all looked intentional.”

Dan Heng, also known as Imbibitor Lunae, was even more dangerous than Jing Yuan. He was a high elder and a Vidyadhara. Not much else is known about him, but apparently he is a great strategist who can take down anyone and was praised many times by Jing Yuan himself.

“Great…,” you muttered as you let your head fall. Your eyes staring holes into your hands as you tried to come up with a solution of what to do. Your plan was falling apart before it even began it seemed.

“Great indeed.”

You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt Blade take a hold of your chin, his fingers gripping onto your cheeks as he forcefully made you look up at him. You didn’t even hear him move.

“So since it seems your great plan is falling apart, I and Dan Heng would like to make a deal with you. It’s quite simple that even someone like you would be able to do it.”

You didn’t like where this was going one bit.

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houserautha · 7 months ago

Text

These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

��I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Part Ten

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #feyd smut #fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen #yes na-baroness #why talk when we can fuck #I’m sorry Leto #you gorgeous man #but you were kind of a dick to reader so

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jess-the-vampire · 6 months ago

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Professor Caduceia and Snakely

Checked out the storyboard for the deleted s1 episode "Homesick"

You can read it here : https://t.co/WpZJFWbR48

I just loved these cut villains, one whose design def seemed like it was given to raine when they got cut. (I wonder if the color palette was similar, but we don't have a reference to that so idk)

Thoughts on the cut episode below:

An episode where king and owlbert of all characters bond is kinda neat, especially since it provides owlbert himself a bit more character here.

The opening is def far different from any of the final ones we ever see in the series, in fact it feels like it should be taking place during the episode but it can't be given we see hooty from being sick to not being sick in pretty chronological order?

A focus on the healing coven was nice to see, especially since we never got that in the show itself, and get some idea of their powerset and what they do magic wise.

So Manny was an ambulance driver, and Camila was a nurse in this. People originally assumed camila was a nurse when the show started, and it makes me wonder if that was changed between seasons at some point cause clearly the crew decided to change her profession and it's unclear why.

you can use your palisman as a communicator? and an umbrella? I do think it's so weird that even at the very end of the show, they establish brand new rules for palisman. Like them being able to shapeshift into objects is straight up not explained and just sorta....happens in the show, like i feel like hunter would have no issue hiding flap if this is a thing. (It also kinda makes stringbean's ability slightly less unique) Like this is displayed in these boards, but they kept it even in the show itself, and i think palisman might need a proper rulebook.

On that same note, owlbert uses magic in this board, like we kinda knew palisman could do some magic without a witch, but this is the only time we've seen one use it to fight another witch that wasn't the batqueen. Like owlbert tries to full on blast people in this. I don't know if removing this episode makes this ability less canon in the world itself since they still can do magic in the show, it's just worth noting that palisman, according to this board, CAN fight back, even if they're not incredibly strong it seems. Certainly the kinda thing that makes you think on other episodes tbh.

This episode also brings up the idea that eda actually CAN and DOES bring human food to the BI, which never happens in the show, in fact luz implies she gets to eat very little options there, so this idea seems no longer canon?

The demon hunters at one point don't even seem to recognize owlbert as a palisman, which does not entirely make sense given they seem to be mostly common to the townsfolk, so I'm kinda glad for that plot hole being gone.

Caduceia makes it out like the emperor's coven forced her to teach? and she thought handing over a house demon to belos would get her out of teaching as if it were some kinda punishment or job she was made to do? I have questions

side note, house demons are called rare in this, like they're not common, not sure if this still applies in the final show, but yeah.

there's some very sweet moments in this with luz and eda especially, but also some funny moments, and some jokes that land a little less....i don't think we needed Caduceia to be kissing her snake like that from that angle, even if it was meant to be a little uncomfortable.

one reason i think this episode did get cut? we got a glyph in this

a healing glyph, which has some ties to water based on it's symbol

i'm guessing since they kept the main glyphs element based, a healing glyph would of stuck out and been a bit weird. Like it just heals people, it doesn't produce water despite looking close to the alchemy symbol for water, and well....we already got ice so this would be redundent.

so yeah, this episode introduced a new glyph that saved them in the end so it would of come back in future episodes, but to keep it simple that would mean cutting the entire episode as a whole just to keep the four.

Since they enjoyed Caduceia's design so much, they must've repurposed it for raine somewhere down the line.

very fun insight into a scrapped episode.

#my art #the owl house #toh #raine whispers #storyboard

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carolmunson · 4 months ago

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blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

#emperor geta #geta x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fanfiction

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reulaux · 5 months ago

Text

Yue Qingyuan Fix It Speed Run

After the event of Bingge vs. Bingmei, Yue Qingyuan comes up to ask Luo Binghe.

"So you say Xin Mo can bring you to another universe, at another point of time, where there are the same people as in this universe?"

Luo Binghe nods.

"Do you want to help your shizun in the other universes?"

And so start the rescue team of Yue Qingyuan, Luo Binghe, and Shen Yuan to rescue Xiao Jiu, and by extension, Yue Qi.

If Xiao Jiu and Yue Qi are still slave children, both are bought, freed... Or kidnapped. And brought back to Cang Qiong in Yue Qingyuan's universe where his universe's Shen Qingqiu settles them down.

If Xiao Jiu is already in the Qiu Household, Yue Qingyuan either buys, lies about Xiao Jiu needing to go with him for some reasons. Or just kidnaps him.

After a few universes, Yue Qingyuan realises kidnapping is the easiest and most reliable way so he sticks to it.

If Yue Qi is locked in the Lingxi Cave, Yue Qingyuan kidnaps Yue Qi. It's not like people outside come to check if Yue Qi is still in there that often, and they don't have high hope he would survive anyway. His shizun also has all the other future sect leader candidates left.

If Yue Qi is already out of the cave, he kidnaps takes Yue Qi to meet the many Xiao Jiu back in Qiong Ding in his universe.

If Xiao Jiu is with Wu Yanzi, he kills Wu Yanzi and kidnaps rescues Xiao Jiu to Mu Qingfang in his universe to fix his meridians and feed treasures generously provided by Xiao Jiu's future disciple and Demon Emperor.

If both are already in Cang Qiong... He does not quite know what to do, so he stalks observes Xiao Jiu for a bit in case Xiao Jiu needs anything.

Xiao Jiu, always is annoyed at his lurking at the edge of Xiao Jiu's vision, always says his demand is the answer why Yue Qi did not come back to save him. As he already sets his mind to provide what any Xiao Jiu needs no matter what, he helplessly confesses he did come back but was too late and was too much of a self loathing coward to tell the truth.

Finally, after this long, it is clear to Yue Qingyuan that what all Shen Qingqiu in all the universes need is the reason why he did not come back, so he sets out to tell every Shen Qingqiu that.

Sometimes, in some universe, Xiao Jiu, Yue Qi, or both already died, so he makes a proper grave or two, and moves on.

...

If Xiao Jiu is in the Water Prison, he kidnaps him.

If Xiao Jiu is in the Water Prison and already lost a limb, he cries... And kidnaps and drops Xiao Jiu to Mu Qingfang.

If Yue Qingyuan also sees a pile of broken Xuan Su shards next to the limbless Xiao Jiu, he brings those back too.

Soon, both the Qiong Ding Peak and the Qing Jing Peak are full of Xiao Jiu and Yue Qi of various ages. Yue Qingyuan is thinking of creating a thirteenth peak exclusively just for them to live in.

Almost all of the older Xiao Jiu are afraid of Luo Binghe though, so Yue Qingyuan bans Luo Binghe from meeting those Xiao Jiu. It is also another reason why Luo Binghe's duty is limited to opening and closing the portals, aside from the presence of Xin Mo being too glaringly demonic and would complicating the rescues.

Luo Binghe is heartbroken, but he can still play with the other younger Xiao Jiu and his own husband shizun.

...

This morning, Wei Qingwei sees his sect leader drops off another pile of Xuan Su shards. Wan Jian now has a concerning amount of broken Xuan Su. Wei Qingwei should reforge or do something about this many and this powerful swords, right?

"Zhangmen shixiong, really, how many spare Xuan Su swords do you need?!"

The Qian Cao Peak is also packed with so many younger versions of his sect leader with different stages of broken bones, torn tendons, and frayed meridians; and even worse, so many more younger versions of Shen Qingqiu whose injuries range from malnutrition, open wounds, crippled meridians, to limblessness and dying... Hissing and biting him when he approaches to examine or treat...

At least none is contracted Without a Cure...

Is it only his universe's shixiong that's careless when fighting the demons??

From the sect leader's face though, Yue shixiong expects nothing less than the state of completely reattached or regrown limbs, eyes, and tongue. Mu Qingfang surely has to extensively expand and deepen his knowledge about the reconstruction medicine.

Luckily Shen shixiong and Shang shixiong are knowledgeable about many plants, beasts, and treasures that resolve the issues, and Luo shizi easily fetch them from the Demon Realm.

Mu Qingfang now can even cure all the crippled victims of the Sower incidence back then. However, with the number of his current patients... Mu Qingfang sighs.

"Zhangmen shixiong, please slow down on your kidnapping rescuing!!"

===

Meanwhile, after Luo Bingge goes back to his own universe,

LBG: I want my own kind shizun. I'll find him in another universe. (:

LBG: *slashes to a random universe*

LBG: What? You say Shen Qingqiu was abducted?

LBG: *combs through that whole universe but cannot find shizun*

LBG: It's okay. There'll be another shizun in another universe. (:

LBG: *slashes to another universe*

LBG: ...

LBG: There's no Shen Qingqiu nor Shen Jiu in this universe either?

LBG: ...

LBG: *combs through the whole other universe and cannot find shizun again and again*

LBG: ...

LBG: Who is hoarding all my shizun?!?! D:<

...

LBG: *slashes back to the SVSSS universe*

LBG: I found a peak full of shizun here!

SJ et al: *already set up the heaviest and most complex wards against LBH as soon as they're discharged from MQF*

LBG: ...But I can't enter! ):<

SJ et al: *sneer*

#svsss #yue qingyuan #kidnapper yue qingyuan #xin mo #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #qijiu #fix it #wei qingwei #mu qingfang #snippet #my muse #OG!reulaux #shang qinghua #airplane shooting towards the sky #luo bingge

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reading-comp-posting · 9 months ago

Note

Have you ever considered using AI tools to assist with writing your responses?

Well no, because I'm doing this blog for fun. I'm enjoying writing out reading comprehension questions for posts, so why would I automate that away?

But let's say that I saw myself as some sort of arbitor of reading comprehension who needs to post as much as possible to enlighten the lowly tumblr masses. Let's say that I'm interested in upping my output of questions by any means necessary.

I opened up chatgpt and input a certain request, which would hopefully make it write questions about the last post I responded to:

Write reading comprehension questions about a Tumblr post, written by a user named "echoeyee," that reads as folows: "my take on shipping aromantic characters is that if you're aro you get to do whatever you want and if you're not you have to write me a three page essay 12 pt font times new roman double spaced explaining in detail why you believe entering a romantic relationship would be an interesting and worthwhile storyline for the character and how you believe their aromanticism would affect the way they experience said relationship"

And it certainly did write a lot of questions about it. Let's go through them, one by one.

1. What is the primary stance expressed by the Tumblr user "echoeyee" regarding shipping aromantic characters?

This one is good. If you look at the set I wrote, my first one is basically the same, just with different words and a less formal tone.

2. According to the post, what conditions must non-aromantic individuals fulfill if they wish to advocate for romantic storylines involving aromantic characters?

Again, this one is good. It's basically my 3rd question but, yet again, more formal.

3. Describe the format and specifications outined for the essay mentioned in the post.

This is the part where the questions get bad. The exact details of the essay are irrelevant, other than the fact that they imply a formal, academic setting.

4. In your own words, explain the user's perspective on the autonomy of aromantic individuals in contrast to non-aromantic individuals when it comes to shipping characters.

This question seems to genuinely be a product of chatgpt pissing on the poor. The purpose of the post (and specifically the essay within) is to ask people who ship aromantic characters without being aromantic themself to consider said character's aromanticism instead of erasing it.

Meanwhile, chatgpt seems to think that the OP thinks that people who aren't aromantic should be forced by law or something to write an essay if they want to ship an aromantic character.

5. How does the Tumblr post reflect the user's views on representation and storytelling in relation to aromantic characters?

I think that this one is a bit too speculative, but it does actually relate to the OP's intended takeaway.

6. Discuss the potential implications of the requirements set forth in the post for writers and creators in the realm of fiction and fanworks.

This one is just a bit confusing. Chatgpt seems to be going off the assumption that OP is issuing a decree as the emperor of the world.

7. Reflect on whether you agree or disagree with the sentiments expressed in the post and provide reasons to support your viewpoint.

This could have been a "discuss with a mutual" question, and I actually did initially write a question like this one, but I ended up removing it.

Aromantiscism is already controversial enough and I fear that a discussion of whether OP's take on shipping aromantic characters is valid could quickly devolve into discussion on whether aromanticism itself is valid.

8. How might the user's approach impact discussions and representations of aromanticism in media and popular culture?

Yet again, chatgpt is taking the essay thing way too literally. Yes, forcing every single writer who isn't aromantic but wants to ship an aromantic character to write an essay about it would most likely lead to a decrease in people erasing their identities, but the essay isn't the point.

9. Consider the broader societal and cultural context in which this post is situated. How might prevailing attitudes towards romantic relationships influence reactions to the user's perspective?

Obviously historical context is important to keep in mind when you're reading/listening to/watching/whatever a text, but this question has almost nothing to do with reading comprehension. You need to understand the post to imagine how people would react, sure, but understanding how people would react to the post doesn't help you understand this post very much.

10. What insights can be gleaned from this post regarding the importance of diverse and inclusive storytelling in media and creative works?

This could be a discuss with a mutual question. The issue is that it's a bit to broad of a topic.

#not reading comprehension questions #ask #self post

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portgasmalia · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 ﹙including: flame emperor sabo, trafalgar law, portgas d. ace﹚ ﹙theme: super duper fluffy stuff & second paragraph turns into pure smut, mdni!!﹚

flame emperor sabo

sabo’s soft thumb caressed the skin right underneath your bottom lip. the small crinkle traced by his badly cut fingernail while his dilated pupils glistened with curiosity. he witnessed most of the reactions, and yet, above all he loved to experience new, lingering touches. but this current moment repeated itself since the confession of feelings started. sabo has always been a more gentle man behind closed doors than shown in the eye of the public. your chin propped up on the side of his pointer finger, tilting your head slightly back to steady the intensity of the eye contact. just a simple kiss, a quick peck, seemed impossible for sabo. he wanted the entire experience. watch how the shade of strawberry pink spread across the span of your cheeks, how you resisted the urge to chew on the soft skin of your lip while waiting for sabo to make a move. oh, he loved seeing you fall apart with the slightest touch of his gloveless fingers before his soft rose-colored lips pecked yours. so quickly, awaiting the begging for more because the flame emperor, the revolutionary was a devilish man hidden behind the gentle face of a blonde angel.

— mdni!! nsfw content

sabo knew perfectly which buttons to push to edge you closer to the second orgasm tonight. one was simply an insult to his skilled fingers and seductive tactics. eyes wide open and focused on the way yours fluttered close with each deep thrust of his hips. holding up his weight with his right underarm, sabo placed his left hand underneath your chin. the same position he loved to have you in when not being inside of you. skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, and the tip of the revolutionary’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip. ever so lightly, sabo pushed his thumb into the warmth of your mouth, freeing your plush bottom lip from the assault of your teeth. “don’t do that,” the blonde fire user muttered, punctuating his demand with a particularly harsh thrust. slender fingers underneath your chin pushed slightly, tilting your head further into the neck. a chance to glance at your almost-closed eyes while approaching another orgasm. “the sight makes it so fucking hard to control myself but we do have all night,” he chuckled quietly but was consumed by devilish thoughts while increasing the rhythm of his waist. multiple orgasm were the challenge, and hell, you should have not teased him as much as you did.

trafalgar d. water law

nose deeply in the books he carried out of the last library, reading about the myths of the world, and the stories other people told on the pages until the doctor would tell his own. always so busy with the books, the folders, his own notes. so when you burst into his office, attempting to gain his attention or lure him outside on the deck to celebrate a little bit with the crew, law could read your intentions without having to glance at you. so when you stood in front of him, almost too shy to even ask, law used the book in sheets in his hand to help you raise your head and glance at him. pages tightly together, stapled above one another., the upper margins of the book in sheets placed carefully underneath your chin. edges slightly pushed to the inside with his sprawled out hand, and pushing upwards to tilt your head. you knew it was the east way, the soft way of law’s demands to make eye contact. the dust of a sweet cherry red which covered your cheeks forced a thin but small smile on his lips before leaning forward with a quiet chuckle and pecking your chewed up lips as a gesture to greet you in his personal bubble. the only person, right next to bepo, he would allow to walk in without permission.

— nsfw content ahead!! mdni!!

it was a certain surprise when law’s behavior changed in the sheets. he still kept the dominance, he still set the pace. but being on top of you, feeling the sweaty palms of your soft hands explore his chest every single time, it triggered a rather soft side of the doctor to step out. you weren’t scratching, your fingertips carefully traced the tattoo of his jolly roger repeatedly. fingers of his unused hand intertwined with yours, reveling in the warmth and tightness of your gummy walls. the lingering gaze drifted from your eyes down to your lips. the quivering of your bottom one, the way your teeth dragged so harshly across the soft skin while the attempt to suppress a whiny moan failed. the tip of his sharp nose nudged yours multiple times. two to three to get your attention and convince you to open your lids again. once you did, he guided your head upward before his chapped lips found your puffy ones. there was no need to use his hands if he could once in a while show the soft side, he allowed to surface in your presence. not all the time, but enough to show the deep and meaningful emotions he had for you. even while his hips snapped so harshly against yours, and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the bedroom, law visited not so often. "you're mine, love," he would mutter between deep, almost inaudible groans.

portgas d. ace

there are two ways which only differ slightly and it easily depends on the mood he's in. coming back from a mission after being unable to see your beautiful face for weeks, ace is a tad softer with his touches. calloused palms of his hands placed on each side of your face. little finger along your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb stroking along your smiling lips, taking in each twist and turn in your beautiful features. oh, how he remembered the details so clearly, dreamt of them every night. the first touch is so sweet, so loving. almost leaving traces of admiration along the sharp line of your jaw. but then there's also the second way, ace would hold your face. extremely warm hands placed almost exactly the same, but the calloused palm pushed your cheeks further together. you would immediately know that the fire fist drowned any sorrows in multiple glasses of booze. since the whitebeard pirates loved a good, old feast to celebrate any given day, ace was mostly under the influence of the alcoholic liquid, and acted rather with soft humor than gentle honesty.

— nsfw content ahead!! mdni!!

ace might love to show you how much he loved and adored you, but in ways that weren't exactly described as gentle or soft. pounding into you harshly, the loud sound of skin slapping against skin boomed off the walls of the second division commander's room. as the second division commander of the whitebeard pirates, ace was always involved in trouble, always wanting to help each of his friends so badly, it turned into a day full of stress. and all he needed was being inside of you. gummy walls squeezing his thick dick ever so tightly. but it always ended with you underneath his towering body. legs thrown over his shoulders as he pounded into you. one hand used to keep his weight mostly off your body, the other hand is placed around your jaw. left side, his fingers squeezed the skin of your cheek and on the right side, the thumb mirrored the same gesture. mouth squeezed together, it looked like you prepared so perfectly to take his hard dick between your lips again, and it almost made him cum with the next thrust. instead, ace leaned down, placing his lips against yours and holding you in place while increasing the pace and harshness.

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adhd-fandom-hyperfocus · 17 days ago

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Secret Box

Sorry no fancy formatting or anything here. I got sudden inspired to write this from an anon @moodymisty got Tagging @kit-williams because I know Mr. Turbo is her man Warnings: Hints of NSFW stuff at the very end. Sorry if Turbo sounds ooc I haven't written him at all before so be kind. Also, did not proofread this. MINOR DNI

"Oh I don't know, I would be unhappy too if all I had to was tear things down and war. Maybe he wants to something else?"

"What do you mean? He seems quite happy breaking things."

He watched you frown so deeply, "My little bother was like that, everyone thought he like being mad. Just did not know how to convey his feelings, and felt like he had to stay under father's thumb. But he really just wanted to be an artist. I loved his art!"

"I didn't know you had a brother, where is he?"

"Dead. Died angry and lonely because father wanted a soldier."

His furious hearts stopped in his chest. You saw him. You did not realize it, but you did. It scared him, mad him want to rage and break you. It made him want to keep you close. Show you those things he wanted to forget.

***

"What in the Emperor's name is that?"

"Oh one of those puzzle boxes, some call them secret boxes because once you open them you can keep little important secrets in them!" your smile makes his head spin and his stomach lurch.

He wanted you to smile at him like that more. He needed you to talk to him about the silly little boxes.

"Why do you have so many? They seem pointless, we do not have anything to keep in them."

"Oh, I am far too stupid to open them, but I find them beautiful, each one looks different, opens differently, and all so complex, like people!"

***

Weeks he slaved over his workbench, keeping this secret to all, which was made easy when got the small chance to engage with you. Or most commonly, watch you interact with others, needed to make sure you didn't give his secrets away; at least he tried to convince himself of that.

You thought yourself stupid, but you figured him out in a way not even the damn Emperor himself could. What looked so simple was perhaps the most complex of all.

You wanted to see the art he could create that wasn't for war, how his mind could do if allowed to run free. Called his work art, like it was something to also marvel at.

The primarch looked over his newest creation, the small box was intricate in it's design, how he liked things. But it was what was inside that made his chest feel weak, and yet made him powerful all the same. The primarch of iron was feeling himself soften at the heat that had made a permanent home in his lower abdomen.

When he presented the box to you he did not say he made it, refused to. But as he explained his lie, the look you cast at him shocked him. You knew his bluff. Of course you did.

"Well, whoever made this is a true master! I have never seen something to beautiful before, thank you my lord," you smile up at him, letting him keep his pride and secret, "I know you are a busy man, but should you remember who made this could you be so kind to your serf and tell me?"

Prutabo grunted and nodded, "If I feel so inclined. Let me know if and when you open it."

***

Days and weeks pass and you keep him updated with your progress, he makes comments that hint he isn't too interested, after all someone of his genius would have opened it already. You agree, but you won't give up. You determination makes his hearts feel like they are in knots. How happy and joyful you are over his little toy. The fun you find in testing yourself only just to say you did it. The moments of you updating him live inside his dreams, where he is brave enough to hold your hand and smile back.

The crusade had called him away and like always it kept him longer than anyone else. While his brothers got to reap all the glory he was cleanup, or the brunt hammer to break wills. So of course when the Lord of Iron returned everyone scattered. Hid like cowards.

Not you. Even with him exuding even more of his dour demeanor you came running up to him. Puzzle box in hand.

"My Lord! I know you just returned, but I have been waiting for teran weeks for you to return." you were overflowing with excitement; practically vibrating with it.

It was like a disease that spread quickly, because as you spoke his ire cooled. You were happy he was home.

"Make it quick." though he hoped you took as long as you wanted.

"I am about to open the box, and I wanted to open it with you!" you grin up at him coming closer, "Exciting right?"

You...waited for him. Wanted to share in his happiness with...Throne he thought he was going to burst out of his armor and into flames.

"For someone who cannot easily solve things, I suppose. Well, open it." he grumbled, fighting to keep his mask on.

As you moved the last piece into place and opened the lid, a centerpiece rose up, and thereupon it was a metal sculpting of morning glories rising up and in bloom, the spun slowly as music played. And resting inside the main flower was a small ring, designed to look like vines holding a blooming rose the held a pink diamond.

Oh the look upon your face he would have waited lifetimes just to see it. It made this little box the greatest thing he would ever fashion.

"My Lord...I...forgive me, my words are failing." you whisper still marveling at the spinning flowers, "I love morning glories..."

Perturabo nodded, "I am aware. I do listen..." he wanted to know about the ring, wanted you to wear it.

Let everyone know you were his. That you wanted to be his.

Tears well up in your eyes as you so gingerly take the ring. Without needing to ask he gently holds the box so you might place it upon one of your fingers. He watches intently as you try various fingers before putting it upon your ring finger.

"My..."

"Perturabo. You can call me by my name...should you wish to continue to wear that ring." he spoke so very softly for himself.

Thorne, he needed you to keep it on.

"I will, Perturabo," you say his name to see how it rolls off your tongue and it sounds like heaven to him.

When this crusade is over he will fill this place with sounds of your and his children, and he will cast off all this cold machinery for things that truly mattered to him. Being a toy maker in one's spare time wasn't such a foolish notion. He would not die like your brother, and leave you alone.

"Are you sure you want...I mean... I am a serf, people will talk and I do not want to tarnish your name." you whisper to him, eyes fixed on the ring.

"They would be foolish to speak of it where I can hear." was all he offered.

Your small hands slip over his covered in his massive gauntlets, and he was trembling to get this armor off.

"My Lady, if it pleases you," his voice low and he leaned in close so no other could hear, "I wish to remove this armor, if you would wait for me in my chambers..." he couldn't believe he was doing this! Smoothness and words were not his strong points, but for you, he would try, "There is a puzzle I would like to get to know intimately, work with my hands, would you be willing?"

His face burned as he waited what felt like eons for you to reply. Was this all too much too fast? Was he being a fool?

You take the music puzzle box from him and when you pull back you are smiling with cheeks as flushed as his, "I would love that. Now go before your men see you this shade of red and not yelling. I do not want to ruin your reputation." you tease

Perturabo smiled, "You, I will allow to ruin me." he said before tearing off to get this damn armor off.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #perturabo #amon writes

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starlightsuffered · 4 months ago

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Darling, please give us a new small fic now, for my bedtime story🥺🙏

I’ll Take It All

A/n - sorry if this is late. I was tutoring for a while. I hope you can see this. This is sexual so maybe I should post another soft one tonight 🤷🏼 in case you don’t like this.

Info - hard dom, Paul dom, concubine, cnc, dub con, somnophilia, face fuck, piss kink, humping foot, aftercare, bathing, fingering, sleeping together, kinda crazy Paul, hand kink, degrading/praise,

Some humiliation kink

I was woken up harshly. I knew I should have been ready but this was the fifth night in a row. Since Paul had taken the water of life he got these urges. He was overcome with a wild dominance and just had to take.

He didn’t want Irulan to know of his dark desires and compulsions. He still did not fully trust her. Chani had left the day he declared himself emperor. He didn’t want to be weakened or distracted by his constant lust.

I had offered myself as a sort of sacrificial lamb. I was a bene gesserit who had sided with Paul’s reign. I was his concubine. It was ironic that I didn’t mind being a very fancy sex toy for him. However, Paul did lavish me with gifts and was increasingly thankful for what I let him do to me.

He especially appreciated that I had consented to his frequent somnophilic desires. He would often have dreams that troubled his mind. It would launch him into a sexual frenzy.

“On the floor bitch,” Paul snarled. I did as he said immediately.

He shoved his fingers in my mouth. I stared at him with my big doe eyes and sucked. He was cursing so fast I couldn’t make out what he said. He was yanked down his sleeping pants at the same time.

He snatched his fingers back. He didn’t cleaned his slobbery digits. Instead, he grabbed either side of my head. My mouth was still obediently open for him.

“That’s it,” he grunted in pleasure as he stuffed his huge cock deep down my throat. I did my best not to gag.

“Fucking good slut,” he groaned as he began to thrust in and out. My mouth was already drooling. A lethal smile covered his face. As I looked up at him, half hidden in shadows, he looked like a demon of hedonism.

“Sloppy princess,” he chuckled as he watched saliva fall from my mouth. He was forcing my head to bob on his dick.

“I bet that pussy is still puffy and leaky from our last round. You take it so well. You’re like a perfect little sex doll,” he ground out.

“Ohhhhh FUCK!” He was being as loud as he pleased. He tipped hid head back in bliss. His Adam’s apple bobbed. I sneakily moved my hand down to grind myself on it.

I let out a pitiful noise. I was sore from how often he’d been taken me. However, I knew he’d love to see tears prick my eyes.

“Fuck, I could use you until I wreck you,” he panted.

“Imagine it,” he said with dark sparkling eyes. “Bloated from cum, an aching pussy, just dripping with my seed and completely exhausted. No longer a human, just a used sex toy. Your nipples would be so swollen, and you’d have more bruises than skin.”

“Mmmmm,” I let out a needy sound. He smiled wider when he saw silver lining my eyes. A tear dribbled down my cheek.

“You’re doing good whore,” he gasped. Wet and euphoric sounds filled the room. Paul was grunting and growling. I nearly expected him to growl or something even more animalistic.

“Fuck, tight fucking throat. Taking my big hairy dick!” He snapped his hips as he babbled.

Without warning he whipped his cock from my mouth. I was left with swollen lips, bloodshot teary eyes, and a soaked pussy. I sniffled submissively as drool ran down my chin.

“P-Paul?” I asked.

He was ignoring me as he yanked on his cock. He was cursing again. His knees bent in pleasure and then he was cumming. He smirked disrespectfully as he covered my face in his semen. Over and over, pulse after pulse, rope after rope of cum covered me.

I felt such a mix of emotions. I was so humiliated I could cry, but so aroused I could cum. I was just his thing, his possession, and I loved it and blushed at the same time.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured as he squeezed the rest of the cum from his tip.

“S-Sir, can I please take a bath?” I asked pitifully. He chucked me under the chin. He looked sweet for a moment, but I saw the predator underneath. He was still horny.

He jutted his foot forward. I mounted it, as I knew I had to. I did make a small protest from my swollen, sensitive, clit.

“Hump,” was all he said to me.

I began to move. It hurt, but also felt good. I let out small noises of pain with every movement. Paul wasn’t wanking, I didn’t know what was happening. He held his cock, but did no pumping.

“You’ll take whatever I give you won’t you princess?” He asked me in a deep voice.

“Yes sir,” I nodded.

“You promise it? You’re mine?”

“Yes emperor,” I swore.

With that solemn swear he began to piss. He was grunting and groaning in satisfaction as he drenched me. How did even this smell and feel good. He made me sopping. My hair, face, and sleep clothes were all wet.

“That’s my goooooood giiiiirl,” he slurred as if drunk off my submission.

Without hesitation he scooped me up. He carried me out the room. I saw the guards turn our way. I knew the smelt me and saw the Mrs so was. For some reason, this all heightened the burn in my core.

He brought me to the Offcial bathing rooms. He had his own of course but these were much more lavish. He cut off my clothes a pocket knife, promising to buy me more lavish ones.

He placed me in the warm bath. I was shocked he’d use this much water on me. Expensive and rare oils were used on me.

“You’re so good, you’re so special to me,” he whispered in my ear as he washed and then braided my hair. He was kissing my cheeks sweetly.

“Paul, please touch me,” I finally whispered. I didn’t even intend him to hear me.

“Touch you where angel?” He asked.

“Oh, um, I’m just, I’m desperate,” I moaned lightly.

“You never came did you?” He asked in a melancholy voice.

“No.”

“Let me help,” he offered lightly.

He reached down in the water. He didn’t touch my sensitive bundle. His long fingers pumped in my hole. I’d been so edged that I felt myself getting ready fast.

“I want to make you feel good,” he promised as he mouthed over my neck. He gently brushed my braid aside and some how the sweetness made me feel even more ready.

In seconds I was arching. I felt the cosmos ripple through me. I was pressed against his hand. My eyes had fluttered closed. I felt completely possessed by pleasure. The orgasm clutched me like no other. Feelings of gratification even reached my fucking teeth.

“Thank you for all you take,” he whispered to me when we were back in bed.

He was half asleep. I was sore, a bit embarrassed, but satisfied. I smiled in my dreams.

“I’ll take it all,” I whispered back.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

#reader insert #x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chamalet #timothee fanfic #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee x you #timothée chalamet #paul atredies x you #paul atredies smut #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides smut #paul atreides #timothee chalamet smut #take it all

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literaryvein-reblogs · 11 days ago

Text

Writing Notes: The Fool's Journey

The Fool’s Journey is the archetypal story told by the Major Arcana of the Tarot.

Use the Fool’s Journey for inspiration and brainstorming, rather than for developing a plot or outlining.

It’s far more powerful for suggesting solutions than for suggesting structure (as is true for Tarot in general).

As a writer, the Fool’s Journey can help you:

Pinpoint the emotions your character should be feeling at each story stage,

Find the next step for a character stuck at a particular stage,

Create conflict appropriate to each story stage,

Access archetypal images and symbols to add depth to your story,

Troubleshoot problems caused by your character skipping a vital story stage,

Assess your own progress as a writer.

The ‘Fool’s Journey’ is the term coined by Eden Gray to describe the story of the Major Arcana of the Tarot.

USING THE FOOL'S JOURNEY

Possible pitfalls - useful for adding conflict to your story;

Feelings in life - the things that might be going through your character’s head,

Outward signs - external events of objects that can represent that stage of the story.

TROUBLESHOOTING

If your story is lacking conflict, find the card which best represents your character and use the “pitfalls” list as a starting point.

If you aren’t sure what your character is thinking at a certain point in the story, find their corresponding card and explore the “feelings” list.

If you need more events in your story that relate to the current stage it’s in, find the corresponding card and brainstorm ideas using the “signs” list.

If you don’t know what your character should do next, find which card their current state corresponds to, and use the exercises to brainstorm scenes for the next card.

If you need the influence of a particular card in your story, consider creating a character who fulfills those functions and makes use of similar symbols.

THE FOOL'S JOURNEY: 22 Cards

0. The Wandering Fool

The hero of the Major Arcana

How is your hero a wise fool?

How will this symbol gain new meaning when the hero returns home after their long journey?

1. The Magician

The Magician uses the way of the intellect to uncover spiritual secrets; he is an active seeker of knowledge and clarity.

Who is the initiator of your character’s current way of life?

Does your character tend more towards the empirical or the mystical? What conflict does this dichotomy cause them?

Outward signs: A juggler, conjurer or magician, an adept, a bookworm.

Possible pitfalls: Megalomania, being a charlatan, omnipotence.

Feeling in life: Tapping into huge reserves of power, feeling in charge, confidence, a Faustian thirst for knowledge.

2. The High Priestess

The feminine counterpart of the Magician; she represents the mystical path to spirituality as opposed to the intellectual.

Her approach is passive, inwardly-directed, and in no way inferior or less effective to that of the Magician.

What is the character open to and expectant of?

Outward signs: Loss of consciousness, waiting, turning the other cheek, taking part in a ritual, allowing oneself to be guided blindly.

Possible pitfalls: Escapism, doubt, indecisiveness.

Feeling in life: Letting go, trust in the universe, inspiration, feeling loved, peace, going with the flow.

3. The Empress

The power of nature, as opposed to the Emperor, who represents the man-made or artificial.

She can be a source of abundance, creativity, nourishment, and life but at the same time, she can bring about the destructive forces of natural disasters.

How does your character embrace life?

Are they in tune with nature?

Outward signs: A feast, a mother, an artist, going shopping.

Possible pitfalls: Uncontrolled growth, changeableness, inconsistency.

Feeling in life: Creative flow, feeling alive, understanding the cycles of life, belief in abundance.

4. The Emperor

As the Father figure, he is the source of authority and responsibility.

While he may at times seem overbearing or critical, he provides the disciplining influence which is the essence of all learning and spirituality.

How does your character approach their responsibilities?

How do they struggle with discipline or authority?

Outward signs: An authority figure, being told to try harder, being given a routine or schedule, being drafted, a (verbal or physical) beating.

Possible pitfalls: Obstinacy, perfectionism, strictness, hard heartedness.

Feeling in life: To be aware of responsibilities, being cruel to be kind, a realistic outlook, seriousness, being given constructive criticism.

5. The Hierophant

The teacher of religious mysteries and the first suggestion of the underworld of adventure.

The hero must travel through both the (conscious) visible world, and the (unconscious) hidden world to find what is essential.

What character might work as a Hierophant to urge your character to discover the world that they’re ignoring?

What is visible in the character’s world? What is hidden?

Outward signs: A truth-teller, a blunder, an invitation.

Possible pitfalls: Hyposcrisy, world-weariness, “guru-ism”.

Feeling in life: Faith in the divine, profound experiences.

6. The Lovers

Having realised that there is a world beyond that which they had conceived, the hero must now decide whether or not to leave home and hearth and search for it (in the visible or invisible world).

The hero makes this decision with a light, pure heart, and with the best intentions.

This card depicts a pair of lovers because even after the teachings of the Hierophant, love is the ultimate driving force that allows us to make a change.

How does the experience of love force the character to make a choice between their current life and the life they might have?

How do they describe the choice to themselves? Are they accurate?

What are they afraid of leaving behind? How does their desire outweigh this fear?

Outward signs: An object of desire, arguments with parents or guardians.

Possible pitfalls: Intemperance, excessive joy.

Feeling in life: Butterflies, fearless decisiveness.

7. The Chariot

The decision made in the Lovers card has spurred the hero on to leave his home and set off in search of adventure.

Represents the pull of opposites.

What are some signs or symbols that the character has been chosen as the hero of the story?

How does the character set off on the adventure? What spurs them on?

How does the character struggle to keep their two steeds in check?

Outward signs: A new form, or clothing symbolic of a new function; provision of a vehicle; setting out on a journey.

Possible pitfalls: Arrogance, impulsiveness, intemperance.

Feeling in life: Optimism; desire for motion; being poised; increasing awareness; maturity; the first, intoxicating phase of the road trip, before reality begins to leak back in.

8. Justice

Marks the point of separation with the ordinary world.

This is when the hero reaches the first crossing.

The figure of Justice represents the old laws the hero is leaving behind and the new laws (of the new world) that are drawing them into their power.

The character must be ready and willing to take on responsibility, but unlike the choice of the Lovers card, Justice, with her prominent right foot, represents a more considered, rational approach.

What are the rules of the old/ordinary world that the character is leaving behind?

What are the rules of the new/adventure world? How do they differ? How do these differences cause problems for the character?

What responsibilities must the character take on? How do they feel about it?

Outward signs: Lifting the sword of power, training montage, a schedule/roster/plan of action.

Possible pitfalls: Being a know-it-all, prejudice, slyness, overconfidence.

Feeling in life: Fairness to others, making intelligent decisions, just rewards.

9. The Hermit

With the single digit cards ends the Fool’s sojourn in the realms of light.

From now on they are in the dark underworld of adventure.

This is the beginning of the inward journey, and for this reason requires some solitary reflection.

They’ve travelled a long way from The Fool card, where the mountains on the summit of which the Hermit now stands, were far in the distance.

Can also appear as another person, often a Helper, who provides the character with a protective talisman for their crossing.

This is also where the character learns their true name. It may be part of the revelation of the heavenly parents, who are often kept secret from the hero.

How and where does the character seek peace and quiet?

How are they provided with a talisman for the journey ahead?

How does the character discover their true name? What does it mean to them?

What does this period of solitary reflection reveal to the character?

Outward signs: A hideaway/den/nook, a protective figure, a symbolic gift.

Possible pitfalls: Strangeness, feeling like an outsider, being too concerned with the other world, disenchantment.

Feeling in life: Clarity, inner peace, standing up for yourself, finding yourself.

10. The Wheel of Fortune

The card that clarifies the character’s goal.

What is the character seeking?

What are the weaknesses they must improve before they can reach a resolution?

What figure symbolises this weakness in the character? How does their interaction highlight this weakness?

Outward signs: Missing treasure, a nemesis/enemy/shapeshifter.

Possible pitfalls: Fatalism, misunderstanding your life’s purpose.

Feeling in life: Unpleasant learning experiences, resistance.

11. Strength

Brings the character face to face with their first true test of inner strength.

It follows on from the Wheel of Fortune by applying pressure to the character’s weak points.

The character must “tame the beast within”, accept their shadow side, and welcome their anima or animus.

What happens to try the character’s weakness and test their strength?

What is the shadow side that they need to accept? Why is it difficult for them to do so?

Outward signs: A spirit animal, a wild animal needing to be tamed, another character who is in some respects the hero’s opposite.

Possible pitfalls: Pride, a hardened heart, mercilessness.

Feeling in life: Living life to the full, a passionate attachment to life, showing your claws when necessary.

12. The Hanged Man

This card represents an existential crisis.

This is when the character questions the purpose they took on in the Wheel of Fortune, and in fact, the whole journey up to this point.

While unity lies at the motionless centre of the wheel, and the struggle of daily life on the outside, the character stuck in this stage is the hamster running along the inner surface of the wheel.

Their whole experience of life is turned upside down, and until their perspective shifts to match their experience, they will be kept suspended.

What causes the character to question their purpose or their way of life?

What mistakes does the character keep repeating?

Outward signs: Something or someone hung, or held upside down, a revolution.

Possible pitfalls: Being caught in a vicious cycle, getting “hung up”.

Feeling in life: Repeating experiences like a broken record, mid-life crisis, inability to get out of your own way, having your patience tested.

13. Death

Death is a card that engenders fear, and the sooner the character learns to accept that fear instead of spending all of their energies trying to avoid the inevitable, the better (at least for them, perhaps not for story tension).

Death requires something to be left behind.

While this will feel like a hard sacrifice for the character, they will never make it while they’re carrying around “dead weight.”

What is the sacrifice the character must make?

Why is it impossible for the story to continue until this sacrifice is made?

How does the character try to avoid this sacrifice?

What are the consequences of the transformation brought by Death?

Outward signs: Bones, corpses, a wasteland, katabasis.

Possible pitfalls: Dying of fear, collapse.

Feeling in life: Ending, the search for peace and renewal, leave taking.

14. Temperance

Between the violence of Death and the Devil, stands the serene figure of Temperance.

The challenge of Temperance is to find a middle ground between being dead to physical existence (Death) and being chained to it (Devil) by our vices or excessive passions.

This is the key to making it out of the underworld alive.

Who or what guides the character through the (real or imagined) underworld?

How does the character tread the middle path after the loss they suffered in Death?

Outward signs: A guide, a light in darkness, unnatural stillness.

Possible pitfalls: Following false influences, ordinariness.

Feeling in life: Being forcibly dragged along, conformity, level-headedness, health.

15. The Devil

Represents the dark side of the anima/animus, as depicted by the chained lovers.

Often this manifests in a way that entices the character to act in complete contradiction to their deepest values.

For example, killing to save lives, lying to appear honest, torturing people into believing in a merciful deity, etc.

What aspects of their shadow self has the character been suppressing?

What enslaves the character?

How does the character betray all that they have been striving for?

Outward signs: Taking up arms to keep the peace, using the people you love for base gains, a scandal, a seducer.

Possible pitfalls: Being enslaved by the shadow side, leaving the true path, intemperance, lust, power struggles.

Feeling in life: Slavery, addiction, being taken captive, being seduced, doing things you don’t want to do, betraying yourself.

16. The Tower

The destruction of the Tower is the sign that the old world has become too confining.

The stage at which the character can show a side of themselves that no one would have suspected existed.

It is the sign that you can achieve the unthinkable.

What ideas are limiting the character’s view of the whole?

How can the character destroy these ideas in the most sudden, violent way possible?

How do others react to seeing the character’s hidden (and unsuspected) side?

Outward signs: An explosion, a breakthrough, the revelation of a new self, becoming visible.

Possible pitfalls: Defeat, collapse.

Feeling in life: Chaos, insecurity, surprise changes, escape.

17. The Star

Now we come to the 3 cards that represent a gradual lightening and emergence from the underworld: the Star, the Moon and the Sun.

The worst is now behind our hero, although their work isn’t done.

The Star is there to guide them to the next stage.

How does the character rejuvenate after their hard work in the Tower?

What abundant provisions do they enjoy?

How do they adjust to their new freedom of the world-view that was destroyed in the Tower?

Outward signs: A guiding light in the dark, a safe place to make camp, finding fresh provisions after a long journey.

Possible pitfalls: Forgetting the present while focusing on the future, being lost in daydreams, becoming complacent.

Feeling in life: Trust for the future, rejuvenation, youth.

18. The Moon

Represents a strange, changeable landscape that can easily confuse and trap the hero.

Although the character has triumphed, they must still navigate the dangerous return journey back to the ordinary world.

The hero must extricate themselves from the temptations of the underworld, return to the world of the living and bring with them the elixir of life, if they are to succeed fully.

The Moon is the greatest threat to losing their true name, but to characters who are prepared and who are adept at traversing their inner landscape, it is also the greatest opportunity.

This is the test of whether a character is truly the master of two worlds, and can cross and recross the treacherous threshold.

How is the return journey different to the outward journey?

How do past landmarks take on new meaning and new danger?

What are the temptations that make the character want to stay instead of returning home?

Outward signs: A changing landscape, a narrow gateway, a difficult crossing.

Possible pitfalls: Being lost in the enchanted forest, losing sight of the destination, becoming enslaved by fear.

Feeling in life: Anger, frustration, mistrust, nightmares, fears, longing.

19. The Sun

The stage at which the character finally leaves the underworld of adventure and returns to the light, ordinary world.

Looking back from this vantage point, the character realises that the enormous difficulties they just wrestled with actually boil down to a simple solution; that they would have triumphed much sooner had they not complicated the problem.

Now their task is to begin readjusting to the ordinary world, and reconciling the change in their inner world to the lack of change in the outer world.

How does the character re-emerge into the ordinary world?

How has the character changed, and how has the world stayed the same?

How does this cause conflict for the character and their allies?

Outward signs: Blinking against the light, waking up, watching the sun rise.

Possible pitfalls: Clichés.

Feeling in life: Feeling carefree, freedom, joie de vivre, lightness, fun, enjoyment.

20. Judgement

The Judgement card represents a final test of the character’s worthiness to be the bearer of the elixir of life.

If, by some chance, a false hero has managed to come this far, this is the stage at which they will be discovered and sent back to the underworld.

On the other hand, for the true hero, Judgement brings resurrection; a revitalising influence that is the final, freeing reward of their long journey.

What is the final test the character must undergo to prove their worthiness?

Why is the test easy for worthy characters to pass?

How can unworthy characters be discovered and punished?

Outward signs: Being reunited with loved ones, a return to life and vitality, verdure returning to a barren land, an arrest, a trial, a condemnation, an execution.

Possible pitfalls: To fail at cheating (for the unworthy hero).

Feeling in life: Feeling free and at peace.

21. The World

Is the resolution of the readjustment brought about in the crisis of the Hanged Man.

Brings unity to the opposites that have been battling for supremacy over the hero throughout their journey: dark & light, good & bad, action & inaction, male & female.

This isn’t because the world is suddenly free of strife, but because the character has accepted and dealt with both sides of the duality and thus earned freedom from them.

However temporary this freedom might be…

How does the World give the character the ability to disseminate their wisdom (or the “elixir of life”) far and wide?

What makes the unity of the World fragile? What might urge the character into another Fool’s Journey (and give you an opportunity for a sequel)?

Outward signs: A coronation, a homecoming, something in perfect balance.

Possible pitfalls: None.

Feeling in life: Joy, profound satisfaction, a feeling of finally being home.

NOTES

One final revelation about The Fool’s Journey, and indeed about any archetypal journey, is that their writers insist that certain stages of the story need to be taken in the prescribed order.

A character can’t skip building the ego during the “daytime” arc without facing the later consequences: material lack in the ordinary world and possibly ostracism.

Furthermore, an underdeveloped ego is not as great a challenge to abandon in the underworld, and whenever the sacrifice is small, so is the subsequent reward.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More Writing Notes: On Tarot ⚜ Notes & References

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